Elias leans forward to take Catherine’s hand, drawing her gaze back to him. “Cathy,” he says softly. I expect her to warm to his voice—I know I would—but she rips her fingers away like she’s offended by his tone. Elias’s posture goes rigid, his brown hair falling into his eyes before he smooths it back in place. “Go away,” he says coldly. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”
Catherine bends down, bringing her face close to his. For a second I think she’s going to kiss him, and my stomach turns. Instead she smiles. “Eli,” she whispers. “Drop dead, darling.”
To this, Elias chuckles and lifts his glass. “Cheers,” he says, and drinks.
Catherine tosses one more hateful glance in my direction and then stomps her way across the ballroom. I put my hand on my stomach and exhale, happy to have mostly avoided a confrontation. When Elias turns to me, he shrugs apologetically. “Don’t judge me too harshly for being rude,” he says. “She’s an absolute psychopath.”
“She’s something,” I agree, watching until Catherine disappears from the party. The minute she’s gone, I relax slightly. Around us the conversations continue; the music plays, and I’m close to figuring out the melody.
“Ready for that tour?” Elias asks, hiding his smile behind the rim of his glass. “I know where they keep the chocolates for the pillows.”
I laugh, thinking he’s pretty adorable. But still, I’m not an idiot. He’s a total stranger, and even if he weren’t, I’m not exactly in a dating frame of mind. “No, thanks,” I say.
Elias doesn’t appear surprised by my rejection; in fact, he seems to appreciate it. He tilts his head, sliding his gaze over me. “How did you get here, Audrey?” he asks.
“The door.”
He laughs softly. “Fair enough. I take it, then, that you’re not here for the ghosts?” he asks. “Most of them are.” He motions to the crowd in the ballroom.
“Really? Is this place haunted?”
“They think so.” Elias pulls his tie from around his neck and tosses it aside. His hair has fallen forward again, and I think he looks more casual, more approachable. It makes him that much more attractive—a sneak peek at his real life.
“Who are you without that suit?” I ask. Elias’s eyebrows raise, and I nearly trip over myself to explain my words. “I don’t mean naked! I mean in life. Not with a suit—oh, God.” My cheeks warm with heat, and soon I’m laughing. To his credit, Elias nods along with my words, as if truly curious about my thought process.
“Well,” he says, motioning to the rooms above us, “if you’d like to have a look . . .”
I swat his shoulder, and then we’re both grinning, oblivious to the concierge until he clears his throat beside us. He shoots Elias a quick frown of disapproval before addressing me.
“Miss Casella,” Kenneth says when he turns to me again. “Perhaps you should head up to your room? After all, you’re leaving tomorrow and it’s nearly four a.m.”
Elias sips calmly from his drink. Does he get carded? Does the hotel care if he, any of us, is underage? And then I wonder what business it is of the concierge that I’m not in bed, tucked under the covers.
“You see,” Kenneth offers, like he’s read my expression, “this party is invite only. And I don’t believe you have an invitation.” He waits. “Do you have an invitation, Miss Casella?”
I hate being scolded, and this feels very scoldy. “I do not,” I respond. I curl my lip at Elias as if asking what the deal is with Kenneth, and then start toward the exit.
“It was nice meeting you, Audrey,” Elias calls out. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
I half turn, my heart thumping hard. I don’t respond, afraid he’ll hear it in my voice—the grief, the absolute dread of the next step. I’ll only be at the Ruby for a day, and then I’ll be shipped off to my grandmother. To be honest, tonight was the first real fun I’ve had in ages. I don’t want to spoil the mood by letting anyone in on how damaged I am. So I just wave and then zigzag through the crowd back to the doors.
As I leave, my eyes are drawn back to Elias. He sits alone in the alcove, dressed the part but still out of place somehow. His mouth is downturned as he stares into the dancing crowd, glass in hand, like he can’t stand being here at all.
My hallway is quiet, so stuffed with quiet it’s almost hard to breathe. I go into my room, toss my keycard on the dresser, and launch my flip-flops somewhere under the bed. My head is swimming, and I quickly grab the first pair of pajamas I can find. They’re soft and worn through the knees, and I switch off the light and climb into bed.