16
STELLA
THE REST OF COCKTAIL HOUR passed in a blur. We spent the entire time with my parents—no one else wanted to come anywhere near me. Eventually, Cordy, looking like a frogess in her swamp-green gown, invited everyone into the dining room, where there was no escaping the judgy stares cast my way. The upside was that I was so distracted by my lingering rage that they hardly affected me.
Theo better be right, and I better never see Maddie again. Because there was no way I’d be able to stop myself from attacking her. From ripping into her, tearing off entire chunks of her American Doll disguise to expose the ugly creature lurking beneath.
My fingers still trembled with unspent anger, and I shoved them beneath the dinner table to keep anyone from noticing. The nerve of that bitch, to stand there, looking me in the eye and lying through her teeth. It’d felt like an out-of-body experience, and even now, part of me still couldn’t believe it had happened. Who behaved that way? Who was that fucking manipulative and soulless?
A larger part of me recognized the behavior because I’d witnessed it from Maddie when we were younger—in smaller, less horrifying situations, when she tried to sway things in her favor. They’d been red-flag moments, but I’d brushed them off because her parents owned a media company, and she’d had PR training from a young age. She was just doing what she’d
been taught, I’d told myself.
God, I’d been so stupid.
The chatter in the room seemed to fade as my thoughts backtracked to that awful night seven years ago. I would never forget what it felt like to kneel on the sidewalk next to Runa, watching Maddie flee into the darkness, her phone pressed to her ear as she sobbed, “Mommy,” like she
was a child instead of a grown-ass adult, leaving me alone to deal with her crimes.
Theo’s hand landed on my thigh, large enough to completely envelop it.
He squeezed, once, and then his scent filled my nose as he leaned in, something bright and clean, completely at odds with his personality.
“Fix your face,” he murmured, lips brushing my temple. “You look like you’re trying to set people on fire with your mind.”
Now that was a superpower I would kill for.
He pulled away, and I took a sip of water to dilute the mounting acid in my stomach. Now that my adrenaline was starting to fade, I could tell I was going to pay for tonight’s events. I’d have to break out the big guns when I got home and numb myself with the only heavy-duty pain med that, so far, hadn’t worsened my symptoms.
Theo laughed at something my dad said, and I glanced sideways. From looking at him, you’d never know he didn’t belong. That he hadn’t grown up in this world. As I’d feared earlier, he was a near-perfect mimic of manners and behaviors. Hell, even his facial expressions fit. That borderline lazy, self-satisfied grin. The quirk of his brow as he lobbed a comment at my mom. My gaze fell to his hands, and I noticed how perfectly he held his fork and knife.
Agreeing to help him entrap some of these people was probably going to blow up in my face—with Theo, I was more convinced than ever that nothing was quite what it seemed—but right now, I couldn’t drum up any worry or regret.
Instead, a sense of righteousness had settled over me. It was a relief to stop fighting him, to stop flailing and grasping at straws as I tried to find some way out of this. Choosing to actively take part felt so much better, and that had less to do with the path of least resistance and more to do with the fact that I might finally get to act on the anger I’d harbored all my life. To have an outlet for it instead of turning it inward like I’d done my entire childhood. To reclaim my agency, stepping out of the role of victim and into that of the aggressor.
Sure, I was probably undoing half a decade of growth achieved through hard work and therapy, but you know what? None of that self-improvement felt half as rewarding as the promise of revenge. And maybe that was wrong, maybe it made me a terrible person, but I didn’t really care.
I was on some vigilante shit now, and it felt good.
I’d have to thank Runa later for helping me put together the list I could now act upon. I was even a little grateful to Maddie, because she’d just made it clear that she would never, ever change. That she’d never be a better person. The more she got away with, the worse she’d become, and I knew for damn sure that she was far from the worst monster in this crowd.
Runa was right. So was Theo. If the law wouldn’t make them pay for
what they’d done, someone else should.
“Lobster puff?” a voice said.
I turned to see a server leaning in with a tray full of appetizers.
“Oh, no thank you,” I said. “Actually, could you have the chef make me a peanut butter and banana sandwich? On plain white bread?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Thank you.” My stomach was starting to grumble, which was bad. An empty stomach meant an acid-filled stomach, and I needed to put something in it. Soon.
“Tell me you’re going to eat more than that,” Theo said, his tone almost pleading, and for some reason it felt like the words After what I told you in the car hung heavy between us.
“She can’t,” my mother answered him. “She’s in a flare.”
“Mom,” I hissed, leaning forward to shoot a warning look at her. At least no one else had heard her. Between the servers offering food and the innumerable conversations surrounding us, her voice hadn’t carried more than a few feet.
She waved me off, her focus on Theo. “She refuses to tell anyone when they hit, but I know the signs. Get your phone out, and I’ll tell you what to watch for so you can recognize them.”
I glanced past her, silently begging Dad for help.
“Georgie,” he said, a note of rebuke in his tone.
“No,” Mom told him. “Theo needs to know these things so he can take care of her when she refuses to take care of herself.”
The last part was said with a scathing look in my direction, and I leaned back in my seat, knowing this was an argument I wouldn’t win.
Theo gave me a curious glance as he pulled out his phone, and I assumed he was looking me over for signs of sickness.
That was the thing about a lot of chronic illnesses; they were invisible to the naked eye. Most of the time, I presented as a relatively healthy, albeit skinny woman, even when I was in a flare, because over the years, I’d learned to mask my pain, which wasn’t uncommon among the chronically ill. I couldn’t speak for everyone, but for me, I just didn’t see a reason to show outward signs of discomfort. What was the point? It wasn’t like there was anything anybody could do to ease my suffering, and talking about it was the last thing I wanted. Dwelling on it too much could spiral into fixation, which could raise my stress and result in prolonged symptoms.
So, despite my mother’s prodding, I had no plans to announce when I was in a flare. And I did take care of myself. Most of the time. But it wasn’t like the entire world stopped for me when my illness acted up. I had to keep working, had gotten damn good at managing my symptoms through it, was even better at avoiding anything that triggered it.
The only reason I was in a flare now was because of Theo.
I glanced over to see him taking notes while Mom talked, and the sight made me start my breathing exercises to keep from freaking out. She thought she was helping me, but she was doing the opposite. Most people would probably learn about my gastritis and shut up about food, but Theo?
Despite our tentative truce, I worried he wouldn’t be able to resist his assholic tendencies and torment me over all the things I couldn’t eat or drink instead.
My gaze strayed toward my untouched champagne. I hadn’t had a drink in years because alcohol was one of my biggest triggers, and I had never hated that fact more than right now. I wished I could down it and take the edge off my anxiety. Even with my meds, I was struggling. Seeing all these people’s judgy faces, being back in this world, it brought up a lot of ugly memories. Not just that night with Runa, but all the stupid things I’d done at parties exactly like this one. All the reasons why I’d felt the need to numb myself in the first place.
Beside me, Theo tucked his phone back into his jacket pocket and sent me an unreadable look. Our eyes caught, and I had a flashback to the study and the low, masculine grunt he’d let out when I’d bit him. It sounded like he’d liked it.
“How are the lobster puffs?” I asked, dropping my eyes to his plate.
He’d taken three of them and had already eaten one.
“Delicious,” he said, forking another into his mouth. “Would you like something other than water?” His voice was just loud enough for Mom to hear, and from her small smile, she must have thought he was already looking out for me.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, lifting my glass and taking another sip.
The rest of dinner crawled by, every course dragged out because Cordelia insisted on explaining the intricacies of each dish, the rarity of the ingredients, how long they took to prep, their remote source. As much as I hated the woman, she knew how to throw a party, and the smells wafting off some of the plates were so delicious that I started salivating, even after finishing the first half of my sandwich. I hesitated to eat the second part, waiting to see how it would settle. Gastritis made your stomach swell so much that you had to be careful. Consume too much, and you were in for a world full of hurt, or destined to throw up, and I didn’t relish the idea of having to race out of here with my hand over my mouth.
From the way Theo kept glancing my way, I knew he was getting antsy about me finishing my food, and it was in that moment I realized something: We were each other’s perfect tormentors. Theo had what appeared to be a compulsive need to see me eat. Meanwhile, I literally couldn’t, and him fixating on it was starting to stress me out. If I’d been a religious person, or had any belief in fate, I’d say that we’d been paired together as punishment for our past sins.
Finally, dessert was served, and I was forced to sit in tortured silence while the people around me dug into delicate-looking soufflés, highly intricate patisserie, and an absolutely decadent flourless torte.
“Not even a single bite?” Theo asked, leaning in.
I shook my head, a sudden, unexpected swell of self-pity overwhelming me. Would I ever be able to live a normal life again? Or was I doomed to an existence of having to go without? It felt so fucking unfair that everyone else could drink and eat to their heart’s content without ever having to worry about how much it might hurt, while I was forced to subsist on the blandest diet imaginable and was still in pain.
Theo must have seen something of my true feelings on my face, because he straightened up instead of making whatever shitty comment he’d prepared.
After dinner, we retired to the ballroom, where Cordelia gave a big speech about supporting a great cause. Unlike most fundraisers, Cordy didn’t plan an auction or any other fanfare. She simply asked guests to get out their checkbooks and donate.
“She didn’t even mention her husband,” Theo said, his voice low.
“I told you she hated him.”
The tables here were smaller, round, and didn’t have assigned seating, so people sat wherever they wanted. We were still with Mom and Dad, but now Richard had joined us, along with the Herdwicks.
“You two planning on dancing?” Richard asked.
We glanced his way. Shit. I didn’t know if Theo could dance. A big, cumbersome guy like him?
“I’m still working up the courage to ask her,” he said.
Richard tipped his glass in our direction. “You should do it while you can. None of us are promised a tomorrow.”
Mom swiveled toward me, expression wry. “With that bleak declaration, how could you say no?”
Richard chuckled with good humor. He was used to my mom’s bullshit.
Theo’s eyes met mine in challenge, and then the bastard offered me his hand. Goddamn it, I did not want to dance with him. Three minutes plastered together while a room full of people watched in not-so-silent judgment? Pass.
“There’s hardly anyone on the dance floor,” I said, looking for an escape route.
“That’s only because they’re waiting for a good-looking young couple to lure them out there,” Mom said, giving my shoulder a light shove.
I sent her a look that promised retribution.
She grinned, seemingly having the time of her life torturing one of her children.
Theo used my distraction to slip his hand into mine and pull me up. Oh, god. This was happening.
“Smile, Sunshine,” he said, leading me from the table.
I gave him my brightest smile, talking through my teeth. “Call me that again, and I will stomp on all your toes.”
His own smile ratcheted up a notch. “Do it, and I’ll return the favor.”
Inwardly, I winced, imagining all that weight coming down on my feet.
He led me to the middle of the dance floor and eased me toward him. I focused my eyes on his to distract myself from the fact that we were now the center of attention.
The music started. Annoyingly, Theo pulled me into an effortless waltz, practically gliding over the floor, and suddenly my attention went into not fucking up the steps. It had been a long time since I’d done this, and I was out of practice.
“Was dancing together really necessary?” I asked, my smile still fixed in place.
“Yes,” Theo answered, half-turning us when we neared the band, who were playing some slower classical number I couldn’t identify. “I’m still trying to worm my way into everyone’s good graces. Stop being so dramatic about it.” He eyed me. “Or are you worried that being this close to me might overwhelm you with lust and you’ll try to grope me in public?”
“You have the most punchable face I have ever seen,” I said, my tone saccharine.
His eyes sparked. “I am begging you to try it. I would love an excuse to put you in a headlock.”
My expression remained warm, but my tone was frigid. “So much for not being an asshole anymore.”
“What can I say?” He grinned. “You bring it out of me.”
I grinned back. “Have you been overdoing it on whey protein? Because your breath smells like milk farts.”
“Better than the scent of battery acid you keep exhaling.”
That shut me up, because it might be the truth.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
In answer, he spun me away from him so fast I almost went whirling across the dance floor like a runaway top. Only his death grip on my hand stopped me. With a yank, I was spinning toward him again, stopping when my back slammed into his chest. His free hand clamped down on my shoulder, keeping me there while we swayed to the music for a few beats.
“Again,” he said, all the warning I was given before he spun me out once more.
This time, I flowed into the movement, actually allowing him to lead me, even though I’d rather chew glass. With a gentler tug, he pulled me
forward. I pressed a palm to his shoulder, my other finding his like they were magnets. His free hand went to my waist, so big I felt his fingers span halfway across my back. Instead of fighting him, I sank into his grip, my long years of dance finally overcoming my discomfort. My limbs became loose, steps sure, and soon we were floating across the floor.
“Where’d you learn to dance like this?” I asked, because as much as I
hated to admit it, he was a good lead.
“Why? Poor kids shouldn’t know how?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Stop putting words in my mouth.” My face was starting to hurt from holding this smile through my mounting annoyance. “What happened to our truce?”
“Fine.” The word came out clipped, and I knew he was struggling as much as I was, despite his outward appearance of calm. “What did you mean by that comment, then?”
“I just assumed an obvious jock like you was too busy bench-pressing farm animals to take up ballroom dancing.”
“One of my exes was a dance instructor,” he said. “Sometimes, he’d ask me to help with demonstrations. And yes, I am a jock, which means it’s easy for me to pick up anything that involves moving my body, including this.”
The song was coming to a close, and Theo spun me again, slower this time, allowing me to fully extend, my free arm rising, hand loose like my ballet instructors had taught, toe pointed, neck elongated. A soft tug had me twirling back toward him, and he passed me from one arm to the next before dropping into a half squat and dipping me over his knee.
We paused there, chests heaving, both of us breathing harder than we should have been. Our eyes met, clashed, and I begged myself not to think about the feeling of him pinning me to the study door. Yes, I hated this man, but I was starting to realize that hatred didn’t keep me from wanting to fuck him. Violently. Forcing him to admit that he was attracted to me, too, and I wasn’t the only one stuck in this hellscape of unwanted need.
What I felt toward him was less about desire and more about dominance, about winning whatever this sick game was. I’d even stop myself from coming, just to prove that I could get him off, but he was too inadequate to give me the same pleasure.
He bumped his nose against mine. “You have shark eyes again. Are you thinking of killing or kiss—”
A loud whistle cut through the air, and then cheering.
I tore my gaze from Theo’s to see the other dancers ringing the edge of the floor, a few of them clapping for us. Oh, Jesus. How long had we been the only ones dancing? How long had we been the center of attention?
And why the fuck hadn’t I noticed?
“Smile, Sunshine,” Theo said, hauling me upright.
Some asshole tapped a knife against their glass, and then the sound of tinkling spread throughout the room. No. Absolutely not. I was not going to kiss this man in front of a crowd full of—oh, fuck—Theo was spinning me again, dipping me over his arm, my back arching as his free hand cradled my cheek. His face filled my vision, closing in, and then his lips were on mine, warm and firm, there one second and gone the next as he lifted me back to standing.
“Take a bow,” he said beneath his breath.
I sank into a ballet curtsy as he bent forward at the waist. The clapping intensified.
And then I hurried off the dance floor, not bothering to check if Theo followed. I had to get away, just needed one goddamn minute to myself to recover from whatever the hell that had been.
