When the orchestra starts to play the next piece, we begin to move and I’m lost to everything and every thought. It’s magical and lovely. We’re back in Coney Island. On the beach. In my bedroom. The week without him and what’s been happening between us since he came back becomes an ugly nightmare.
Closing my eyes momentarily, I drift across the room in the arms of a man who’s holding me as though I am something precious and worthy. It’s a heady sensation. Opening my eyes, I find him looking at me. I feel like the most beautiful woman in the room, in the world. It’s him I see. It’s his hands, his body I feel. It’s his smell that swirls in my head, inebriating my senses so full of him. This isn’t the stranger from early in the evening. This is my Lawrence, the man who held me in his arms while I cried—my friend.
He leans down and places a gentle kiss on my forehead, so different from before, so full of something that I’m afraid to understand. “I’m sorry.”
The way he’s looking at me as his voice carries unsaid words spreads warmth in my chest, butterflies wildly ricocheting in my stomach. Maybe I’m a fool for believing him, but at this moment, I truly believe that he means it. Burying my face in his chest, I say, “I’m sorry, too.”
He stops dancing. “Look at me, Blaire.”
I lift my face as he cups my cheeks with both of his hands. Mesmerized by him, I raise my own and place them on top of his, asking softly, “What’s changed, Lawrence?”
“There’s no use. I’ve tried in vain to stifle my lo—” He pauses, his touch turning more possessive, more intense, more everything. “Don’t you see—can’t you see?” he entreats, deep passion vibrating in his voice.
Stunned, I shake my head. Lawrence smiles an achingly tender smile that makes me want to weep with its beauty. “I’m jealous of every man who looks at you. I’m jealous of every man who’s touched you before me. I want you to be mine and only mine.”
He leans down and presses his lips against mine, and in that one magical and thrilling kiss, Lawrence makes all the incessant noise inside me go away. My mind tells me that this is just another kiss of a man who doesn’t have a heart, but my own tells me to listen to his silence, to feel and understand what his body is trying to say—but it cannot be …
He pulls away. “My darling love,” he says hoarsely, “everything has changed.”
In a daze, as though I am dreaming and the whole thing is happening to someone else, I manage to say, “Lawrence … I—”
I stop when out of the corner of my eye I see a man removing his mask. Normally, I wouldn’t give him a second thought, but something about his air strikes me as familiar. Turning in his direction to get a better look, I see him talking to a blonde woman. After a moment that lasts forever, he smiles rakishly at her, lowers his face to the woman’s neck and kisses her there. My heart stops beating at the sight of him and I feel as though I’m going to be sick—jealousy and hurt punching me in the stomach.
As his lips land on her pale skin, Ronan raises his gaze and looks directly into my eyes.
“IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT? You look very pale.”
“No, I’m okay. Don’t worry … I just … excuse me.” I let go of Lawrence and leave him standing on the dance floor as I rush out of the ballroom. I run past angry guests and waiters trying not to drop trays full of champagne and other delicacies. I run and don’t stop until I’m outside the house and in the back garden away from Ronan, Lawrence, and the pain I’m drowning in.
Images of Ronan and that woman, his lips on her skin, kissing her intimately and knowingly, assault my mind. Dizzying jealousy hooks its sharp claws in my chest, making it close to impossible to see straight. I tell myself that I have no right to feel this way, that I chose to let him go, that it shouldn’t matter to me that he’s with her, but it doesn’t work. My brain tells me to forget him yet my heart, my stupid, treacherous heart won’t set me free of him.