Page 98

She shakes her head and huffs a laugh, eyes sparkling as she nods toward my phone. “Back on subject. What has you grinning like you just won some sort of lottery, and why do you want to know what I’m up to tomorrow night?”

“I’m taking you to another party.”

“Whose party?”

Instead of answering, I tug her to me, kissing the hell out of her before I drag my fangs over her lower lip in a sharp-tender tease that makes her gasp.

“Let me surprise you?”

For a moment, a cloud of something like doubt, like hesitation or displeasure or any number of things I absolutely don’t want to see there, darkens her expression.

It sends a corresponding pang of worry into the center of my chest. Did I overstep? Is this not what she wants, not what we’re supposed to be to one another—going to parties, fraternizing outside the case, doing anything beyond losing ourselves to pleasure in the shadows of this room?

But she covers it quickly, collapsing into me with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Surprise me, then.”

“Good,” I tell her, and though I’m pleased with the acceptance, I don’t forget that look or stop wondering what it might mean.

But she seems ready enough to let it go.

Ophelia swings one leg over my hips, pulling herself up to straddle me. She catches both my wrists in her hands and presses them into the pillows beneath me, a wicked grin settling on her lips.

“Now, about those handcuffs…”

31

Ophelia

Standing in front of the mirror in Cas’s bedroom, staring with wide, disbelieving eyes, I try to bring myself back down to earth with a few deep breaths and firm reality checks.

I’m going to another party with Cas.

Just a party, that’s it.

Like last night, I shouldn’t read anything more into it.

Tonight, however, feels like it’s going to be a much bigger deal than Martin’s little gathering. Not only because Cas has been keeping it a secret since he told me about it last night, but because he insisted we both dress to the nines. He’ll be in a tux, and I’ll be in, well… I look in the mirror again, stomach swooping as I try to rein in my racing thoughts.

Despite my best efforts, my mind wanders briefly down a path it absolutely shouldn’t.

Is this what it would be like, being with Casimir?Reallybeing with him? Fancy gowns and mysterious parties? Being ravished by him, cared for by him, living in this impossible world of his?

It’s probably too much, accepting all of this.

No, scratch that, it’s definitely too much.

I still don’t have any idea where we’re going, but I know it feels very, very much like a date, and way too extravagant for… whatever we are.

Cas even paid for the dress I’m wearing tonight.

Despite what must have been an hour of protesting, I eventually gave into his logic that since he invited me and insisted on the surprise, it made sense for him to provide the attire as well.

I’m not sure if I really believe that, but I’m only human, after all. When he handed over a black Amex and let me know he’d contacted a friend at one of Boston’s most exclusive, upscale boutiques for a last-minute appointment, I’d been powerless to refuse.

Midway through my appointment at the boutique, he texted me the details for another appointment, this one at a salon to get my hair and nails and makeup done. Again, I shot back an immediate denial, but by whatever powers of charm and persuasion he possesses—powers I’m not altogether certain aren’t actual magick—I agreed to that as well.

My dress was waiting for me here when I got back from the salon, tailored to perfection and no doubt racking up an enormous bill for the rush order. All of it is so excessive, but looking at myself now, I also can’t deny two simple truths.

First, I look fucking incredible.