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“Do you enjoy it?”
His gaze flicks up to meet mine briefly before he looks away again. “You did your homework knowing who’s who,” he answers, ignoring my actual question. “You have a handy file lying around somewhere?”
I take another sip, enjoying the bubbles. “I spent today researching everyone I could. I said I’d help you out.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, rolling the glass between his palms. “You see anyone else I need to know about?”
I scan the room, spotting a few new faces I didn’t notice before, and point them out to him, his attention rapt on me when I glance back over at him.
It startles me for a moment, unsure if he’s ever looked at me so intently. “Is everything okay?”
“You’ve got this, um, eyelash on your face,” he explains, gesturing to my cheek.
I brush it away and he shakes his head, indicating I missed. I try again, but to no avail. “Can you get it?”
His brow knits. “You want me to… touch you?”
Jesus, what’s with him and touching? “Just really quick.”
He swallows, reaching out carefully, and my eyes drift shut as his finger rests featherlight on me for a moment, a wave of goosebumps running down my bare arms. “Got it.” He shows me his index finger with the eyelash, then presses his thumb tightly to it. “Oh, hey. Did you ever do this as a kid?” he asks, a soft smile on his face.
“Do what?”
He holds up his fingers. “You make a wish then guess which finger the eyelash is on. If you’re right, your wish comes true.”
“Is it a game?”
He tilts his head. “You’ve never heard of it? Maybe it was just something my mom did.” He lowers his hand. “Never mind.”
I grab his hand unthinkingly, his skin hot against mine before I realize what I’m doing, and let go. “No. I want to play. It sounds fun.”
He stares at where I grabbed him, letting out a breath. “Okay.” He brings his hand back up, the edge of his thumb and pointer white from being pressed together too long. “Pick a finger.”
I touch his thumb gently, and he reveals the eyelash stuck to the other finger. “Tough luck.”
“I’m used to it.” I bite my lip, realizing how grim that sounded. “So does that mean you get the wish?”
“No, it doesn’t really mean anything.” He wipes his hand on his pant leg, twirling his champagne flute in his other hand.
“Well, if you could make a wish, what would it be?”
He looks out at the crowd, lips twisting. “That you could have attended something like this with me before. It feels a lot better heading into a conversation knowing who a person is and something about them. Makes it seem like I know what the hell I’m doing.”
“I think you’ve got some major imposter syndrome going on. You handled them all like a pro.”
His mouth quirks up on one side, but he doesn’t respond.
“So you’ve always gone to events like this alone? No… dates?”
I searched online again but still couldn’t find any mention of a significant other. Sure, he’s been out of the country the last few years, but it’s not like they don’t have paparazzi overseas.
“Dad drilled it into our heads since before I can remember about being careful who you go out with. A picture lasts forever, and the people you’re photographed with reflect on you.”
“So you just, what? Never took pictures with anyone?”
He shrugs. “Archer and I decided we’d never date someone we weren’t serious about. It wasn’t worth the hassle having Dad lecture us about it.” His lips curve in a smile, seeming lost in memories. “Gabriel didn’t care, though. He was always getting reamed out.”
So that’s why I couldn’t find any info. “But how can you get serious with someone if you never go out?”