Page 5

“Bad guys don’t usually play piano,” I told him.
“No?”
“You have to be honest to play the piano. Bad guys are rarely ever honest with themselves.”
His smile was a wilted one.
I tilted my head a little. “Do you ever feel like you wake up and realize that this isn’t the life you thought you’d have? That you just… resent it all?”
It was a guilty sort of question, one that sounded more like a confession. Words I’d never spoken aloud—never even let myself think—finally coming to light. Apparently, it was a night full of that. All because of this stranger.
He didn’t miss a beat. “All the time.”
“And what do you do about it?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
I hadn’t realized how deeply I’d been hoping for sage advice until he didn’t give it. The magic fix-all I’d assumed a stranger would impose on me was nothing more than a placebo. “Oh.”
“ButIdo nothing. You should do something.” He suddenly leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You should jump. Metaphorically. You should choose the cello. My final answer.”
Choose the cello. To leave my mother’s dream behind, to choose my own. He said it so simply. It was hiseye contact. Steady. Unbreaking. Invested. It lured me in, despite everything, the connection humming behind my ribs like a tangible thing. “Jumping isn’t exactly free.”
“Do what the smart people do. Marry rich.”
I snorted at his candidness and the boyish smirk on his face.Marry rich. “Maybe I should,” I told him, letting a small grin touch my own lips. It felt so natural to mimic his expression. His was a smile designed specifically to invite the other person to share in the amusement. “Know of any young heirs of marriageable age?”
“How much money we talking? Millionaire?”
“Please.” I scoffed. “Go big or go home. Billionaires only.”
The warm grin he wore split wide, and, for the first time all day, it was like the weight had wholly lifted off my chest. “I’ll look around for you. Surely, we can find one, hmm?”
The firepit’s hissing seemed to grow a little louder, as if it were chuckling with us.
“I don’t even know where I’d go,” I said finally, sighing at the weakening flame. “If I were to get away, I don’t know where I’d get awayto.”
“I hear California’s pretty nice. I might know a guy who lives out there, if you wanted to stop by and see him sometime.” He gave a little shrug. “Maybe you can both run away.”
A different sort of pressure pinched behind my ribs. This time not painful, but still all-consuming. “Depends.” I blinked at him expectantly. “Is he a billionaire?”
He tilted his head. “Not quite, but he hopes to be someday.”
“Hope—sounds like a scam if I ever heard one.”
This time, our laughter twined together, echoing in the night.
It was then that I saw the fine line that stretched between us, one side friendly banter, the other side flirtation. It’d been a long, long while since I’d flirted with anyone. I wasn’t sure I’d ever flirted in my life, at least not on purpose, but it felt so easy now. Maybe it was because of my counterpart, a beautiful stranger with a warm firelight flickering across his features. An unseasonably cold night that became warmer with the blaze and him across from it.
“I have a boyfriend,” I blurted. “I mean—I know I said that earlier. I just?—”
“I’m getting married.”
I froze, blinking, because out of everything he could’ve possibly said, that hadn’t been on the list. Something fell within me—something I refused to name.
“Not tomorrow, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he continued, as if there was nothing wrong. “I’m not the groom of the wedding of the century. I’d offer to shake your hand if it didn’t mean leaning into the fire. But I’m Aaron—Aaron Astor.”
And just like that, my already unsteady world tipped off its axis entirely. That drop of water that revived me earlier once more evaporated. I might not have recognized his face, but hisname. Around here, everyone knew that name. He wasn’t any random rich figure roaming the grounds—he was one of the most influential guests Alderton-Du Ponte had in years.