Page 90 of On Edge

Ten minutes later, she hurries back, panting as if she just ran a marathon, and offers the shopping bag to me. Inside is an orange box with a black dust bag containing a sleek pair of designer shoes, crimson soles gleaming like a deadly promise. I’m too scared to touch them, but the real shock comes when Troy unexpectedly kneels at my feet.

He pulls my boots off, one by one, making my breath catch. Then slides a shoe onto each foot, his dark green eyes holding mine captive the entire time. Like I’m Cinderella, and he’s the dangerous villain pretending he’s a prince.

“Perfect fit,” he drawls, his fingers trailing fire across my ankles…

“I…can’t walk in these.”

Troy raises a brow. “What? Even worse than you do already?”

“I don’t usually wear heels. I tend to fall over.”

He exhales a long breath, takes my hand, and pulls me upright. “Then I suggest you don’t let go of my hand all night.”

And he doesn’t, leading me toward the restaurant with his fingers locked around mine.

The restaurant is triangular, with floor-to-ceiling glass on all sides, suspended above London like a crystal cage. Conversations hush as we enter, and then we’re surrounded on all sides by congratulations, introductions, and business cards pressed into Troy’s free hand. Through it all, his grip on me never loosens.

Someone hands me champagne. A woman compliments my dress. A man asks about wedding dates. Troy’s thumb traces absent circles on my mound of Venus, and I can’t tell if it’s possessive or unconscious.

Or just making my heart skip beats on purpose.

“Um,” I murmur after twenty minutes of small talk. “Troy, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Again?” Troy’s eyes narrow, but then he releases my hand. “Fine, but come straight back and try not to fall over.”

The ladies’ room is mercifully empty when I get there. It’s all marble and gold fixtures as I set down my champagne and splash cold water on my wrists, trying to slow my racing heart.

Taking out my own phone, I sit on a stool, mainly because I can’t feel my toes anymore, and try to make a call, but the signal is terrible. Why is it always so bad? Instead, I send Laine a message.

Any luck with the research?

…

She starts to reply and then stops. There’s a tightness in my chest when nothing pings back, but then I let out a breath. I’m not surprised. Laine is probably busy with Jaxon.

Suddenly, I feel very alone.

With a slight tremble, I smooth my hair and dab the run mascara from under my eyes. Then I root for my lip gloss, carefully reapplying it once I find it. I should go back to the party. It is my engagement party after all. However, it would be best if I didn’t show my face looking flushed and tear-stained. Troy might question it.

But the door opens behind me.

In the mirror, a woman in her thirties slips inside.

“Sage Lovett?” Her voice is low and urgent as she makes eye contact.

“Yes?” I turn around.

She reaches into her blazer and teases out a press badge tucked inside.Fleetwater Gazette, the same paper Tobias works for.

“I need to be quick.” Her eyes dart to the door and then back to me. “I’m looking for my colleague, Tobias Ragg.”

My stomach drops.

“I don’t?—”

“He missed several deadlines last week. I knew he was researching something about Grayfleet Hall and was on his way to interview your fiancé, Troy Severin.” She pulls out her phone, shows me Tobias grinning, thumbs up, in the helicopter. “He sent me this, so I know he went.”

“I…” The walls feel too close.