Page 51

The party has already begun when Matthew and I arrive.

I glide into the clubhouse on his arm—on my fiancé’s arm—like we own the joint.

I’m convinced there’s a bullseye on my left hand beneath the glove, but nobody glances at it twice.

All attention is focused on the DaMolin rubies dripping from my neck.

I’m immensely popular with the guests at the ball.

Everyone wants to see the reclusive rubies, drool over them, dance with them.

I’m separated from Matthew again and again to take to the outdoor dance floor with donors, friends, and strangers alike, but I always drift back to his side as soon as I’m free, a pair of magnets snapping together.

“Is it finally my turn for a dance?” he asks after our fifth separation.

Not that I’m counting. Not that I’m counting every minute I spend apart from him tonight. That doesn’t sound like me at all.

I move with Matthew to the beat of the band.

They’ve set up an outdoor stage in the central courtyard of the club.

Bejeweled partygoers step and twirl beneath lamplight and low-swooping moths while friends cluster both around and above, leaning over porch railings, smoking cigars, swapping gossip, and sipping endless refills of whiskey and gin.

As expected, the Jekyll Island Club would never be so gauche as to fall victim to a matter as commonplace as Prohibition.

In a rather impressive display of audaciousness at the start of the evening, Johnnie Rockefeller and his new bride poured out Pol Roger, bottle after bottle, over two towering pyramids of crystal glassware, creating twin champagne fountains at the edge of the dance floor.

High color graced the new Mrs. Rockefeller’s cheeks, and a raucous giggle erupted from her lips as the foam overflowed with abandon.

Merriment abounds in every corner of the club, and Matthew spins and dips me across the floor until I’m laughing and dizzy.

The stars swirl and blur overhead with every twirl, sweeping me into the infinite expanse of the universe, which has never felt nearer than tonight.

One song fades into a second. Matthew pulls me close; I tuck my head on his shoulder and sway.

My gaze lazily peruses the party, noting the discreet presence of several well-dressed security officials interwoven through the crowd.

They sip clear drinks—an old trick, likely tonic water and lime—as they try to blend in, but their stiff posture and surveying eyes don’t fool me.

I’m surprised there are so few, perhaps only three or four.

Their presence seems more cursory than truly threatening.

Paul was right, I begrudgingly admit. This party is carte blanche.

Matthew and I complete another slow revolution.

Harry Astor appears on the veranda, elbows propped on the railing as he chats with a petite redhead.

I snort lightly when I notice a bruise above his eye, right where Matthew hit him.

I look around for a few more minutes, but I don’t see Florence or Daniel anywhere, though I’m certain they’re here together.

Florence is chasing her own engagement ring, and according to Matthew, she’ll be taking her bounty within the month.

I do locate a Mellie-free Ethan, hovering at the bottom of the porch stairs.

He waves cheerfully, sloshing whiskey over the rim of a tumbler.

“Your brother is watching us.” I point him out to Matthew.

“Let him watch. It’s good for him to be on the sidelines. Healthy.” He bends down and kisses me.

When I pull back, I spot something over Matthew’s shoulder that wipes the relaxed smile from my face.

I stiffen as I meet Paul’s eyes across the party.

He raises an eyebrow, then returns his attention to the statuesque woman he’s conversing with.

My hand flies to my neck as I realize I haven’t been to the bathroom yet. I lost track of time.

“Matthew, would you excuse me? I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

“Certainly.” He moves to escort me, but I shrug him off, weaving through the crowd with single-minded determination. Ethan waylays me at the base of the stairs.

“Katarina.” He slips his arm through mine and glides up to the veranda with me. “How are you? Having a pleasant evening?”

“I’m exceedingly well, Ethan,” I reply. “Whereabouts is Melinda? You haven’t lost her, have you?”

“Quite the opposite.” Ethan nods to the dance floor where Mellie prances and spins happily in the arms of a tuxedoed gentleman. “She’s quite the dame, your farmgirl friend,” Ethan teases. “Her dance card is full.”

“You don’t say?” My eyebrows raise.

“Indeed, arriving on a DaMolin arm will do that for a lady. Speaking of, you and Matthew make quite the pair,” he says. “A matching set, perhaps? The grapevine is positively abuzz with speculation, and it got me thinking…what are your plans when you depart from Telfair?”

“My plans?” I repeat, steering Ethan into the club. “I’m not certain what you mean.”

“Please.” He reaches for my gloved hand. My left hand. “Don’t insult me, Kat. I’m no simp.”

I glance down at my ring finger, then do a quick scan of our surroundings. There are too many people around, so I grab his arm and pull him into an empty sitting room.

“Relax, Mrs. DaMolin. I’m not going to spill the beans,” Ethan assures me. “But it wasn’t hard to figure out. My brother’s been grinning like an idiot all night. I’m happy for you both. Does anyone know?”

“No. He only asked a few hours ago. ”

He smiles. “I knew he would. Everyone else here should know too, honestly. The DaMolin rubies don’t come out of the vault very often. And they’re only worn by the women we choose.”

“What if it’s not a woman you want to choose,” I whisper, eyes full of significance.

A flicker of pain crosses Ethan’s face, and I reach for him.

“Ethan,” I begin, “about earlier today…with Harry—”

“Don’t, Kat.” He pulls back. “Whatever you think you’ve seen, whatever you think you understand, I’m asking you to forget. Because you can’t possibly even begin to understand. Not ever. I am the firstborn son of the DaMolin publishing dynasty. There are rules.”

“Hang the rules! You don’t have to stay here, Ethan, in a world that keeps you locked in a rigid little box. There are places you can go, out there, where you can be anonymous and live your own life. Any kind of life you choose.”

He shakes his head. “There’s no way I would abandon my family, Katarina. I’m going to do the job I was raised to do, and I’m going to do it damn well. It will have to be enough.”

“And if it’s not?” I tilt my head. “If it’s not enough, Ethan?”

“It will be. My family writes headlines, we don’t feature in them. I don’t plan on repeating history.”

“It just doesn’t seem fair—”

“Life isn’t fair, Kat,” Ethan replies. “Don’t let your miraculous ascent from the Catacombs allow you to forget that.

It’s one of the things I like best about you.

Please don’t lose that when you marry into this family, into this world.

Be my ally, my friend , from the inside.

God knows, we can use some forward thinkers in here to freshen up the place. ”

I nod, my heart tight in my throat.

“I’m glad you’re here, Kat. I’m glad Matthew found you. He’s lucky in a way not all of us can even dream to be. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need another drink.” He tips his empty glass. “A stiff one. ”

With that, he takes his leave. I shake the conversation from my mind and push deeper into the club until I arrive at the powder room.

I slip inside and twist the lock. Then I reach behind my neck to work the clasp on the DaMolin rubies. I sigh quietly with relief when it gives, releasing the weight from my neck. I drop the necklace into my right pocket, exchanging it for the forgery.

As I secure the Trojan horse around my neck, I gaze into the gilded mirror.

A doe-eyed beauty with flushed cheeks in a black gown stares back at me.

I look closely, trying to find the girl from the Catacombs who Ethan just referenced, but I’m not sure I can.

She’s there and gone in mere heartbeats.

There in a flash of resolve in my eyes as I straighten my spine, gone when a genteel smile rises on my lips.

There in the steadiness of my fingers as I fan out the counterfeit necklace, gone when I reach for the door.

When I rejoin Matthew on the dance floor, my face is smooth, demeanor unruffled.

As we revolve and spin, my eyes flick around the room, this way and that until I spot him.

He’s leaning sideways, casual and comfortable, in a doorway to the clubhouse.

His eyes are locked on me, watching as I dance in Matthew’s arms beneath the stars.

When Paul sees me looking, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his silver cigarette lighter.

He thumbs it twice, then drops it back into his pocket.

I give him the barest of nods, recognizing the signal, but I don’t rush; I linger with Matthew for another song.

Only when the band pauses for a break do I extricate myself.

“I told Constance Pulitzer I would make a few rounds with her. Do you mind?”

“Really?” Matt steps back and scans the room, presumably looking for her. “Shall I join you?”

“No, of course not. It’ll be shoptalk with the other gals. You’d be terribly bored. I’m sure I won’t be long, just five or ten minutes. ”

“Okay.” He looks quizzically at me but gets distracted when he spies a small cluster of gentlemen, Daniel included, waving him to the sidelines of the dance floor.

“Go on.” I shove him toward his friends. “I’ll be right back, and I’ll come find you.”