My Cousin Mocked My 5 Years As A Wallflower — Until The City’s Wealthiest Man Walked Past Her To Me
Part 2
He filled every single line on that small card.
The soft scratch of lead on paper sounded shockingly loud in the silence.
When he was finally done, he handed the card back to me.
The room went completely, terrifyingly silent.
Forks stilled on porcelain plates at the supper table in the next room over.
Silk fans froze half open in mid-air.
Even the hired musicians seemed to hold their bows directly above the strings, waiting.
Megan’s face lost every single drop of color.
Diane’s mouth parted slightly and stayed exactly that way.
Someone near the massive fireplace dropped a glove, and it hit the floor with a small, helpless sound.
Craig did not look at any of them.
He kept his intense, dark gaze entirely on me.
He stated, in a voice clear enough for all nearby to hear, that I would stand up with him tonight.
No one dared to challenge him.
He offered his large hand.
I stared at it for one utterly impossible beat.
I felt heat rushing into my cheeks and a strange, deep hollowness in my chest.
This was not a gentle rescue.
Rescue was soft and warm, and it invited gratitude.
This felt far harder than that, like being truly seen by a lantern raised entirely too near.
I placed my trembling hand in his.
His glove was cool, his grip remarkably steady and light.
We walked straight to the center of the polished floor.
The very first dance passed in an absolute blur of complex pattern and shallow breath.
Other couples opened wide to let us pass through.
People watched with a deep hunger that made the back of my neck prickle uncomfortably.
The room smelled of melting wax, nervous sweat, rich flowers, and deep scandal.
When the set turned and I came near Megan’s place by the wall, I saw her smile fixed too tightly, like cracked paint over damp wood.
Craig danced perfectly, not with flashy movements, but with absolute certainty.
He spoke very little as we moved.
When the room’s frantic whispering grew too loud, he simply asked if I could bear one more dance.
I told him I had borne five long years.
He claimed every single dance just as he had promised.
A cotillion, a lively country dance, a waltz that made three older ladies nearly faint into their fans.
He did not leave between them to flatter another girl or take any advice.
He remained exactly at my side.
When a bold lady tried to draw him off with loud laughter and practiced ease, he plainly stated he was engaged.
After the final exhausting set, Megan swept near with flushed cheeks and eyes bright with sheer fury.
She murmured that I had played it neatly, and that sitting like a shadow long enough had finally earned me pity.
Before I could form an answer, Craig’s voice came from directly behind us.
He told her it meant exactly that he chose me, and his tone made the air around us turn instantly cold.
Megan dropped a frantic curtsy and retreated without another single word.
He then turned to me and asked if I preferred a quieter room at the end of the long gallery.
I had danced twelve dances under the prying eyes of the entire city, and the evening already lay far beyond any rule.
I followed him into the dim, cool corridor lined with old, dusty portraits.
I stopped by a tall window, my heart still racing, and asked him why he had done this.
Why this specific room, why tonight, why me?
Could I trust a man who chose a partner based on how well she sat in total silence, or was this just another kind of gilded trap?
