conceal his rough and brutish physique. The set of his shoulders, the way he walks—everything about him says “street.”
By contrast, Sasha Rybakov looks like she just put her name on a wing in the Guggenheim. She’s elegant and refined, her blonde hair sleek and shining, her pale blue gown in faultless good taste.
“Cat!” she says, waving and coming over at once. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than ever.” I grin.
Snow claps Dean on the shoulder. “Glad to see you taking a night off.” Then to me, “And this must be Cat. How come it’s taken me this long to meet you?”
“I’m not a good enough fighter to be in your class,” I say.
“I don’t know about that.” Snow smiles, closing his massive hand gently around mine. “Dean looks beaten into submission. The man’s wearing a bow-tie.”
“So would you be, if I could find any that fit that neck,” Sasha laughs.
Dean doesn’t seem to mind Snow’s teasing. In fact, he puts his arm around me and says, “Cat’s a brilliant programmer. And an artist.”
I struggle not to let my jaw fall to the floor.
Is Dean . . . bragging about me?
“I dunno about brilliant—” I stammer.
Snow says, “You must be. Dean’s nothing if not honest.”
A smile passes between Dean and Snow, of understanding, and perhaps a little embarrassment on Dean’s side.
Then Sasha says, “I hope you two have a wonderful night.”
She gives my arm a friendly squeeze, and she and Snow carry on, to be waylaid a moment later by the Chancellor.
Awkward silence falls between Dean and me. I don’t want to presume anything, but that felt a lot like Dean introducing me as his girlfriend.
Grabbing my hand, Dean says, quickly, “Should we dance?”
“I’d love to.”
He pulls me into the space already crowded with swaying students.
Crimson and Clover — Joan Jett
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I look into Dean’s face and I can’t believe how open and relaxed he looks, his arms around me, his body swaying us both with that effortless grace he possesses.
He’s smiling.
Dean doesn’t smile very often. When he does, it makes him handsome on a level that should probably be illegal. So good-looking that it honestly scares me. It makes me wonder how I can be dancing in the arms of this boy who’s always seemed more god than man to me.
“What are you thinking?” I ask him, half-fearful.
“I was thinking how different you look. You’re fucking gorgeous, Cat. The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, come on—” I’m personally acquainted with several of the actual most gorgeous women at this school.
“You are!” Dean says ferociously. “Cat, you came here a scared kid. And now look at you—I wouldn’t even recognize you. You’re dark. Devious. And absolutely fucking stunning.”
I bite the edge of my lip.
I’m not used to thinking of devious as a compliment. But it’s clear Dean means it that way.
And in truth . . . the qualities I aspire to have indeed changed since I came to Kingmakers.
I’m not trying to be humble or gentle anymore. I don’t believe in “turn the other cheek.”
Maybe I do want to be devious.
Maybe I already am.
I look up at Dean, and he looks down at me. The music spirals down on us, crimson and clover, over and over . . .
I know Dean is twirling me around, but I feel like the room is spinning around us instead, as if we’re the center of the world, the absolute axis.
Dean takes my face in his hands and kisses me.
We’ve kissed a thousand times in sex.
But never once like this, out in the open . . . as two people, falling in love.
17
Dean
Christmas morning I lie in my bed, thinking of the night before.
I danced with Cat long past midnight.
I held her in my arms, and spun her around, and dipped her, and never took my eyes off that beautiful face.
Cat had never looked more captivating.
That scarlet silk gown clung to her figure, shimmering in the firelight. The pendant rested on her collarbone like a throbbing heart. Her hair lay in sleek shining waves, her eyes looked up at me like burning coals.
She honestly intimidated me.
Cat has changed so much, and I don’t think she’s finished.
I feel like I witnessed the birth of a star, a creature that will burn brighter and brighter until she eclipses us all.
Our agreement is over.
I no longer feel like I own her.
But I still want to.
When the party ended, I walked her back to the Undercroft.
I put my coat around her bare shoulders, because the