holding a closed, firm head with a glow about its petals. “The best flowers are the ones just about to bloom. They are untapped potential. A possibility, about to become.”
And this room was filled with so many beautiful possibilities. So many inevitabilities.
“It’s for you.”
The soft lull in Kallia’s head cleared. “What?”
“All of this.” Demarco came up beside her. “It was supposed to be for when you won. I didn’t know what else I could give you, until I stumbled upon this broken greenhouse one day.”
She was suddenly unable to hear what he was saying, or anything at all. Her skin prickled as she watched him glance across the room. The dim lighting of the greenhouse obscured half of his face, but she’d know it anywhere even without light. Darkly curious eyes, intent with their aim. Nose prominent, jaw sharp. Tawny skin that warmed under any bit of light.
Her chest tensed. Her heart, pounding out of control. Lifting out of place.
Stop, she whispered to it. Stop, stop, stop.
“Dance with me.”
After the longest pause imaginable, Demarco lifted a brow. “Now?”
Kallia nodded. The world spun around her, moving in too many directions all at once. The greenhouse, Demarco, the furious beat of her heart, Demarco. The chaotic smells of too many flowers, the circus noises muffled by glass. Demarco.
Everything whirled faster, until she couldn’t see straight. Dancing always made the world stand still.
“We have to practice for the ball.” With her heel, she edged aside a few small pots and empty watering cans. “It would be a shame if you embarrassed me on the dance floor all night.”
“But there’s no music.”
She tilted her head at the windows, the faintest melody thrumming through the glass. A slower beat, transitioning from the high energy of the start of the night to the gradual, inevitable end. The hum of violin strings glided over low, smooth piano chords. A song to savor, a song to dance to.
He bore an expression that bordered on pleading. It was almost enough to make her forget all about it, until he dragged a resigned hand down his face.
In surrender, he extended his right hand.
An invitation.
She fought the triumph from bursting on her face. It felt more like a gift than a battle won. She treated it as such when she gingerly took his hand, about to ease him into the proper position—
Suddenly, all the air in her chest whooshed out as she was spun sharp as a top.
Strong arms caught her in a binding low dip that pressed them chest to chest.
The world froze.
Her jaw snapped shut. “I-I thought you didn’t dance.”
“Never said I couldn’t.” Demarco’s eyes hovered over hers, crinkling at the edges. He led her into the next position, seamless as muscle memory. “I used to attend galas and balls on a weekly basis. Being a decent dance partner was practically a method of survival.”
The shock wore away at the amusing thought, imagining him moving from party to party, dancing with guest after guest. “See? It does have its uses. But you’ve been holding out on me.”
“Don’t act like you wouldn’t have used it against me. Besides, I’ve seen you dance alone. You’re…” He trailed off, lost in a thought cut short as he cleared his throat. “You don’t need a partner.”
“Still feels good to have one,” she admitted, still warmed by the surprise. Demarco wasn’t an expert dancer by any means—a little rusty in his movements, like clothes he hadn’t tried on in a while—but as they adjusted, he led her. With a confidence in his grasp, enough to catch her off guard.
So she simply followed.
It was the first time she’d danced like this with someone who wasn’t Jack. Sometimes she’d choose a guest at Hellfire House to join her on stage, but there was safety when it was all for show. Masks and distance and drink to keep it from being real.
She could feel the distinctions beneath her fingertips. In their slowing movements, forgetting the song. Their hold, no longer proper as they leaned into each other. No space between them, Kallia pressed the side of her face to his chest, hearing his heart pound. His breaths, uneven.
A light flickered in the corner of her sight.
His palm, against hers, faintly glowing.
Suddenly, he tensed against her, about to pull away. “Don’t,” she mumbled against his shirt. “Please.”
Her limbs had grown warm and tired and heavy, her heartbeat slow and her eyes so tempted to close in sleep. She needed him to keep holding her so she wouldn’t, for