Chaos

For one second, the ballroom was perfectly silent.

Then someone screamed, someone laughed, and a hundred champagne glasses clinked in the dark as a hundred people reached for their phones. A thousand white screens bloomed at once, and Amara stood in the middle of them, unable to see anything but silhouettes.

Julian.

She took one step forward, and a hand closed around hers.

"Don't scream," said a low voice at her ear. "It's me."

Her whole body relaxed. "What did you do?"

"Marcus is very good with breaker boxes." She could hear the grin in his voice. "I gave him a signal when Richard said 'happy news.' He's been waiting by the service door for twenty minutes."

"You blew out the power?"

"Only the ballroom. Only for ninety seconds. I have no regrets."

She laughed against his shoulder, helpless. He pulled her behind a marble pillar, into a pocket of shadow where nobody could see, and for a moment they just stood there, her forehead against his collar, his hand warm and steady on her back.

"I've wanted to do this since you walked in," he murmured.

"Do what?"

He kissed her. It was quick, hungry, and shockingly gentle at the end, and she curled her fingers into his lapels and kissed him back with her heart pounding in her ears. Behind them the crowd muttered and shuffled, and somewhere a woman asked loudly whether it was a terrorist attack.

"Ninety seconds," Julian breathed against her mouth. "Less now."

"Then make it count."

He did.

------

The lights returned with a hum.

Amara slipped out from behind the pillar a breath before the crowd turned, smoothing her dress, praying her lipstick looked intact. She joined the edge of the audience just as Julian stepped out from the other side, composed, tie perfectly straight, as though he'd spent the blackout contemplating philosophy.

Celeste stood on the dais with her hand still outstretched. The crowd was staring. Her father stared hardest of all.

"Well," Richard Halloran said into the microphone, with the strained cheer of a man whose script had been stolen. "As I was saying. My daughter, Celeste, has an announcement."

"Actually," Julian said.

Every head turned.

He walked up the steps of the dais slowly, hands loose at his sides. He stopped in front of Celeste and bowed his head to her, perfectly polite.

"Celeste. I'm told your father has arranged something for tonight. I'd like to spare you the discomfort of hearing it from the stage." His voice carried through the silent room. "I'm honored. I'm also not available."

A murmur ran through the crowd.

"I've known you most of my life," Julian went on, quietly. "You've been kind to me when it was difficult to be. But I won't stand here and let a camera decide who I marry. It isn't fair to you, and it isn't true."

Celeste's face had gone the color of paper.

"Julian," she whispered.

"I'm sorry."

It was gracious and clean. It was also, Amara realized, the cruelest thing he could have done. Every camera in the room had caught it, and there was no way for Celeste to pretend it hadn't happened.

For a long moment, Celeste didn't move. Her lips parted. Her hand fell slowly to her side. And then her eyes found Amara in the crowd, across thirty feet of glittering ballroom, and Amara saw the look she'd given her in the doorway yesterday, the cut-glass one, only now it had no mask on it at all.

Celeste's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in a heap of ivory satin.

------

Chaos.

Julian caught her before her head hit the floor. Someone shrieked for a doctor. Richard Halloran came barreling across the dais, face purple, and snatched his daughter out of Julian's arms.

"What have you done?"

"Richard, I—"

"My daughter." His voice shook with rage. "My daughter, humiliated in front of two hundred people. After everything my family has done for yours."

"It wasn't meant to—"

"You have twenty-four hours, Whitlock." Richard's eyes were glittering and cold. "Twenty-four hours to make this right, or Halloran Hotels walks. And I'll make sure every contract in Europe knows why."

He swept out with Celeste half-limp against his shoulder. Her head lolled against his arm. Her eyelashes fluttered once, and from beneath them, to the empty air, she smiled.

Amara stood frozen among the whispering guests. She faked it, she thought. She faked the whole thing.

But who would believe her?

Julian was standing alone in the middle of the dais with his hands clenched at his sides. He looked up. His eyes met hers, apologetic, bewildered, and aching.

She mouthed, It's okay.

It wasn't. They both knew it.

Her phone vibrated against her palm. She looked down.

Daniel: Twenty-four hours isn't very long. I'd hate for you to run out of time.

Below it, a second message arrived.

Meet me tomorrow, 10 a.m. Crane Street Café. I have an offer that will save him. Bring no one.