20. Realization

Rosalie

Nicholas holds my hand tightly as we deviate from the candlelit path that connects the exhibit and fundraiser venues. I noticed how he seemed angry, but I’m uncertain why.

Is it because I was distracted for a bit? He brought me here to network and shield him, but instead of that, I’ve been sipping wine and dancing, when I know how he feels about unprofessionalism — no matter how momentarily.

I gasp when my heels sink into the grass, and Nicholas looks back over his shoulder, his gaze dark as he lets go of my hand.

“Struggling?” he asks, his voice soft despite the anger flashing through his eyes. His sudden mood change surprises me a bit.

Before I even have a chance to reply, he leans in, startling me. He wraps one arm behind my back and the other behind my knees as he lifts me into his arms with ease. “Nicholas,” I murmur, my tone betraying my surprise. “What are you doing?”

He tightens his grip on me until he’s got my head resting against his shoulder, my lips brushing