The Blue Dress

"Say something," I whispered. "You're making me nervous."

Adrian stood in the hotel lobby in a black tuxedo, looking at me as though I were a building he had been trying to understand for seven years.

"I can't," he said at last. "I've lost the words."

I looked down at myself. The dress was midnight blue, with a low back and a skirt that moved like water. He had found it in a small boutique that same afternoon and refused to tell me how much it cost.

"It's the same color," I said quietly. "As the night I won the award."

"I know." His voice was rough. "I remembered."

My heart did something it had no right to do.

I took his arm. "Let's go be dangerous."

The ballroom glittered. Chandeliers, champagne towers, a string quartet on a raised stage. Three hundred of the city's richest people turned as one when we walked in. I felt their eyes, curious and hungry. Cole and Blake's amnesiac friend. Together. How interesting.

Cameras flashed.

"Mr. Cole! Is it true you're sponsoring the Harborline competitor?"

"No comment," Adrian said, smiling pleasantly. "But I'm told the food is excellent."

Across the room, near the stage, a man in a charcoal suit stopped mid-sentence.

Julian.

He stared at my back, my shoulders, the hand resting on Adrian's sleeve. For a moment his face did nothing at all. Then the muscle in his jaw jumped.

I smiled and lifted my glass to him, the way you toast an old acquaintance.

He looked away first.

The speeches began at nine.

Julian took the stage with the ease of a man who had done it a hundred times. He thanked the donors. He thanked the board. He gave a short, charming joke about the Foundation's budget, and everyone laughed.

Then he turned toward the side of the stage and held out his hand.

"And finally, I'd like to introduce the woman who makes everything possible."

Sasha stepped into the light in a pale gold gown. The ring flashed on her finger. She took his hand and he lifted it to his lips, and the room sighed.

"My wife, Sasha Blake."

Applause thundered.

I clapped.

I clapped until my palms stung. My smile stayed perfectly in place, and no one in that room could have guessed that I was learning how it felt to be buried alive.

"Breathe," Adrian murmured. His hand found the small of my back.

"I am breathing."

"No. You're clapping like you want to hit someone."

"That's also true."

He made a sound that was half a laugh and half a prayer.

Sasha came down the steps ten minutes later, working the room like a queen. She found me by the champagne tower and swept me into a hug.

"Lena, I'm so glad you came." She held up her left hand, letting the stone catch the light. "Isn't it all so wonderful? Julian says we should have done this years ago."

I lifted my glass.

"To years," I said. "May they be exactly as long as you deserve."

Her eyes flickered. She was not quite sure if that was a compliment.

Good.

The quartet began a slow waltz. Adrian held out his hand.

"May I?"

"I don't know how to dance," I said, which was a lie.

"I know." He pulled me gently onto the floor. "I'll teach you."

His hand rested warm on my bare back. His other hand held mine. We moved together, slowly at first, then easily, and the room blurred at the edges until there was only his face above me and the music wrapping us up.

"You're staring," I said.

"You're beautiful."

"That isn't a reason to stare."

"It's the best one I have."

I laughed, a real laugh. It startled me. When had I last laughed like that?

A hand tapped Adrian's shoulder.

"May I cut in?"

Julian.

Adrian's fingers tightened on mine. I felt the argument rising in him, and I shook my head by an inch. Let him.

He stepped back, slow and deliberate. "Of course."

Julian took my hand. It was warm and a little damp. His other hand settled at my waist, in a place it had known for years.

"You look beautiful," he said.

"Thank you."

"Blue was always your color."

I went still. "Was it?"

He missed a step. "I mean... it suits you."

We turned. The quartet had slowed into a sweeter, older melody. It took me three bars to recognize it.

Moon River.

Our wedding song.

"Do you feel anything when you look at me?" Julian asked suddenly, very low.

My heart nearly stopped.

"Should I?" I asked softly.

He flinched, as if I had struck him.

"We danced to this once," he whispered. "A long time ago. You told me it was your favorite song. You said..." His voice cracked. "You said you wanted it played at the end of your life."

I almost broke. Right there, in front of three hundred people, I almost opened my mouth and told him every word.

But the music swelled. And the double doors at the back of the ballroom crashed open.

Sasha was on the stage, snatching the microphone from the host, her gold dress wrinkled and her face white as paper.

"Has anyone seen Milo?" she cried, her voice shaking through the speakers. "My son! He was right here! Please! Has anyone seen my son?"

The waltz stopped.

And all the color drained from Julian's face.