I run my hands along my arms, trying to control my shivers. It’s the adrenaline. I recognize this feeling from other times my father rampaged through the house. My mother would retreat into her sitting room with a bottle of wine. My sisters would be jumpy and anxious. My brothers would often get into a fight even though the danger had passed. I’ve never felt that before, brimming over with violence, but somehow I’m feeling it now. Like I want to push Finn. Like I want to push him and pull him, but I wouldn’t hurt him. No. I’d kiss him.

I shake my head, forcing the crazy thought away. “She would probably help you hide the body. You’d give her that insouciant smile, and she’d say, ‘anything for a Hughes.’”

“Insouciant,” he says, using that exact smile. Charming. Irreverent.

It shouldn’t be possible, but he makes me smile, too. “That’s what you are.”

His warm hazel eyes take in the way I’m shaking, and he reaches out. He tucks me against his chest. For a moment, I hold myself rigid. I’ve been hugged a hundred times at the gala so far. Family, friends, acquaintances. Even strangers will hug me in the Christmas spirit. Or because they want to get closer to my family’s power. None of those hugs felt like this.

On a soft exhale, I let myself sink into his arms.

He murmurs against my hair. “Who the hell uses words like insouciant? Except for The New Yorker.”

“Lots of people use that word.”

“What does it even mean?”

Strong. That’s the first word that comes to mind, because I’m in his arms. I can feel the surprising hardness of his body beneath the smooth lines of the tux. Strong and brave in the face of violence. “It means nonchalant.”

His lips move into a smile against my hair. “Another big word. Do you talk like that all the time?”

I make a small sound, more of a dismissal than an answer.

“You’re different,” he says. “Why are you different?” It doesn’t come out like a question. It feels more like he’s wondering something aloud, something he’s thought before.

“I’m not different,” I say, because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. I know why he’s interested in me. Because I’m one of the only women he hasn’t been with at the gala. I’m a novelty. Something new, but not special.

His fingers go beneath my chin. He tips my face up. Those hazel eyes look different this close. A deeper green. The golden flecks shimmering. He’s beautiful but opaque. It’s impossible to see what he’s really thinking or feeling. I have the sense that all his charm is a front. I don’t know what lies beneath the playboy surface. Maybe no one does.