He sat lounged back on his chair, staring at me with all the friendliness of a Nile crocodile.
Fun fact: they considered humans a regular part of their diet.
I bent my knees with flourish. “Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners?”
“Not in the shortbread tray, that’s for sure.” His voice was dry and disinterested.
Okay. Tough audience.
But I did try to steal his biscuits.
“I’m Dallas Townsend of the Townsend family.”
I flashed him a warm smile, offering him my hand to kiss. He appraised it with repugnance, ignoring the gesture.
Totally disproportionate to my alleged crime.
“You’re Dallas Townsend?” A tinge of disappointment marred his godly face. Like he’d expected something entirely different.
That he would expect anything at all was a stretch.
We didn’t move in the same circles. In fact, I was ninety-nine percent sure this man only moved in squares. He was a sharp-edged kind of guy.
“For the past twenty-one years.” I eyed the shortbread.
So close, and yet so far.
“My eyes are up here,” Costa bit out.
Von Bismarck chuckled, snatching the largest square, possibly to spite me. “She’s darling, Rom. Quite the pet.”
Darling? Pet?
What did he mean?
With much reluctance, I dragged my gaze up the length of the table, from the shortbread to Romeo’s face.
He was so handsome.
Also—dead in the eyes.
He leaned forward. “Are you sure you’re Dallas Townsend?”
I tapped my chin. “Hmm, now that I think about it, I’d like to change my answer to Hailey Bieber.”
“Is this supposed to be funny?”
“Is this supposed to be serious?”
“You’re being obtuse.”
“You started it.”
Gasps pinged from every corner of the table.
Romeo Costa, however, appeared more indifferent than offended.
He sat back, forearms meeting each seat handle. The posture—and his perfectly tailored Kiton suit—granted him the aura of a terse king with a flavor for war.
“Dallas Maryanne Townsend.” Barbara Alwyn-Joy rushed forward to intervene. Emilie’s mother was a chaperone for the event. She, like the rest of them, took the job way too seriously. “I should get your father to escort you out of this ballroom right this minute for speaking to Mr. Costa like that. This is not the Chapel Falls way.”
The Chapel Falls way would have every redhead in this town burn at the stake.
I made a show of lowering my head, tracing the shape of a round shortbread on the marble with my toe. “Sorry, ma’am.”
I wasn’t sorry.
Romeo Costa was a prick.
He was lucky we had an audience, or he would have gotten the unfiltered version of me.
I turned, about to extract myself from the premises before I caused even more commotion and Daddy canceled my black card.
But then, Costa just had to speak again.
“Miss Townsend?”
Bieber, for you.
“Yes?”
“An apology is in order.”
Swiveling on my heel, I glowered at him with every ounce of wrath I could muster. “You’re high if you think I’ll apo—”
“I meant I should apologize.”
He stood, buttoning his blazer with one hand.
Oh.
Oh.
Dozens of eyes ping-ponged between us.
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I did think my chances of getting my hands on that shortbread just increased tenfold.
Also, I really needed to get in on his talent for being controlled and confident to the nines, even when delivering an apology. Apologizing always made me feel so helpless.
Costa, on the other hand, treated an apology as a tool to catapult himself further up the hierarchy of humans. Already, he seemed an entirely different species from his peers.
I knotted my arms over my chest, ignoring everything etiquette classes taught me, per usual. “Yeah. I’d be open to that.”
He didn’t crack a smile.
Didn’t even look at me.
Rather, he looked straight through me. “I apologize for doubting your identity. For uninformed reasons, I thought you’d be…different.”
Normally, I’d ask who told him what, but I needed to cut my losses and run before my mouth got me into more trouble. There was a reason I kept it munching on something eighty percent of the time.
Plus, I couldn’t stare directly at that man without feeling like my legs were constructed of instant pudding.
I didn’t like how woozy he made me.
Or how my skin flushed wherever his eyes rested.
“Hmm, sure. That’s okay. Happens to the best of us. Enjoy your evening.”
With that, I beelined back to my table.
Luckily, Daddy sailed through dinner in a great mood, talking business with his friends. Barbara must not have acted on her threat to narc, because shortly after the fourth entrée, he granted me permission to dance.
And dance I did.
First, with David from church.
Then, James from high school.
And finally, Harold from one street over.
They spun me, dipped me inches from the marble floor, and even let me lead in a few waltzes.
All in all, I almost restored my confidence that the evening was a success. Until Harold bowed his head when our song ended and I started for my seat.
Because when I turned, Romeo Costa was there again.
Like a summoned demon.
About two inches from my face.
Sweet Mother Mary, why must sin always be so tempting?
“Mr. Costa.” I placed my hand over my bare collarbone. “Sorry, I’m rather dizzy and exhausted. I don’t think I can da—”
“I’ll take the lead.” He swept me up, my feet hovering over the floor, and began waltzing with me without my participation.
Hello, red flag the size of Texas.
“Kindly put me down,” I requested through pursed lips.
His hold on my waist tightened, the contour of his muscles engulfing me. “Kindly drop the lady façade. I’ve seen Olivia Wilde performances more convincing.”
Ouch.
I distinctly remembered wanting to bleach my eyeballs after watching The Lazarus Effect.
“Thanks.” I loosened my muscles, forcing him to hold all my weight or render me limp on the marble. “Being a respectable member of society is honestly exhausting.”
“You came to my table for the shortbread, didn’t you?”