“When was the last time you guys spent time together?”
“Seven years ago.” Good humor still glitters in his eyes, but his expression sharpens. “When he was a new and rising star.”
The orchestra starts a waltz tune, and he extends his hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
“Well… I’m actually looking for Ryder.”
“He’s around somewhere, but I’m leaving soon, and I’d hate to go without a dance with the belle of the ball.”
I would really prefer to find Ryder, and I wanted to dance with him first. But I also don’t want Anthony to feel snubbed or anything, especially if he’s leaving soon. Even though he’s Ryder’s friend, I’m the one who invited him.
“Okay. One dance,” I say with a nod.
His smile widens, showing straight white teeth. He takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor, where he puts his free hand to the small of my back. His hold is entirely proper—not too close, not too stiff.
“Just so you know, I’ve never waltzed,” I say.
“No worries. It’s just a dance in three beats. One-two-three, one-two-three. Just follow my lead.”
He’s an excellent dancer. I mess up here and there, almost stepping on his toes a couple of times, but he doesn’t criticize.
The waltz doesn’t last long. When the final note fades in the air, Anthony bows. I curtsy in return.
“What the hell?”
A hand grips my wrist, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough for me to feel the barely restrained fury. I gape at Ryder.
I’m not the only one staring. Other guests circle around, their eyes glued to the three of us in the center.
Ryder glares at Anthony like he wants to strangle his old friend. “I warned you,” he says in a low voice.
“I didn’t force her to dance with me. Don’t be a jealous ass,” Anthony says carelessly, brushing lint off his sleeve. “I don’t mind if you make a scene, but how would your fiancée feel?”
“If you care about her feelings, you’ll definitely stay away.”
“Why?” Anthony steps closer and lowers his voice so that only Ryder and I can hear. “Are you afraid of creating another Lauren? I thought you Hollywood types love sequels.”
I feel Ryder’s pulse throb through his palm. I try to step forward, but he pulls me back. I put a hand on Ryder’s arm and rack my brain for some way to defuse the situation. “Anthony, I think you said you were leaving.”
“Did I?” Anthony smiles. “Ah, yes I did, didn’t I? Of course. I have quite a lot to do tonight.” He gives me a bow. It’s perfectly executed and pointedly polite. Somehow he makes it clear it’s all directed at Ryder, though. “Thank you for the dance, Paige. Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”
He leaves, his stride long but unhurried.
His hand still around my wrist, Ryder pulls out his phone and texts. Make sure Anthony Blackwood is gone. If he shows up again, have him arrested.
Once he’s done, he looks at me. He lowers his face so people can’t try to read his lips. “We have to talk.”
Dread unfurls in my belly like poison. “Upstairs?”
He shakes his head. “Not now. After the party.”
* * *
The rest of the evening passes in a blur. The earlier scene scraped my nerves, and it’s hard to pretend I’m enjoying myself, even though I paste on a smile. My parents are here, and they’re watching me. Neither of them is crazy about the idea of me marrying Ryder, and I don’t want to give them more reason to think badly of him.
Ryder, on the other hand, is a champ. He talks to everyone like nothing’s wrong, and nobody mentions the confrontation again, not even Mira, who gives me the Look of Death.
I pull her to the side. “Okay, explain to me what I did wrong.”
“I can’t because I didn’t see what happened. But you should’ve never invited someone you don’t know.”
“He said he was Ryder’s friend.”
“Honey, everyone says that if it means getting into a party.”
“Yeah, I know that. But he owns Z. And his family’s just as rich and well-connected as Ryder’s.”
“I don’t care if he owns the entire city of Los Angeles. This is supposed to be about Ryder’s engagement. Now the only thing people are going to talk about when they get home is how Ryder almost lost it when a guest was dancing with you.”
I cringe. “Maybe Christopher can spin it into Ryder being jealous?” There’s no turd Christopher can’t turn into gold.
“But Ryder doesn’t get jealous!” she hisses furiously. “Ryder never gets jealous.”