Infinityglass(42)
“You … wear clothes when you do that?”
“You’re really dropping judgment on me right now?” She knew I was teasing. I could tell by her smile.
“No. I’m doing everything in my power not to picture it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should,” I said. “I could pass out. That would be embarrassing.”
“You’re a terrible tease.”
“I know. I’m not sure how to approach this.” I’d have been more comfortable trying to figure out how to hack into the pope’s e-mail.
“You can start by shutting up and putting your arms around me. Take my hand in yours. Put the other one on the small of my back.”
“According to online surveys, the small of a woman’s back is one of the places she most wants to be touched.”
“You touch me there all the time. Do you read a lot of surveys about where women like to be touched?”
“Um.”
“Where are some of the other places?” She met my eyes dead on. “If you think I’m going to let this go, you’re so, so wrong.”
“Clavicle.”
“And?”
“Crooks of elbows. Backs of knees. Nape of neck.”
“You’re leaving out some really obvi—”
“Hallie?”
She grinned and batted her lashes. “Yes.”
“Maybe we should just dance.” My palm met hers while my other hand settled on her waist.
There was a subtle, slight hitch in her breathing.
“Your breath just caught.” I said it without thinking.
“Maybe it did. So what?” She angled her chin up at me.
“Nothing. It’s just … it’s only fair. You make mine catch all the time.”
Chapter 12
Hallie
I’d never swooned in my life.
But if Dune kept talking sweet to me, I was going to need a fainting couch and smelling salts pronto.
His touch was gentle, and he smelled like the ocean. Not fishy ocean, but expensive, man-made, bottled interpretation of the ocean. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was in his arms, or how overwhelmed I was by my emotions when he pulled me closer.
Then the world melted around us.
Rivulets of the past flooded over the present, and the song playing in my mind bloomed from a few simple notes to a full orchestra. What I thought would be a waltz became a quadrille. Dune’s face faded. A masquerade mask replaced it, and the rip world replaced my own.
The eyes behind the satin assess me from head to toe. A cool
expression turns warm as what he sees passes muster. When the time comes to switch partners, he pulls me from formation.
“Cecile?”
I nod.
“You look beautiful. The dress pleases you?”
I nod again and offer a tentative smile.
“I’m going to arrange a meeting with your mother. Does this please you, too?”
“Monsieur Brionne.” My maman interrupts us. She wears a yellow dress of a much brighter shade than my own. Both complementary of our dark hair and skin. My skin and …
… not my skin. I looked down at my fingernails, not recognizing the oval shapes and bitten nails. I didn’t bite my nails.
“May I call upon Cecile tomorrow?” Monsieur Brionne asks my maman. He keeps his hand at my waist, and I know that he doesn’t want to let me go. Something about the way his fingers grip my waist is worrisome; as is the look in his eyes that tells me he hopes I’ll be alone tomorrow when he calls.
“That will be agreeable.” Maman dips her head into a slight bow.
The music begins, slow and disarming, and we step back into the throng of dancers, everyone here is part of the system of plaçage, arranged left-handed marriages of prosperous white men and women of color.
The soft glow of an electric chandelier replaces candlelight, and
the smell of calla lilies perfumes the air as bodies whirl around me.
Monsieur Brionne stops, and I spin out of his arms. The room fades, tilts, and the light changes, going from soft focus to sharp relief.
“A joining of two fine families.” I jump when a man with a shiny, bald head claps me on the shoulder. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t recognize my own voice.
My dress was no longer yellow, but stark white, and my hair fell in blond ringlets below my shoulders. A huge diamond graced my left ring finger, with a gold band below it.
“I’m so happy.”
The words came out of my mouth and not my mouth. The kiss I received landed softly on my cheek and not my cheek.
“No happier than I.”
I knew this man would be gentle, unlike Monsieur Brionne. He looked at me with the same kindness Dune did.
Dune.
“David.” I hold his hand as my new husband guides me across the crowded room. He takes two champagne glasses from a tray, and gives one to me.