head’s fine. Sore,” I
amend, knowing I should be feeling something from whatever injury
I’ve sustained.
“ I should’ve known it
wouldn’t keep you away from a good party,” she says. “Did Daniel
come with you?”
Daniel. I recall a face from the
photos. A senator’s son. Titus’s right-hand man. The way Linc spoke
of him, this boy is being groomed to take over Titus’s business
someday. Linc didn’t mention a connection between Daniel and me so
I’m not sure what to say to Taylor’s expectant expression. “Um
…”
“ Don’t tell me you haven’t
talked to him yet,” she says. “The paparazzi have been driving him
crazy from what I hear, trying to get the dish on what you two were
doing together that night.”
Paparazzi. I remember Linc saying the
word when we paged through those albums. Men with cameras, always
angling for gossip or secrets or something to sell. As if Raven’s
private business is a commodity.
I stare at Taylor, trying to
understand what she’s not saying. Was I with this Daniel the night
I—Raven—was injured? Is he special to me—to her?
“ I’ve been so busy with
doctor appointments, I guess I haven’t had time,” I say with a
careless shrug. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
She smiles and the way her lips curl
is insinuating. “I bet you will. Come on, let’s make the rounds and
then find the bottle the maid stashed for us.”
She loops her slender arm through mine
and I let her lead me toward the party. Linc falls back and soon I
don’t see him anymore. We wander from gathering to gathering.
Taylor does most of the talking, her tinkling laughter cutting
through even the most serious conversations. Taylor knows everyone
and everyone knows Taylor. She is a master at small talk and
compliments and leaving everyone smiling in our wake. I wonder if I
am usually just as talkative but she doesn’t seem to mind my
silence.
More than once, I feel eyes on me from
across the room. I turn, expecting a glower from Titus or Gus’s
unsmiling watchfulness. Instead, I find Linc studying me with a
careful stare that seems to see everything all at once though he
only looks at me. Despite his judgmental treatment, I feel safe
with Linc watching.
When we’ve done a full lap and spoken
with everyone present at least once, Taylor leads me through a side
door and into a dimly lit room containing rows and rows of coats.
Small aisles span right and left, too narrow to walk through
without my shoulders brushing the jackets hanging on either
side.
“ Shut the door, will you?”
Taylor goes to the nearest rack and begins searching
pockets.
I push the door until it latches and
then wait while she continues patting down jackets. “What are you
doing?”
“ I had the maid leave a
stash for us. Should be right around … here!” She pulls her hand
free from the pocket of a fur wrap, grinning triumphantly. From her
fist dangles a clear glass bottle with blue lettering.
She motions me over and
pulls me down beside her. We sit on the carpet with our legs tucked
under us. I try to read the label on the bottle but Taylor uncaps
and upends it before I can make out anything beyond the word vodka . She takes a quick
swig, grins, and holds it out for me. I take it, trying to seem
sure, like I’ve done this a million times.
I wrap my lips around the opening and
tip it back. The moment the liquid hits my mouth, it burns. I
wrench the bottle away and squeeze my eyes shut to block out the
fire ripping a trail down my insides. I swallow and then cough hard
enough to rack my shoulders.
Taylor laughs. “Damn, Rav. Did hitting
your head affect your ability to hold your liquor?”
I grunt something that isn’t really an
answer. She grabs the bottle and takes another swig. All too soon
it is my turn again. Like before, I cough and sputter as the liquid
cuts a molten path down my esophagus. By the third swallow, the
burning lessens and I feel … looser. Taylor is laughing, though
neither one of
amend, knowing I should be feeling something from whatever injury
I’ve sustained.
“ I should’ve known it
wouldn’t keep you away from a good party,” she says. “Did Daniel
come with you?”
Daniel. I recall a face from the
photos. A senator’s son. Titus’s right-hand man. The way Linc spoke
of him, this boy is being groomed to take over Titus’s business
someday. Linc didn’t mention a connection between Daniel and me so
I’m not sure what to say to Taylor’s expectant expression. “Um
…”
“ Don’t tell me you haven’t
talked to him yet,” she says. “The paparazzi have been driving him
crazy from what I hear, trying to get the dish on what you two were
doing together that night.”
Paparazzi. I remember Linc saying the
word when we paged through those albums. Men with cameras, always
angling for gossip or secrets or something to sell. As if Raven’s
private business is a commodity.
I stare at Taylor, trying to
understand what she’s not saying. Was I with this Daniel the night
I—Raven—was injured? Is he special to me—to her?
“ I’ve been so busy with
doctor appointments, I guess I haven’t had time,” I say with a
careless shrug. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
She smiles and the way her lips curl
is insinuating. “I bet you will. Come on, let’s make the rounds and
then find the bottle the maid stashed for us.”
She loops her slender arm through mine
and I let her lead me toward the party. Linc falls back and soon I
don’t see him anymore. We wander from gathering to gathering.
Taylor does most of the talking, her tinkling laughter cutting
through even the most serious conversations. Taylor knows everyone
and everyone knows Taylor. She is a master at small talk and
compliments and leaving everyone smiling in our wake. I wonder if I
am usually just as talkative but she doesn’t seem to mind my
silence.
More than once, I feel eyes on me from
across the room. I turn, expecting a glower from Titus or Gus’s
unsmiling watchfulness. Instead, I find Linc studying me with a
careful stare that seems to see everything all at once though he
only looks at me. Despite his judgmental treatment, I feel safe
with Linc watching.
When we’ve done a full lap and spoken
with everyone present at least once, Taylor leads me through a side
door and into a dimly lit room containing rows and rows of coats.
Small aisles span right and left, too narrow to walk through
without my shoulders brushing the jackets hanging on either
side.
“ Shut the door, will you?”
Taylor goes to the nearest rack and begins searching
pockets.
I push the door until it latches and
then wait while she continues patting down jackets. “What are you
doing?”
“ I had the maid leave a
stash for us. Should be right around … here!” She pulls her hand
free from the pocket of a fur wrap, grinning triumphantly. From her
fist dangles a clear glass bottle with blue lettering.
She motions me over and
pulls me down beside her. We sit on the carpet with our legs tucked
under us. I try to read the label on the bottle but Taylor uncaps
and upends it before I can make out anything beyond the word vodka . She takes a quick
swig, grins, and holds it out for me. I take it, trying to seem
sure, like I’ve done this a million times.
I wrap my lips around the opening and
tip it back. The moment the liquid hits my mouth, it burns. I
wrench the bottle away and squeeze my eyes shut to block out the
fire ripping a trail down my insides. I swallow and then cough hard
enough to rack my shoulders.
Taylor laughs. “Damn, Rav. Did hitting
your head affect your ability to hold your liquor?”
I grunt something that isn’t really an
answer. She grabs the bottle and takes another swig. All too soon
it is my turn again. Like before, I cough and sputter as the liquid
cuts a molten path down my esophagus. By the third swallow, the
burning lessens and I feel … looser. Taylor is laughing, though
neither one of
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