Page 31 of Don’t Look Down

As Lock pulls me away, a waiter approaches with a tray of champagne. Lock hands me one without question but doesn’t take one himself.

“Do you not drink?”

He scans the room as we walk. “I try not to in public as much as possible. Too many people watching.”

He doesn’t want to get caught off-guard. I can understand that.

But me? I’m grateful to have something to do with my free hand.

“Also”—he clears his throat—“I agree with my mother. You look beautiful. I meant to tell you outside.”

“Oh.” I flick my eyes up at him. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.”

“Thank you.”

Our compliments sound robotic, or like two teenagers trying to flatter each other with lines they heard from films. The silence between us grows awkward, but I try to chalk it up to nerves for the both of us.

Our first date, and it’s a public stage.

I look around for my parents but don’t spot them yet. That’s probably a blessing. I don’t need their microscope before I finish at least one drink.

When Lock leads me over to the opposite side of the ballroom, my skin crawls as I feel everyone watching us. It’s unnerving to have people so attuned to your every step. My hand shakes, causing the champagne to slosh inside the glass. I take a small sip and let the bubbles exploding on my tongue distract me momentarily.

That is quickly doused when a familiar scent hits my nose. Excitement or panic, I’m not sure which, lights up my stomach as Beau approaches.

He looks handsome in his black suit, almost a twin to Lock’s. But where it looks sophisticated on Lock and accentuates the broad, proud line of his shoulders, it looks like a rebellion on Beau. Like at any moment, he’s prepared to shed the jacket, roll up his sleeves, and loosen the tie around his neck.

“Brother,” Beau nods to Lock. The movement sets a thick strand of his hair free, and it dangles on his forehead. “Nice of you to make it tonight.”

Lock bristles at the veiled insult but pats his brother on the back anyway. “As if either of us could miss out on Father’s sixtieth.”

“Well you know I never like to miss a party. Even one as dull as this,” Beau drawls and shoots back the last of his drink. It looks like whiskey, and I wonder if he has a personal stash somewhere in the kitchen that he has on tap for the evening. A drop clings to his lips—lips I can’t stop remembering the feeling of against mine.

When he finally looks at me, my legs wobble a bit. He scans me from head to toe, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s checking me out. And either Lock doesn’t notice, or is just used to Beau doing that, because he doesn’t say anything.

“Briar,” Beau says in greeting.

I give him a tight smile, incapable of speaking to him as my mind swirls. Lock’s too distracted by surveying the party to pick up on the tension between us.

Thankfully, the party rages on around us, and quickly our little group of three draws lots of attention. It’s almost as if the two brothers being spotted together opened up a set of floodgates. Everyone seems to have migrated from the King and Queen’s receiving line, over to our side of the room. That may be why Lock brought us over here to begin with.

I spot Aria across the way but am unable to break away from the brotherly duo. She waves at me and gives me a thumbs up, waiting for me to return it. I do it discreetly by my hip, and I can practically hear her laugh from here.

After rounds and rounds of introductions and greetings, one face begins to blur with the next. My feet ache and my stomach rumbles. Good thing the music drowns it out from earshot of anyone else.

Once the current couple chatting with Lock are out of earshot, I say to neither of them in particular, “I can’t get used to the bowing. All night I’m surprised each time someone does it, and it’s not even directed toward me.” Sure, I’ve been around it before, at parties just like this one and seen people do the same to Beau at events, but it’s so overwhelming being right in the thick of it with them and with so many people.

Lock brushes his hands down the front of his jacket. “It’s respectful. Don’t worry, you’ll grow to love it.”

It takes every bit of my mother’s training to keep from frowning. I had sort of meant it as a joke, but his tone doesn’t sound like he is.

“I’ve always hated it,” Beau pipes up. He’s been relatively silent on the other side of Lock where he’s engaged when needed, but for the most part has been nursing another glass of whiskey and looking around the room with an air of boredom. “What do I do that’s any more worthy than anyone here, and yet they have to bow to me because of our last name?”

Lock stiffens, but by the exasperated sigh he quietly lets out, I assume this is something they’ve already discussed before. “Let’s not start that tonight, please. It’s already been a long day.”

If Lock is growing weary of the nonstop talking, it doesn’t show. His face is alert and posture as perfect as ever.

A paunchy man approaches, looking vaguely familiar. His thinning hair is slicked all the way back in a way that I think he meant to look refined but appears stringy.