Rowan grins down at me and begins to lead us in movement. Nothing fancy, nothing showy. Just synchronicity, like we fit to one another, to the music. “And you’ll still be better at it than me, won’t you.”
I smile and Rowan’s grin grows brighter, then I raise our joined hands in a signal he understands. He guides me through a little spin, letting me out, reeling me back in closer with a chuckle. “Maybe. Or maybe we’ll be just the same,” I say, and I hold his eyes for as long as I can before my gaze drifts away over his shoulder.
The song plays on and I feel every little change of motion and charge in the air. Rowan’s hold on my back becomes an embrace. My hand on his arm shifts to hook around his shoulder. His chest touches mine with every inhalation. When his breath warms my neck where my waves are swept back, my eyes drift closed. My head tilts. I want another kiss there, right where my pulse surges, so I know it’s not just a moment of the past, an anomaly.
“Sloane…” he says close to my ear as we make a gradual turn.
“Yes,” I whisper, that simple word unsteady on a ragged breath.
“Are you ready to have some real fun?”
My eyes flutter open. Rowan’s voice is steady and clear. Devious. Not like mine, breathy with want and rioting desires.
I say nothing as I pull back enough to show him the confusion and questions lodged in my furrowed brow. That devilish smile is back, sneaking across his lips. A smile of secrets.
“The bald man with the glasses and the red tie. You should be able to see him across my shoulder,” he says.
My gaze scans the dance floor and lands on a trim man in his mid-fifties in a well-cut designer suit. He dances with a woman about his age, her blonde hair set back in a sleek updo.
I nod.
“His name is Dr. Stephan Rostis.” Rowan’s lips graze my ear as he then whispers, “And he’s a serial killer. He’s killed at least six of his patients over his fifteen years in Boston. Maybe more when he was living in Florida. And we can take him out together. Tonight.”
My steps become wooden and small. The pieces I’d put together in my head are suddenly split apart and rearranged into another picture. I got it all wrong. It was just in my head.
I was wrong about everything.
Our steps slow and stop. Rowan pulls away and looks me over, excitement still radiant in his eyes. “I’ve got a great plan. He never stays late at these things. We can grab him and come back here without our absence being noticed. Perfect alibi.”
“I…um…” Thoughts die before they land on my tongue and I clear my throat to try again, hoping I can infuse my voice with strength that just won’t come. “I’m not really dressed for the occasion,” I hedge, looking down at the red velvet shimmering in the flash of lights.
“I’ll do all the messy stuff.”
It’s the first time that I can think of when I’ve not been excited at the prospect of killing another killer. It’s just not what I expected, I guess. Not where I wanted this evening to go.
“Hey, you okay?” Rowan asks. “I thought the color of your dress was an inside joke—you know, blood red and all—but I’ll make sure it doesn’t get damaged, of course.”
My heart is crinkling like paper crushed in a fist.
“But if you don’t want to…” he continues, his voice fading as worry and maybe disappointment weigh down every note. He seems to realize we haven’t been aligned at all when he says, “I thought when I said we could have some ‘real fun’ that you knew what I meant.”
“No, I actually didn’t get that. But I can see it now.”
The pause between us feels a thousand years long. Rowan’s thumb lifts my chin, my focus still trapped on my dress until I’m forced to meet his eyes.
Confusion is etched between his brows. His gaze scours my face—my flushed cheeks and glassy eyes, my lips that are set in a tense line.
“You…you didn’t know that’s what I meant?” he asks.
“Shockingly, ‘I want to have real fun’ doesn’t reliably transfer into ‘I want to murder someone together’， unless I missed something in Google Translate.”
“And you still came?”
I swallow and try to look away, but he won’t let me. He’s taking up all the space in every one of my senses, and no matter how much I want to be sucked into a void, Rowan anchors me right here.
Clarity and disbelief twine within his changing expression. He’s trying to put his own broken puzzle back together, a new picture emerging.