Chapter 42

"Say hello to your brother for me. It's such a shame he couldn't make it tonight."

I smile at the portly gentleman standing in front of me. "I'll let him know for sure. And he told me to tell you he'll call you after the holidays."

He nods, clearly pleased at the idea of Adrian calling him later, before striding away toward the sea of blue and white, no doubt to say hello to other important people.

I let out a soft sigh as I admire the beautiful scenery before me.

The theme this year is Crystal and Frost Soirée. I've heard from Grace that every year, there's usually a unique theme and the decor will be impressive in a way a multi six-figure decoration budget can produce.

I must admit, I was taken aback when I stepped through the double doors of the ballroom tonight and was immediately transported into an otherworldly atmosphere of glittering winter decor, where I could be dancing alongside the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker.

The large space is a vision of white, with gauzy silk draping over the walls, backlit by pale blue lights. The floor is covered in artificial snow, and not the kind that melts, and with every movement of passersby, small flutters will kick up at their feet.

Thousands of crystals in the shape of icicles hang from the towering ceilings. I raise my hands to the air to reach toward the fake snow drifting down from vents up high, giving the illusion we're amid a beautiful snowfall, but the white flakes disappear before they reach my hands, never falling too far as to ruin the thousand-dollar gowns and tuxes of the patrons.

Elegant Christmas trees, tipped in white and adorned with elegant gold and silver ornaments, decorate the corners of the room, complete with large, wrapped presents carefully arranged over gold-spun tree skirts.

Attendees were asked to dress in black, blues, or whites to match the theme. I walk toward the refreshments area and admire the breathtaking centerpieces of hydrangeas and peonies. Everything is so beautiful and perfectly done.

People mingle and laugh, dressed to the nines, with efficient waiters and waitresses circling the room, carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and refreshments. A full orchestra sits to the side, strumming elegant melodies. I take a small glass of water from a waiter passing by and listen to the musicians' performance.

The Christmas Ball at The Orchid is the most sought-after social event of the year for the upper crust of society. Invitations are secretly extended and can't be purchased.

It's theplace to show you've made it in society. All the headlines of newspapers and gossip rags tomorrow will feature recaps of this infamous event, with the media coverage overtaking The Met Gala or any of the Hollywood awards ceremonies.

It's also the only time the press is allowed through its hallowed doors. All the usual antics of the paparazzi are forbidden here. They can take photos but can't ask questions or disturb the guests. Any funny business and they'll be dragged out of the building and blacklisted at all high society events across the country in the future. This usually means a career death sentence for the paparazzo in question.

No one escapes the wrath of the mighty Anderson family.

"Almost done with the obligatory schmoozing?" A deep voice says from behind me before I feel a hand gently brushing against my back.

"Yes, thank God. I said hello to the folks Adrian wanted me to touch base with, Steven."

I turn to my friend and bonus brother, who looks dapper in his black suit molded over his tall figure.

"I don't think I'm cut out for the business world. I don't know how you do this all the time. My cheeks are about to fall off from all the fake smiling."

He laughs, his hazel eyes twinkling as he surveys the winter wonderland before us, his gaze no doubt sweeping for the love of his life.

"You get used to it. Plus, once you're powerful enough, you don't need to go to them. They come to you."

"It's still exhausting. I'm ready to call it a night and the dancing hasn't even started yet."

Steven furrows his brows. "You feeling better, Millie? Are the meds helping?"

I flash him a tentative smile. The pain in my belly has lessened after taking two extra strength ibuprofen, but the occasional lash of pain, which breaks through all medication, still threatens to rob me of my breath.

"I-I'm fine. Thanks. I'll probably stay for another hour and head out."

"Don't over-exert yourself. Adrian won't want that for you."

I nod. "I won't. Don't worry."

Plus, I haven't seen him yet.

And I can't leave without seeing him, my dark prince reigning over his realm.

"I see Grace over there. I'm going to whisk her away for the first dance," Steven says softly and my heart warms at the happiness shining on his face.

He was a workaholic in the past, the cold King of Wall Street, as the press nicknamed him, like he was walking around with a half-functioning heart. But ever since he's been with my friend, he has come alive, like he finally knows his purpose in life.

"You look lovely tonight, Millie…and Merry Christmas." Steven gives my arm another squeeze as the orchestra strikes up a light melody.

I murmur my thanks, but his attentions have already turned toward Grace, who's clad in a curve-hugging black silk dress with delicate spaghetti straps, her eyes dancing with so much love inside them as she smiles at her fiancé.

A twisting sensation hits my chest as I watch the king whisking off his queen to the throng of dancers twirling on the dance floor. The faux snow spins in the air around them as they join the fray. Grace throws her head back in laughter at something Steven says while he looks at her with utter adoration in his eyes.

To be dancing with the person you love in public, the wistful thought slips into my mind.

My hands smooth over my baby blue tulle gown, which is a gorgeous confection of the McKenzie brand with its wide, off the shoulder neckline adorned with crystals, the bodice cinched at the waist, and a long, flowy skirt with a thigh high split. The sleeves are sheer and delicate, adding an element of whimsical to the ensemble.

Grace helped me with my hair today, expertly curling the thick strands before pinning a simple crystal hairpin resembling a feather on one side of my head. My makeup is a simple sweeping eyeliner and ruby red lips.

I feel like a princess today…a woman who should be standing by his side, the magnificent prince the public loves.

Just then, a sudden hush descends over the room, and everyone glances toward the double doors, with me following suit.

My lungs seize when I see the unmistakable silhouette of Ryland striding into the ballroom with his siblings behind him. They are a striking group—all elegant lines and sharp features—each one of them can grace the covers of fashion magazines.

His deep navy tux with black lapels clings to his muscular frame, his dark hair artfully swept back, his slate-gray eyes glittering with confidence and power, and his lips are tilted up in a small smile, like he knows a secret we aren't privy to.

The face of the Andersons. The Prince of the USA.

And I'm nothing but his dirty little secret.

Ryland strides inside, nodding to a few folks he clearly recognizes, passing by several ladies who look like they're about to swoon. He stops along the way and shakes their hands, murmuring a few words before moving on, addressing his subjects who are clearly paying tribute to him.

I stay frozen in place, the ache in my abdomen simmering in the background and my fingers twist in front of my dress.

Should I greet him? Say hello? Or pretend I don't know him? What is the protocol of addressing the much-older professor you're carrying on an affair with?

Just as I'm mulling over my options, Ryland's eyes sweep over the room, past where I'm standing by the refreshments table before his gaze springs back and locks onto me.

His confident strides falter and he stops mid-step. His gray eyes darken impossibly so, and his nostrils flare. I can see his corded throat rippling as he swallows, and his hands slowly fist at his sides.

A quiet murmur breaks through the crowd at his sudden inaction and a beautiful, aching melody sweeps through the room as the orchestra begins a waltz.

Ryland's intense gaze is searing, warming up my skin, the heat and awareness sizzling from the base of my spine, radiating to my hands and feet. I feel a blush blooming on my face as my heart tries to escape from my rib cage and hurl itself toward him. My breathing quickens, and I wet my parched lips with my tongue.

His eyes smolder at the motion, and just as abruptly as his stopping in the middle of the room, he starts walking once more.

He's coming to me.

This time, the leisurely stroll in his gait disappears, replaced with urgency in his long strides. He reaches me in a matter of seconds, ignoring the passersby calling out to him, clamoring for his attention.

My breath freezes, my drumming pulse nearly eclipsing the music in my ears, and I stare up at him as he stops a foot away from me.

"Millie," he whispers, his chest heaving like he ran a few miles to stand before me. His voice is filled with awe, warmth, and so much penetrating intensity it threatens to melt me on the spot.

"Ry—Mr. Anderson," I reply, my eyes darting to the sides, keenly aware of the interest from the large crowd around us.

Ryland doesn't seem to notice, his undivided attention intoxicating, it feels like a spotlight shining on top of me in a dark room. I can't see anyone else as they fade into the shadows. In this moment, I don't feel like his illicit secret, and my heart flutters with elation.

Slowly, he dips into a bow and I can't help but curtsy, the action involuntary, and he unleashes a glorious, lethal smile.

"May I have this dance, Ms. Callahan?" He extends his hand.

Swallowing, I nod wordlessly, my hand reaching into his. A sharp current sizzles through me when his hand touches mine. His eyes snap up to my face, a fire burning brightly in them, and I know I'm not alone in this swirling inferno we find ourselves mired in.

Ryland leads me to the dance floor, places my hands in the proper positions, and sweeps me into the swells of the music.

My heart swoops and falls with his practiced movements, my body yielding to his dominance, the surety of his hand pressing on my lower back, the confidence in his footwork on the dance floor. I've only waltzed a few times before, the last time at my brother's wedding. My movements felt stilted then, my hands and feet not quite coordinated.

But here with him, I'm gliding. Flying. Whirling. I feel as graceful as a swan.

Our bodies move as one as he twirls and dips me into expert moves to the romantic strains of the music, the velvet strings serenading the room in a poignant, heartrending melody.

My eyes never fall away from his, and he seems equally entranced with me.

The rest of the room simply falls away. Vaporized. Inconsequential.

Maybe this whirlwind can be permanent, and I can be in his arms forever.

His chest heaves, and he swallows, his eyes burning with tethered emotions and unspoken words. He pulls me tighter against him, far closer than the usual respectable distance of a waltz. I find myself not caring, the heaviness in my chest finally dissolving in the intimacy of his embrace.

"Millie," he rasps, his lips almost grazing my ear, "You're breathtaking. I…I can't take my eyes off you. You're my beautiful meadowlark, singing your sweet melody for me to hear, gifting me with your presence. You set me free."

My eyes flutter shut and I whisper, "I didn't take you for a poet."

"Only with you, Millie."

A burn gathers behind them while I lean into his embrace. There's heartbreak behind the hoarseness in his voice and the sentiments behind his words. The soulful man still doesn't believe he deserves the happiness he's experiencing right now.

I pull him closer, my touch conveying everything I want to tell him but haven't yet. I feel so treasured. So loved. My soul is entrenched in his tempest, and I never want to leave.

In this moment, the sadness of hiding in the shadows, the frustration of desiring more, all fall to the wayside. When I'm basking in his attentions, a flower angling toward the rays of the sun after a long storm, I feel loved and I realize, much to my dismay, my heart would much rather have these fleeting moments with him than have nothing at all. And what does this say about me?

"I'll only sing for you, Ryland. Only for you," I whisper as he whirls me into another spin before pulling me tightly against him once more. "You may feel you're chaining me down, but it's because of you I feel safe enough to fly. Higher than before."

I pull back and smile at the man I love—my feelings as clear as the sun shining brightly on unblemished skies—moisture coating my eyes because nothing in the world feels righter than this moment, more perfect, than being wrapped up in his arms.

"I don't need saving, Ryland. I've been free all along. Don't you see? I don't want an audience for my song. I just only want to sing for you."

His nostrils flare, a sharp exhale slips from his lips. His fingers dig deeper into my back, but I don't feel the pain. His lips part, his eyes turn into molten obsidian as they lock onto my lips, and he dips his head down.

Kiss me, please. Claim me in front of everyone.

My eyes flutter shut.

Applause rings out in the room as the strains of the music fade into silence and a few flashes erupt around us from the paparazzi.

He pulls back, and the room comes into focus. I'm suddenly aware of the furtive whispers and curious gazes, the very public nature of our almost kiss.

A sharp pain pierces my chest as I'm relegated to the shadows once more.

A denial. A rejection. Again.

My heart, which foolishly dared to leap moments ago, sinks back down in my chest. I realize I want him to choose me, to throw caution to the wind. Damn the consequences and the optics.

But I live in the real world and that'll be selfish of me, won't it? It'll be stupid to throw everything I've worked for away for a man.

And don't I deserve more?

My pulse is thready, the pain radiating inside my chest, and I feel breathless as I dip into another curtsy, the answer to his curt bow. He leads me back to the crowds gathered around the dance floor, doling out his usual public smiles to the people seeking his attentions.

Before letting go, he steps close and whispers, "Meet me in The Orangerie in ten minutes."

Stepping back, he flashes me his impersonal smile, but his brooding eyes reveal the storm brewing within, and he strides away.

I press my hand over my fluttering heart, a riot of conflicting emotions flowing inside me as I stare at his retreating figure, a towering beacon in the sea of fancy dresses and pristine suits.

Ten minutes later, I find my way to The Orangerie, which is nestled in a far corner on the same floor as the ballroom. It's one of the many courtyards and gardens hidden in the labyrinth inside The Orchid.

The moonlight shines through the clear glass ceilings, casting shadows on the leaves of the citrus trees, the sweet, honeyed scent of the small white blossoms yielding an intoxicating perfume in the air.

I walk toward the trickling sound reaching my ears, and find an intricately designed copper water fountain, the exterior already oxidized into a pale green patina. Leaning closer, I examine the exquisitely carved flowers and delicate little birds flapping their wings.

Then, the air shifts, and a presence fills the room.

I smile, not turning around.

He's here.

Despite my complicated emotions toward this man, my soul feels settled in his presence.

"I thought you'd enjoy the fountain." His quiet voice sends shivers up my spine as I straighten up and finally turn toward him.

Ryland stands before me, his face half-cast in the shadows from the pale moonlight, his lips tipping up in a small smile.

He looks dashing in his evening attire. A long time ago, I thought he resembled a villain from the romance novels I read, but I'm clearly wrong.

He's a prince in disguise.

My prince. The man I've been waiting for my whole life. If only he feels the same way about me.

He reaches out and cups his large hand around my face. I lean into his caress and let out a satisfied sigh. Perhaps these stolen moments in the shadows are all we have, but I won't trade them for the world. Even if my heart yearns for more.

"I should've known you'd be here tonight, since Adrian couldn't come."

I smile. "I wanted to see you at Christmas. I hope that's okay." My fingers trail up his silk lapels, enjoying the way his muscles bunch and ripple under my touch.

His hand captures mine and he pulls me closer to him, pressing my body tightly against his chest. I look up and the overwhelming love shining from his eyes steals my breath.

"I'm so happy you're here. I've been missing you the entire day," he whispers before pressing a soft kiss on my lips.

"When I saw you in there, I wanted to haul you out of the room because you looked so beautiful. I didn't want any other men looking at you." He swipes his tongue over my bottom lip before sucking on it, sending sparks to my belly.

He rasps, "If this makes me a terrible professor, so be it."

I grin and lightly bite on his bottom lip, enjoying the sharp hiss of lust slipping from his mouth. He palms the curves of my backside, tugging me flush against him so I feel his hard erection digging into my stomach.

"You're a wonderful professor." I grind myself on him and he groans as I move up and down the outline of his cock. The pulsing between my thighs intensifies, nearly distracting me from my period pains. "So much…hands on instruction."

"You dirty little minx." His panting breaths are hard against my ear. "If I didn't need to be at my own event, I'd set you down on the fountain ledge, flip up your dress, and fuck the impertinence out of you."

Biting back a grin, I step back, knowing he can't stay here for too long before his absence is noticed. I wink. "Merry Christmas, Ryland. I hope the magic of the season brings happiness to your heart."

His eyes darken to inky pools of tar, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. His lips part and tremble, one hand reaching into his pant pocket, retrieving something he has tightly curled inside his palm.

"You bring happiness to my heart," he whispers.

Ryland takes a step back, a flush creeping up his neck as his lips curve into a shaky smile. He blows out a rough exhale before unclasping his fist.

A silver chain dangles from his fingers. A delicate silver key, encrusted with tiny, sparkling diamonds.

Half of his mother's pendant.

My mouth parts in a gasp, my eyes darting up to his face.

With unsteady hands, he unclasps the fastening and reaches around me before gently securing the necklace around my neck. He heaves out another breath as his fingers trail over the chain to the delicate key nestled over the cleavage of my dress.

"I knew it'd look beautiful on you. Like it was supposed to be around your neck all along," he murmurs, his voice hoarse, his attention focused on the key.

My heart spins in a dizzy rhythm, my lungs ceasing to work.

"Thank you for allowing it to have an owner, Millie." Slowly, he drags his gaze up to mine and the passionate ardor in those bottomless pools robs me of all words. "Merry Christmas, my little lark."

My eyes brim with tears and with a choked sob, I pull his head toward mine and seal my lips with his. Maybe I won't get his public kiss today, but I have his heart in my hands.

And that has to be okay…for now. It has to be.

My fingers grip his thick hair, my kiss ardent, desperate, my entire being needing to taste him more than I need oxygen in my lungs. He groans as he tightens his clasp around my waist, his tongue invading my mouth, swirling, savoring, ravishing me.

The kiss is intoxicating, an emotionally drunken affair of rioting storms and tethered thoughts and my heart feels full even as uneasiness threads inside me, so insidious, I almost don't notice it.

Desperately, I cling to him, meeting him kiss after kiss, suction after suction, the maddening bursts of pleasure sparking over my body, tuning every cell inside me to the vibration that is him.

He loves me.

He doesn't need to tell me the words. I can feel it in the pressure of his kisses, the weight of the pendant around my neck.

That has to be enough.The refrain echoes in my mind, stemming the blood loss from my heart and yet, not enough to seal the wound.

Our kiss turns heated, his mouth trailing down the sensitive column of my neck as I lean back and let out a moan.

"I'm tired of fighting, Millie." He rakes his teeth over the pulse point near my collarbone.

"Nothing has ever felt so right. I need you more than I need sustenance, more than I need to feel the harsh elements of Mother Nature on my skin." His hand caresses the sensitive swell of my breast and kneads it as I let out a keening cry.

I feel the same way, Ryland. Please, take the leap with me.

Someone clears his throat loudly in the distance and we quickly spring apart, my breathing coming out in harsh exhales.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we need to make a speech."

Maxwell stands at the entrance, his quiet, brooding presence reminding me of his brother, yet different all the same. He has a colder, more unemotional edge, a refined elegance about him, but his dark eyes are penetrating all the same as they sweep over us.

A soft smile appears on his lips as he strides over. He's leaner and taller than his brother, equally handsome in a different way.

He extends his hand, his charcoal eyes sharpening when they land on the pendant on my chest. "I'm Maxwell. And you are…"

My eyes dart to Ryland's, finding him clenching his jaw, a myriad of emotions appearing on his face with each tic of muscle, each throb of the vein on his forehead. He gives me a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.

I turn back to Maxwell and reply, "I'm Millie Callahan, Adrian Scott's sister."

I don't want to say I'm Ryland's student, so I settle for the identity most people recognize.

Maxwell's eyes widen a fraction as he shakes my hand and glances at my necklace once more.

"A pleasure, Ms. Callahan. Thank you for taking care of my brother."

His words are laden with meaning as the brothers share a look, communicating messages bystanders can't possibly understand, and Ryland's lips tilt up in a soft smile.

Maxwell grins, the smile transforming his face into something much more approachable, and he slaps a hand on his brother's shoulder before stepping away.

"I'll give you two a few minutes." He nods at me and walks out of the garden.

I wince as a sudden flash of pain unmoors me and a whimper escapes from my lips. Time for another round of meds. My hand curls over my belly as the roiling stabbing steals my breath. Sweat forms at the back of my neck and I close my eyes.

"Millie?" Ryland leans down, clasping my face in his hands, his voice urgent. "Are you okay?"

"I..I'm f-fine." I curl into myself as another wave punctuates the calm.

"No, you aren't. Do I need to call the doctor?" His arms move to my back and effortlessly, he swings me up in his embrace and heads toward the door.

I groan and lean against his chest, listening to the reassuring thumps of his heartbeat, focusing on the lulling sound, trying to time my inhales and exhales to the movements of his chest.

"It's that time of the month and I was probably standing too much earlier tonight. I just need to lie down and take some medicine. I'll be fine."

He hoists me closer to him and presses his lips over my forehead, which is glistening with a thin layer of sweat. "Let me take care of you."

I grab his arm and shake my head. "You have The Ball and the speech."

"Nothing is more important than you."

My heart can't help but skip a beat at his words.