When he sees me looking at him, the smile vanishes almost as soon as it appeared. I notice the air grows slightly less frigid, though.
A sharp pop makes me jump — sound rushes back and I turn to find Grayson has opened the bottle of champagne. Before I can protest, he’s shoved an overflowing flute into my hands.
“Cheers!” Grayson grins.
“To a successful premiere,” Sloan toasts, raising his own glass.
Even Wyatt joins in, his big hand looking ridiculous as it holds the delicate stem of a flute. “ToUncharted,” he echoes.
They’re all looking me, waiting for me to say something eloquent. I’m fresh out of eloquence, so I go for honesty instead.
“To making it through this alive,” I murmur.
We all clink. I watch the three of them draining their glasses and, without thinking, lift mine to my lips. The bubbles fill my mouth before I remember a certain surgeon general’s warning. I try to be discrete as I spit the mouthful back into my glass, but there’s really no way to casually regurgitate champagne. Choking, I cough it back up and gasp for air.
“Kat!” Sloan exclaims. “Are you all right?”
Wyatt lurches forward, an involuntary instinct, concern etched on his features. He stops himself almost instantly, no doubt remembering that he hates me, now.
“I’m fine,” I wheeze, hauling in air.
“What happened?” Grayson asks. “First time drinking Dom?”
“Hilarious,” I mutter.
Wyatt is staring at me intently. His curious eyes move from the glass to my face.
“The sip just went down the wrong way, that’s all.” My pulse is pounding. I look down at my hands, to avoid those eyes that see far too much. “I’m fine, now.”
Grayson claps me on the back. “Need me to give you mouth to mouth?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m all set, thanks.”
He clinks his glass against mine again. “Your loss. Drink up.”
“Oh,” I hedge, staring at my untouched glass. “I spit in it, so I don’t really want to—”
“I’ll get you a fresh glass,” Sloan offers, walking toward the cabinet.
“No!” I yell a bit too hastily.
He stills, arm extended toward the glasses.
“No,” I repeat in a more composed tone. “Thanks anyway. I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I’m sure.” I glance at Wyatt and find his eyes are still narrowed on my face. My heart starts beating faster. It’s silly, but part of me thinks he can sense I’m trying to hide something. He was always eerily attuned to my every hidden facet, my innermost workings, all the darkest truths I never wanted to reveal. From day one, he could see straight through me.
The last thing I need is for him to detect the newest skeleton in my closet…
“You know what, I should be going anyway.” I yank my phone from my purse and dial Masters. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”
“Kat’s right. We should all be resting up,” Sloan says sagely. “My nightly yoga session starts in a half hour, when my trainer arrives— you are all welcome to join me. It might be beneficial to balance your inner selves before…”
I tune him out again as I lift the phone to my ear and listen to it ring.
Wyatt is still watching me from across the room — seeing far too much as his eyes scan my face. His arms are folded across his chest and there’s an aura of skepticism around him that makes me nervous. All my worry and fear and guilt are swarming just below the surface of my skin, plain for him to witness.