She’s in her fifties, trim, and dripping with diamonds. She’s also swaying slightly, and very, very drunk.
“Scusi,” she slurs in an exaggerated Italian accent, waving a jeweled hand at me. “You. Girl. I need more champagne. And tell the kitchen that the risotto wasfreddo. Cold. Do you understand?”
I blink.
“I’m not?—”
Gabriel cuts in smoothly before I have a chance to finish.
“She’s with me.”
The woman blinks up at him, confused. “With you?”
“Yes.”
“But she—” The woman gestures toward me, her eyes bleary. “She looks like… I thought she was…”
“She’swith me,” Gabriel repeats. His tone is pleasant, but with enough steel underneath to make it clear that he’s not going to accept more prodding on the issue.
“Oh. Gabriel, I’m so sorry.Mi dispiace. I didn’t mean any offense.”
He smiles. “Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Caruso.” He dismisses her with a quick nod, and without waiting for a response, he steers me away.
“She thought I was staff,” I say tightly.
“She’s drunk and stupid—her usual manner at events like these.”
“She looked at me and saw a maid. Even in this dress. Even when standing next to you.”
He stops and turns to face me, his hands on my shoulders.
“Listen to me,” he says. “Half the people in this room are going to look at you and see whatever they want to see. And it’s because you’re new, because you don’t come from old money, because your face isn’t familiar to them. But mostly because they’re small-minded and cruel.”
I nod slowly. “Technically, Iama maid. I worked as a maid here, and now I work as a maid for you. They’re seeing what I really am, something I can’t shake off, no matter what I’m wearing.”
“They’re rich, bored snobs who have nothing better to do with their time than find ways to think themselves better than other people. Not one of them matters—not to me. And by the end of the night, not to you either, because you’re going to walk through this room like you own it. And anyone who doesn’t see you for what youreallyare—strong, beautiful, worth ten of them—can go fuck themselves.”
I stare at him, not quite sure what to say.
“Better?” he asks, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“A little. Maybe.”
“Good, now smile. We’re being watched.”
I glance around. Sure enough, at least a dozen people are looking at us with sideways glances.
“Who are they?”
“Enemies or allies—people trying to figure out which category they fall into.” He takes my hand, weaving his fingers between mine. “Don’t worry about them. Just stay close to me.”
“That’s your solution to everything, isn’t it? Staying close to you.”
“It’s worked so far.”
I want to argue, to tell him that I don’t need his help or constant protection or his anything else.
But then I think of those men who appeared out of nowhere. Good thing I hadn’t made a run for it—they’d have been on me within seconds.