Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(45)

Moments later we cross the threshold of the magnificent palace, green-and-beige-streaked marble beneath our feet, the room seeming to stretch onward for miles. “It’s breathtaking,” I say as we move to yet another check-in point, my gaze lifting to the curved ceiling adorned with green-and-beige-toned paintings of Roman armored soldiers on horses, while intricate trim work divides it from the beige walls.

“From the fourteen hundreds,” he says, guiding me toward a pedestal where yet another man in a uniform holds a clipboard. “Obviously restored.”

He tells me a bit about the royal family while we are once again checked off a clipboard, and a young woman in a long black dress takes my coat in exchange for a ticket.

“And now the games begin,” Kayden says, linking my arm with his again and setting us in motion deeper into the palace.

“Is that what this is? A game?”

“These parties are always games about positioning. Someone wants something. Someone needs something. Expect them to hint at those things to you, and just soak it all in. Often what doesn’t seem important now becomes so later.”

“Well, I won’t be a big help there since I don’t speak Italian.”

“The brilliance of their choppy English and your lack of Italian is that you’ll speak Italian soon—while the people you meet tonight will assume you don’t.”

“And say things they don’t think I’ll understand near me,” I supply. “That’s devious.”

“This crowd is devious,” he says. “We have to keep up or get stabbed or shot in the back. We won’t, but I’m sure a few people will try to come at me tonight through you.”

“Gallo’s given me plenty of practice dodging those kinds of bullets.”

His cell phone buzzes and he reaches into his pocket to glance at the screen, replacing it in his pocket as he says, “Matteo has a visual on the ballroom.”

The unexpected announcement puts me on edge all over again and I don’t know why. I want Niccolo to find me. And I must stiffen or react because Kayden wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer. “What just happened?” he asks.

“If you suspect bad things might happen tonight,” I say, “just tell me.”

“Bad things can always happen, and I won’t pretend otherwise. What are you specifically concerned about?”

“You have Matteo doing live monitoring of the party.”

He stops walking, facing me, his hands on my shoulders. “I always have a tech guy tap the security feed for these events. The playback makes for interesting viewing, which you’ll see when we watch it tomorrow. I asked for Matteo specifically because you’re here for the first time by my side, and I will always want the best for you.”

We. It’s a good word but it, and everything he just said, reminds me of just how protective he is. “Don’t shelter me,” I warn. “Don’t put me in a situation without arming me with the facts, no matter how good, bad, or very damn dirty.”

“I have every intention of letting you get very damn dirty with me, sweetheart. In all places, things, and situations. Okay?”

I study him, searching his face, and I don’t believe for a minute that he’s going to stand by those words if he thinks he can protect me from something. But I do believe that he thinks he will, and for now, that’s enough. “Yes.”

He wraps my arm around his. “We’ll watch the videos together in the morning,” he says, turning us toward the music, and under a giant archway that leads us to another stairway. “It’ll help you get to know all the players.”

“I’d like that.” As we grow nearer to the sound of heavy chatter, and even louder music, a thought hits me. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask this. What if I see someone I know?”

He smiles. “Amnesia is like pleading the Fifth Amendment. You don’t know who they are, or what they’re talking about. And I’ll be with you. We’ll wing it together.”

“Wing it,” I repeat in disbelief, but as we reach the top of the stairs, and more cameras begin flashing again, it’s clear that’s the best plan I have right now. “I think I need a drink.”

“Don’t drink and drive,” he replies, moving us past several reporters to enter a ballroom speckled with glitzy gowns and tuxedos, a dance floor in the center, and at least five hundred candles dangling from long ropes above.

We stop just beyond the crowd, which I guess to be in the hundreds, and we both scan the room, my gaze going toward the two giant ice sculptures framing the musicians to our right. “Butterflies,” I say of their design. “That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“Nothing with these people is a coincidence,” he confirms. “It’s a message to someone, and we need to find out who before we leave here tonight.”

A waiter stops beside us and offers us champagne, which we both wave off. “What happened to needing a drink?” Kayden asks.

“It’s better if I’m sober when I pretend to forget people I just remembered, and ask subtle questions about things I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t know about. And that statement was just so ridiculous that it sounds like I am drunk.”

Kayden’s eyes light with amusement and mischief, his fingers lacing with mine. “I’m hungry. I need either a private place to have you for a snack, or the only good thing about these events—the food.”