All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(64)

‘People will think you’ve made some sort of alliance with him.’

‘Who are these people, Jacks? The same people who rose to my defence when I was hauled into prison a few short months ago? Tell these people that Yuji Ono has been my friend for years and I’ll dance with whom I like.’

‘You’re making a spectacle of yourself,’ Jacks said. ‘Everyone was watching you. You might think that you’re unimportant but you’re still Leonyd Balanchine’s oldest child and you mean something to these people.’

‘That is unbelievably rude! What about my brother, Leo? Doesn’t he count? You’re the one who’s always telling me not to underestimate him.’

‘I’m sorry, Anya. I didn’t mean it that way. I—’

At that point, another tap on my shoulder: this time, Win wanting to cut in, thank God.

I shrugged Jacks off and gladly moved over to Win. The other song had ended, and a slower one had begun. I hadn’t even noticed because I’d been distracted by my argument with Jacks.

‘I didn’t think you liked to dance,’ Win said.

‘I don’t.’ I was annoyed over Jacks’s comments and I wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

‘You’re very popular,’ Win continued. ‘When you were dancing with that black-haired man, I wondered if I should be jealous.’

‘I hate these people,’ I said as I buried my head in Win’s chest. His coat smelt like cigarettes. Although Win didn’t smoke (no one really smoked any more because of how much water it took to grow tobacco), the coat must have once belonged to someone who had. The scent made me a little sick but I still kind of liked it. ‘I hate being dragged into this. I wish I had never been born. Or that I had been born someone else entirely.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Win said. ‘I’m glad you were born.’

‘And my shoes hurt,’ I grumbled.

Win laughed gently. ‘Should I carry you?’

‘No, just don’t make me dance any more.’ The song was over, so we went back to the table. Yuji Ono wasn’t there, and someone else occupied what I’d thought was his seat.

Because we could not make it back to the city by curfew, we had arranged to stay the night in Westchester in one of the carriage houses on the compound property. I bunked with Natty, and Win was meant to share a room with my brother. Leo went to hang out with Jacks and some of the other unmarried guys from the Pool, so I put Natty to bed, then went to keep Win company. Win was something of an insomniac so I knew he’d be awake. I was the opposite, by the way. I pretty much always fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. And, if I hadn’t felt bad for dragging Win to this awful wedding, I would have happily curled up next to Natty and gone right to sleep. The combination of the travel and my uncomfortable shoes had exhausted me.

It might seem silly but I made sure to wear my pyjamas and a bathrobe I found hanging in the closet. Despite our multiple conversations about waiting, Win and I had had more than a few close calls. So, bathrobe and pyjamas it was.

Win was lying on the bed, strumming an out-of-tune guitar he’d found on the premises. It was missing a string and there was a hole in the side. He smiled when he saw me in my get-up. ‘You look cute,’ he said. I sat in the only chair in the room. I curled my knees up to my chest and rested my head on them. I yawned. Win suggested I lie down on the bed, but I shook my head no. Win continued to strum the guitar, and the radiator came on. The heat made me even sleepier, but also, um, hot. I took off the bathrobe.

‘This is ridiculous. Use the bed. I won’t try anything, I swear,’ Win said. ‘I’ll wake you when Leo gets back.’

I nodded. I lay down on the other side of the bed, and I drifted off.

An hour or so later, I woke. Win was asleep with the guitar across his chest. I picked up the guitar and laid it down on the floor. And I couldn’t help myself. I kissed him.

He stirred, then woke, then kissed me back.

I wanted to feel my skin against his skin, so I reached my hands up under his T-shirt.

And before I knew it, my pyjamas were off. This happened so quickly that in retrospect it seemed silly that I had thought pyjamas would be a significant barrier to anything. And I was asking him if he had something. Me, Anya Balanchine, mostly good Catholic girl. I could scarcely believe the words had come out of my mouth.

Yes, he said, he did. ‘But only if you’re sure, Annie?’

My body was, even if my mind wasn’t. ‘Yes,’ I sputtered. ‘Yes, I am. Just put it on already.’

And then there was a scream in the other room. Natty was having another nightmare.

‘I have to go,’ I said, pulling myself off him.

Because there was no time, I left my pyjamas on the floor and threw on the bathrobe.

As I walked to the other room, I felt hot and flushed and altogether ashamed that I had let it get so far. That scream had saved me, really.

Natty was already awake when I got there. Her face was pink and tear-stained.

I took her in my arms. ‘What was it this time?’ I asked.

‘Nana,’ Natty whispered. ‘I was in the apartment, and Nana was dead. Her face was grey like stone. And when I went to touch her, her fingers started to fall off, and then she was just sand.’

The content of this nightmare was not unique, and though a large part of my brain was busy thinking about what had almost happened with Win, I was still able to comfort Natty. ‘Nana will die some day, Natty,’ I said. ‘We have to be prepared.’