My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(4)

Romeo Costa, however, appeared more indifferent than offended.

He sat back, forearms meeting each seat handle. The posture—and his perfectly tailored Kiton suit—granted him the aura of a terse king with a flavor for war.

“Dallas Maryanne Townsend.” Barbara Alwyn-Joy rushed forward to intervene. Emilie’s mother was a chaperone for the event. She, like the rest of them, took the job way too seriously. “I should get your father to escort you out of this ballroom right this minute for speaking to Mr. Costa like that. This is not the Chapel Falls way.”

The Chapel Falls way would have every redhead in this town burn at the stake.

I made a show of lowering my head, tracing the shape of a round shortbread on the marble with my toe. “Sorry, ma’am.”

I wasn’t sorry.

Romeo Costa was a prick.

He was lucky we had an audience, or he would have gotten the unfiltered version of me.

I turned, about to extract myself from the premises before I caused even more commotion and Daddy canceled my black card.

But then, Costa just had to speak again.

“Miss Townsend?”

Bieber, for you.

“Yes?”

“An apology is in order.”

Swiveling on my heel, I glowered at him with every ounce of wrath I could muster. “You’re high if you think I’ll apo—”

“I meant I should apologize.”

He stood, buttoning his blazer with one hand.

Oh.

Oh.

Dozens of eyes ping-ponged between us.

I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I did think my chances of getting my hands on that shortbread just increased tenfold.

Also, I really needed to get in on his talent for being controlled and confident to the nines, even when delivering an apology. Apologizing always made me feel so helpless.

Costa, on the other hand, treated an apology as a tool to catapult himself further up the hierarchy of humans. Already, he seemed an entirely different species from his peers.

I knotted my arms over my chest, ignoring everything etiquette classes taught me, per usual. “Yeah. I’d be open to that.”

He didn’t crack a smile.

Didn’t even look at me.

Rather, he looked straight through me. “I apologize for doubting your identity. For uninformed reasons, I thought you’d be…different.”

Normally, I’d ask who told him what, but I needed to cut my losses and run before my mouth got me into more trouble. There was a reason I kept it munching on something eighty percent of the time.

Plus, I couldn’t stare directly at that man without feeling like my legs were constructed of instant pudding.

I didn’t like how woozy he made me.

Or how my skin flushed wherever his eyes rested.

“Hmm, sure. That’s okay. Happens to the best of us. Enjoy your evening.”

With that, I beelined back to my table.

Luckily, Daddy sailed through dinner in a great mood, talking business with his friends. Barbara must not have acted on her threat to narc, because shortly after the fourth entrée, he granted me permission to dance.

And dance I did.

First, with David from church.

Then, James from high school.

And finally, Harold from one street over.

They spun me, dipped me inches from the marble floor, and even let me lead in a few waltzes.

All in all, I almost restored my confidence that the evening was a success. Until Harold bowed his head when our song ended and I started for my seat.

Because when I turned, Romeo Costa was there again.

Like a summoned demon.

About two inches from my face.

Sweet Mother Mary, why must sin always be so tempting?

“Mr. Costa.” I placed my hand over my bare collarbone. “Sorry, I’m rather dizzy and exhausted. I don’t think I can da—”

“I’ll take the lead.” He swept me up, my feet hovering over the floor, and began waltzing with me without my participation.

Hello, red flag the size of Texas.

“Kindly put me down,” I requested through pursed lips.

His hold on my waist tightened, the contour of his muscles engulfing me. “Kindly drop the lady fa?ade. I’ve seen Olivia Wilde performances more convincing.”

Ouch.

I distinctly remembered wanting to bleach my eyeballs after watching The Lazarus Effect.

“Thanks.” I loosened my muscles, forcing him to hold all my weight or render me limp on the marble. “Being a respectable member of society is honestly exhausting.”

“You came to my table for the shortbread, didn’t you?”

Perhaps any other girl would deny it through her teeth. As it happened, I liked the idea of him knowing he wasn’t the main attraction for me.

“Yes.”

“They were spectacular.”

I peeked at his table over his shoulder. “There’s still some there.”

“Very perceptive, Miss Townsend.” He twirled me with the frightening expertise of a competitive ballroom dancer. I wasn’t sure whether I was nauseous because he moved too fast or because I was in his arms. “I don’t suppose you’d also be interested in champagne to go with it? Oliver and I just attained a bottle of Cristal Brut Millénium Cuvée.”

That thing was thirteen thousand dollars a pop.