“Let go of me,” I breathed.
“I will. In a second. But you have to trust me.”
“Trust you? Trust you with what? With these?”
I shoved the photos back into his pocket.
Steven didn’t flinch. He just held my gaze, steady as stone.
“Please,” he said. “Just wait.”
“If you hurt her,” I whispered, leaning in close enough that no one could hear, “I will make sure you regret breathing her name. Do you understand me?”
She had no idea. No idea what was in his pocket.
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He shook his head, slow and sad. “You don’t understand. Not yet.”
Then he let go of my wrist and walked away from me, straight toward the stage.
I rose halfway out of my chair, my heart hammering against every bone I owned.
Across the room, Rosie stood by the dance floor, fanning her flushed cheeks with one hand. She caught my eye and waved.
