Chapter 2

The air in the grand foyer of the library was thick, not just with the scent of expensive perfume and aged paper, but with the heavy, electric hum of anticipation. I stood near the back, clutching my champagne flute with a grip that felt too tight, watching the crowd swirl like a kaleidoscope of silk and tailored wool. I had changed into a dress that was little more than a suggestion of fabric—black lace that clung to every curve, hugging my hips and dipping low in the back, the hemline riding high enough to make me feel perpetually on the verge of a flash. My heels were stiletto-thin, pushing my calves into a permanent arch, and every time I shifted my weight, the fabric whispered against my skin. He was across the room, holding court. Elias. Even in a crowd of hundreds, his presence was a gravitational pull. He wore a tuxedo that looked as though it had been tailored specifically for his broad shoulders, the black fabric swallowing the light. He laughed at something a publisher said, a low, rumbling sound that I could feel in my chest even from twenty feet away. He caught my eye. He always