After I sort out the minor crisis in the kitchen, which required my input thanks to a model who decided to pitch a fit over “allergies” and “unnatural” food—I return to the party. It’s impossible to spot Ryder in the massive, heaving crush. I can’t believe he knows this many people.
My progress across the ballroom is glacial. Guests stop me to say hello, offer congratulations and make small talk. Their faces all seem familiar, except I can’t remember their names anymore. I start to wish for an assistant who had every attendee memorized and could whisper their names into my ear, like that scene from The Devil Wears Prada. Unfortunately I don’t think it’s something I can ask for. Ryder’s never needed me for that, so I’ll just have to get through this as best I can.
“I must say, that dress looks st
unning on you.”
I turn around. “Anthony!” Finally, someone I recognize and who is also my guest. “I didn’t know if you could make it.”
“Oh, believe me. Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
I smile. “I’m happy to hear that. Have you seen Ryder?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“Great. I hope you two had a chance to catch up.”
He chuckles. “That we did. Thank you, Paige. It was quite…gratifying to see him again after so long.”
“When was the last time you guys spent time together?”
“Seven years ago.” Good humor still glitters in his eyes, but his expression sharpens. “When he was a new and rising star.”
The orchestra starts a waltz tune, and he extends his hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
“Well… I’m actually looking for Ryder.”
“He’s around somewhere, but I’m leaving soon, and I’d hate to go without a dance with the belle of the ball.”
I would really prefer to find Ryder, and I wanted to dance with him first. But I also don’t want Anthony to feel snubbed or anything, especially if he’s leaving soon. Even though he’s Ryder’s friend, I’m the one who invited him.
“Okay. One dance,” I say with a nod.
His smile widens, showing straight white teeth. He takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor, where he puts his free hand to the small of my back. His hold is entirely proper—not too close, not too stiff.
“Just so you know, I’ve never waltzed,” I say.
“No worries. It’s just a dance in three beats. One-two-three, one-two-three. Just follow my lead.”
He’s an excellent dancer. I mess up here and there, almost stepping on his toes a couple of times, but he doesn’t criticize.
The waltz doesn’t last long. When the final note fades in the air, Anthony bows. I curtsy in return.
“What the hell?”
A hand grips my wrist, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough for me to feel the barely restrained fury. I gape at Ryder.
I’m not the only one staring. Other guests circle around, their eyes glued to the three of us in the center.
Ryder glares at Anthony like he wants to strangle his old friend. “I warned you,” he says in a low voice.
“I didn’t force her to dance with me. Don’t be a jealous ass,” Anthony says carelessly, brushing lint off his sleeve. “I don’t mind if you make a scene, but how would your fiancée feel?”
“If you care about her feelings, you’ll definitely stay away.”
“Why?” Anthony steps closer and lowers his voice so that only Ryder and I can hear. “Are you afraid of creating another Lauren? I thought you Hollywood types love sequels.”
I feel Ryder’s pulse throb through his palm. I try to step forward, but he pulls me back. I put a hand on Ryder’s arm and rack my brain for some way to defuse the situation. “Anthony, I think you said you were leaving.”