The music from the gala still echoed in Malia’s head long after she had slipped out of the palazzo and into the waiting car.
She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap during the ride back, nails digging into her palm, forcing herself not to glance at Kieth. He sat beside her in silence, unreadable, as though the dance had been nothing more than another calculated move in a game only he understood.
But her body betrayed her. Her skin still tingled where his hand had pressed into her waist, her pulse still skipped when she replayed his words: Almost makes me want to believe you.
She exhaled, slow and shaky, trying to force the memory away. She couldn’t afford to get lost in it.
Not when she was here for Ivy. Not when Andrew’s threats still pressed like a blade against her throat.
⸻
