“Must’ve been hard,” I say quietly.
Kir’s face clouds over. “It was what it was.”
I frown. “Then why do it?”
His eyes find his father across the room again. Lukas is laughing at something a beautiful woman in black is saying.
“Because he expects it,” Kir murmurs. He hands me a fresh glass of champagne. “Now, enough of that. Drink up. The night’s young.”
We talk more to an endless procession of people. As long as Kir is with me, they treat me as deserving. His royal aura extends to me, apparently. I don’t miss how he insists on touching me. His hand stays close at all times. My waist. My elbow. The curve of my hip.
I don’t know what game he’s playing. But I’m too tired and confused to stop him.
At some point, a jazz trio takes over for the string quartet and the energy perks up. As c
