Smile firmly affixed, she descended the stairs until she reached the landing. Daidí stayed where he was, talking to one of the growers from the South Continent. As she walked through the black-tie crowd, Daidí’s associates smiled and wished her a happy birthday. Their children were a little less practiced in their false magnanimity, but they were far more polished than they’d been the last time Daidí had to insist on their socializing. Being Nicolas Abernathy’s heir apparent and a daughter meant that people her own age weren’t sure what to do with her.
Several boys nodded at her. The girls, however, kept their eyes carefully averted. Lily wasn’t like them. She wasn’t a bartering chip that would be used to strengthen ties to other organizations, nor was she sheltered from the ugliness of her father’s job. The boys acknowledged her, even though they weren’t sure if they should approach her as a potential date or as a future colleague. The one exception was her friend Erik. They’d shared a few kisses now and again, but under threat of retribution if any word of it was spoken.
Daidí knew, of course, as did Shayla, but they also understood that Erik didn’t occupy her heart. Instead, she fantasized about Creed Morrison and Zephyr Waters—celebrity darlings she suspected of sharing her same hidden, and illegal, heritage. She’d studied them in the magazines, but she’d had no intention of ever meeting them. That was part of their appeal. Having one of them here was not something she knew how to address.
Daidí didn’t mean to upset me. As she did with everything confusing in life, Lily thought through the Abernathy Commandments until she found her answer: Commandment #9: Be kind to those who deserve it. Her father deserved her kindness.
As she walked toward her father, her step was measured, and her smile was convincing. She might be filled with anxiety, but no one would know.
The crowd was manageable. Everything was okay. She could succeed at this if she thought of it like a regular business gathering.
She straightened her shoulders and sailed through the crowd—until Creed Morrison stepped into her path, stopping her advance, leaving her uneasy in a way no one ever had.
Creed had the beautiful dark complexion of the Seelie fae. The fae long thought to be both kinder and better were those whose skin was sun-burnished. Creed’s skin had the telltale signs of fae heritage, but Creed’s human father was African American, so Creed had a human excuse he could use to explain his Seelie-dark skin. Lily shared his heritage, but she’d inherited her father’s pale skin instead of her mother’s dark skin. Not all of the fae-blood were able to pass as human, not like Lily was.
“Lilywhite,” he said. She’d heard his speaking voice, listened to interviews for hours actually, but hearing her name from his lips made her unable to reply.
She nodded. Abernathy Commandment #2: Be yourself.
“I looked for you before the crowd arrived,” he said, as if they were friends.
In the tuxedo-and gown-filled room, Creed’s jeans, T-shirt, and boots were very out of place. The art etched on his skin stood out, more because it was visible than because it existed. He was far from the only person in the room with tattoos, but his weren’t hidden under sleeves or jackets. Creed Morrison demanded attention. It was a well-documented—and oft-photographed—fact. She’d read every article on him, clipped pictures from magazines and filed them away. It wasn’t an obsession; actually speaking to him was the last thing she wanted. She had suspected that he was fae-blood and wanted to understand how other fae-bloods lived. Now, seeing him in person for the first time, she knew. Now, he was here, and he was exactly what she suspected—and she wanted to flee.
She fidgeted with one of her bracelets, twisting it around her wrist, staring at the glittering green stones. “Had you needed something, Mr. Morrison?”
“Creed,” he stressed.
“Creed,” she repeated quietly.
He smiled and said, “I wanted to wish you happy birthday before I sing.”
Again, she nodded. This time, though, she looked up—and wished she hadn’t.
Creed was watching her with an utterly inappropriate intensity. If her father saw, he’d toss Creed out the door, despite the obscene sum he’d probably paid for his presence. Lily felt like her skin was electrified everywhere his gaze fell. She’d felt a tingle of recognition a few times when she’d seen other fae-bloods, but not like this. Nothing had ever felt like this.
“I didn’t know you did these sort of things,” she finally managed to say.
“Talk to beautiful girls at parties?”
“No. Sing for hire at parties,” she corrected him.
“I don’t.” He smiled, and she wondered how anyone ever thought he was anything other than fae-blood. He radiated energy. Maybe it was harder for people without fae ancestry to see it, but she’d glimpsed it even in photographs.
Lily resisted the urge to match his smile with one of her own and added, “Incidentally, flattering me is pointless. The sons of Daidí’s associates all try it to curry favor with him. I’m immune to praise.” She met his eyes, reminding herself who she was, reminding them both that she was not the shy creature she felt like in that moment when she’d first seen him. “The no-one-else-matters gaze is a nice touch, but Daidí hired you to perform. Tonight will be the beginning and the end of your contact with the notorious Mr. Abernathy, no matter what you do or say.”
“What if I want your favor?” Creed asked as he took a drink from a tray that a waiter held out to both of them.
Lily gave him a derisive smile, but said nothing.
Once the waiter was gone, and they were again alone in the crowd, Creed continued in a low voice, “You’re a hard girl to get to meet, Lilywhite. I took this job specifically to meet you. No publicity. No one outside of the guests here right now even knows I’m doing this.”
“Fantasies of the crime lord’s daughter on your arm to add to your image?”
Creed laughed. “Not quite.”
“I might not believe everything I read, but I’ve seen enough photos of you with different girls to know that you have two types: ones who add to your reputation and ones who are simply . . . unusual. I’m guessing your interest in Nick Abernathy’s daughter is about a fifty-fifty split between intrigue and business.”
Creed shook his head. “What if it isn’t Nicolas Abernathy’s daughter I wanted to meet, but Iana’s?”
Lily stilled. No one talked about her mother. It simply wasn’t done. Daidí’s considerable reputation for cold vengeance prevented it. “Those are dangerous words.”
“For people of our heritage, there are a lot of dangerous words,” Creed murmured as he leaned close and brushed a kiss on her cheek.
The feel of his skin on hers resonated through her body like she was a vessel for nature itself. If Creed Morrison’s words hadn’t confirmed that he was a fae-blood, his touch would have.
When he leaned back, he paused as if the contact had jolted him like it had her, but then a heartbeat later he was kissing her other cheek and saying, “If you want to talk privately later, I’d like that.”