Chapter 2
I tried to pull back toward the doors.
We hadn't gone far enough for the lobby to swallow us. Behind us the revolving glass was still turning, slow, catching the warm light from the chandeliers and throwing it back in clean vertical slices. I could see the night outside in those panels, black and wet-looking, the street beyond dimmed by the reflection. My weight shifted to my heels. I tugged once, not hard, just enough to test if he would let go.
He didn't.
His hand tightened around mine. Not a squeeze that would hurt, just firm enough that my fingers had nowhere to go. The silver chain at his throat caught the light when he turned his head toward me, and his burgundy shirt moved with his chest as he kept walking.
"Keep moving," he said.
I didn't. I planted my feet for half a second more and felt the polished floor under my shoes, slick and cold through the soles. The air smelled like perfume and old carpet cleaner and that faint casino smell of coins and air conditioning.
"I can't," I said. My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to.
He didn't stop. He pulled gently and my body followed before I decided to. The doors slid farther behind us with each step. In the glass I watched our reflection shrink, watched the gold hoop at my ear swing when I turned my head to look back. The night outside got smaller and less real, just a dark rectangle now between brass frames.
"You already walked in," he said. His eyes stayed forward, not on me. "Too late to stop."
That was the second time he'd said it, or something like it. The first time it had sounded like encouragement. Now it sounded like a fact he had already decided for me.
We moved deeper into the lobby and the light changed. The chandeliers were huge overhead, warm and dripping, and they threw soft bokeh across everything so the edges went blurry. I started to see other people, not clearly, just shapes in cocktail dresses and dark jackets standing in loose clusters near the check-in desk and the lounge. Their faces were out of focus but I could feel eyes catching on us, the way people glance at movement.
I lowered my voice. "You're hurting my hand."
He loosened his grip a fraction but didn't let go. "I'm not."
He was right. He wasn't hurting me. That was the point. If he had been, I could have made a scene. I could have yanked my arm and said something loud. Instead his hand was steady and his pace was even and anyone watching would have thought we were a couple heading for dinner.
He leaned in a little as we passed a column. "He's expecting you," he said, quiet.
My stomach dropped. I kept my face forward so I wouldn't have to look at him.
"Who?" I asked, though I already knew he wouldn't give me a name. Not here.
"Someone who already knows you're here," he said. "I told him you'd come. If you turn around now it looks worse. You understand that, right?"
I didn't answer. The polished floor kept giving us back, two figures hand in hand, my emerald dress bright against his dark pants. The satin was catching every bit of that golden light. I had felt pretty when I'd put it on in the apartment, checking the cowl neckline in the bathroom mirror. Now under these lights it felt like a signal. The thin straps, the color, the way it moved — it wasn't blending in.
A woman near the bar turned her head. A man with a drink in his hand looked over, then looked again. Not staring, just noticing. That's how it worked in a place like this. The light, the dress, the handholding — we were visible whether I wanted to be or not.
And visibility meant exposure. That thought landed all at once, clear and cold. It wasn't the doors that were keeping me here. It wasn't his hand, really. If I had pulled hard enough I could have broken free. It was the fact that I had already been seen. That turning back would be a second entrance in reverse, twice as noticeable. That whoever he meant would hear I had come and then run.
I felt my shoulders drop even though I didn't want them to. My feet stopped fighting him. I stopped pulling backward and let my steps fall in with his.
We kept walking. His hand stayed locked around mine, our arms swinging a little with the motion. I stared ahead at the blur of chandeliers and the darker space beyond where the lobby opened into the casino floor.
"I don't want to do this," I said.
I said it flat, not loud, so only he could hear. He didn't argue. He just nodded once, like I'd agreed to something.
May you like
"I know," he said. "Just keep walking with me."
We did. The doors were behind us now, just glass and light and night I couldn't reach without making every head in the room turn.
