Just as I start to tell her I’m not jumping the fence, I see she already has a plan. Impulsive, she is not.

  Standing in the darkness by the gate is Mikhail, his hands folded comfortably in front of him. Instead of his usual suit, he’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and dark wash jeans. He’s even more muscled than I guessed. He looks good.

  The three of us slide our heels onto our feet and walk over the path to where Mikhail is standing. He gives us a nod. “Good evening, Miss Lewis, Miss Cavendish-Holt. Miss?”

  “Dali. Nice to meet you,” she mutters, not meeting his eyes.

  Charlotte elbows me, smirking. She definitely caught me staring at the dark, swirling skeleton tattooed on Mikhail’s forearm. She addresses him. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Charlotte?”

  “At least once more.” A hint of amusement glitters in Mikhail’s eyes.

  “How are we going to unlock the…?” But I trail off when Mikhail steps aside, revealing that the gate is unlocked and propped open. My jaw drops.

  “I picked the lock, Miss Lewis,” Mikhail says, as if it’s the most ordinary thing he’s done all day.

  “If I had known how useful you would be, I would have asked Daddy for a bodyguard sooner.” Charlotte pats his arm. She looks beautiful and modelesque beside him. She’s not short, at 5’5”, but he’s easily six inches taller than her.

  “Shall we go?” he asks, looking down at us.

  “Yes, let’s.” Charlotte steps toward the gate, but Mikhail holds out a hand to stop her.

  “I will go first,” he says, stepping outside and looking around. “Ladies.”

  The gate shuts with a click.

  A black sedan is waiting at the curb, and we climb in, Charlotte in front and Dali and I in the back.

  “Where to, Miss Cavendish-Holt?”

  Charlotte huffs in exasperation. “You absolutely cannot call me that in the club tonight. I told you to call me Charlotte. You’re supposed to be our friend, not our nanny.”

  “You are not the one who hired me, Miss—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  Mikhail laughs. “You are feisty, Charlotte.”

  “Finally.” She taps an address into the car’s GPS, and Mikhail pulls out into the night.

  I sit back, amazed that we snuck out without being caught. Absently, my fingers make circles in the fabric over my thigh. It’s stretchy and silky and a dusty rose color that Charlotte said looked amazing on me. The low cut halter is less modest than I usually wear, but it’s nothing compared to the backless white sheath Charlotte has on. Even Dali’s brassy, strapless frock is not what I expected.

  I turn as we drive away, half expecting the security guard to be chasing after us, but there’s no one there. “Charlotte, about that back door. What’s it used for, normally? Why aren’t there security cameras?”

  Charlotte twists around in the seat to look at me. “Some of our ambassadors and delegates are extremely private and do not wish to be taped coming and going from the school. That door is used for them, but they have to arrange for it to be unlocked ahead of time. The school posts a guard at the gate whenever it’s being used, to keep anyone from getting in or out unnoticed. Students have been using it to sneak out for years. It’s a school-wide secret.”

  If it’s a school-wide secret, it’s probable that Na’s killer knew about it, and possibly used it as their entry point the day of the murder. If they got in once, they could get in again...

  I push the thought away. Tonight is supposed to be about fun, and dwelling on a murder is not fun. Just the opposite, actually. It makes my skin crawl.

  “You haven’t told us where we’re going,” Dali says, tapping Charlotte’s arm.

  Charlotte grins. “You’re going to love it. It’s an eighteen and over club, so they don’t serve alcohol in the main room. You have to go to a secret speak easy in the basement to get drinks. It’s decorated like it’s the roaring 20s.”

  “But I’m not 18 yet, and neither are you,” I say.

  “Details,” she says, shrugging me off.

  I lick my lips, nervous. My mother yelled at me once when she found out I had been at a party where kids had been drinking. She swore if she ever caught me drinking underage she’d ground me for life. And I can’t imagine the senator being okay with my stepsiblings drinking, either. “Are you going to drink tonight?”

  “Are you serious?” Charlotte’s eyes flash as she turns on me. “It is illegal to drink under the age of 21, and not only that, it’s irresponsible, especially since we’re going to be in a public place. I will not risk being photographed by some story-sniffing journalist and have my photo plastered all over the Internet. My parents would be furious. There will be no drinking tonight, are we clear?” She looks back and forth between Dali and me, and we both yield.

  “We’re clear,” I say, eyes wide.

  “Not like I drink much, anyway,” Dali adds.

  Satisfied, Charlotte faces the front. “We’re almost there. The valet is just around the corner. There. Are you going to dance with us?”

  One thing I like about Charlotte is that despite the fact that she’s used to being waited on, she doesn’t treat people as if they’re beneath her. Including Mikhail.

  “We will see.” Mikhail pulls up to the curb and we pile out of the car. One of the valet drivers takes the keys and slides into the sedan.

  The club is a two-story warehouse with blacked out windows. A discreet sign above the door identifies the place as Coco. Zelda. Gloria. Louise. Two bouncers stand at the entrance, periodically letting people in as others exit. Saucy swing music seeps out each time.

  “It’s named after famous women from the 20s,” Charlotte supplies.

  Dali and I start toward the back of the line.

  “Where are you going?” my stepsister asks.

  I glance between her and the people in line, who are eyeing us with suspicion.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Charlotte says. “Follow me.” She struts over to the bouncers and gives a wide, sparkling smile. “Hi, Butch. Hi, Mav.”

  “Miss Cavendish-Holt, it’s been a while,” the guy called Butch answers, smiling. “Who are your friends?”

  “My sister, Adrienne, and friend, Dali. And that’s Mikhail, Adrienne’s boyfriend.”

  My cheeks flame red. Boyfriend? I start to splutter, but Mikhail puts a steadying hand on my shoulder.

  “Gentlemen.”

  “Nice to meet you ladies. Mikhail.” Butch nods. “Go on in.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Charlotte says, leading us inside.

  I’m too embarrassed to meet their eyes as I follow. As soon as the door closes behind us, I grab Charlotte’s arm. “What was that? He’s not my boyfriend,” I rasp.

  “Trust me. It’s fine. Nobody in here cares. Loosen up, and let’s have some fun.”

  I take a deep breath. “You’re right. Okay.”

  “Of course I’m right, now come on.” She maneuvers through the throngs of people and claims a high table in between the dry bar and the dance floor.

  Sighing deeply, I let our surroundings sweep over me. The entire room is awash in pink and gold light. Large, Tiffany-style glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling, giving off a warm glow. To one side, an eight-piece band is playing bright, brassy swing music.

  “This is amazing,” Dali says, smiling. “I’ve always wanted to go to a swing club.”

  “Now you know why I insisted you wear that,” Charlotte says with a simper.

  She’s right; Dali’s copper dress is perfect.

  “If only we had a fedora for Mikhail,” Charlotte says wistfully, watching as a guy wearing a black and white hat walks past us.

  “Next time, maybe,” Mikhail says, eyeing the hat.

  “Let me just text Kenneth to see if he’s here yet.” Charlotte pulls her phone out of her clutch and types with quick fingers.

  “Do you know how to swing dance, Mikhail?”

  He looks down at me. “I am not planning to dance tonight. I am here to make sure you and Miss Cavendish-Holt are safe.”

  “Charlotte,” my stepsister insists without looking up from her phone. “Remember?”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Oh, Kenneth is outside. He’ll be in in a—There he is!” She cheers and trots past us, throwing her arms around the neck of a guy who, if I had to describe him, would require words like “Ken doll,” and my mother’s favorite, “hunky.” Charlotte wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close.

  He laughs, putting an arm around her. “I missed you, too.” He smiles into her hair, but stops when he sees Dali and me staring. Putting Charlotte away from him, he holds out a hand. “You must be the stepsister I’ve heard so much about. And Dali? Nice to meet you both.” His teeth are so white they practically glow in the dark as he shakes our hands.

  “Nice to meet you, too. Kenneth.”

  “Right. Shall we?” Holding out a hand to Charlotte, who nods eagerly, he leads her onto the dance floor. They break into complicated swing moves that make my eyebrows rise. Clearly, they’ve done this before.

  Dali and I stand at the table, and order mocktails. Mikhail orders a water, not noticing the waitress’ eyes on him before she moves away. He’s too busy scanning the club area, and the dance floor, where Charlotte and Kenneth are doing the Lindy Hop.

  “Come on, let’s dance,” Dali says, pulling me toward the uncrowded open space. I’m tempted to decline, because I’ve never swing danced before, but she’s determined. So I find myself whirling around on the dance floor, laughing at my attempts to follow everyone around me. Plus, Dali is not a very good teacher. I end up swaying to the music and swinging my arms back and forth in a way that makes me self-conscious, until I realize that not a single person on the dance floor cares about how I’m dancing.

  Across from us, Kenneth and Charlotte are slowing down. “I need a drink,” she says, pulling on his hand to lead him back toward the table.

  I follow them, begging off from dancing with Dali. She stays where she is, mimicking moves of the people around her and grinning from ear to ear.

  Kenneth offers to get Charlotte a drink, and he walks away through the crowd toward the bar.

  I take a swig of my mocktail. It’s super sweet and yummy. “So, Charlotte, where did you meet Kenneth? He looks older than us.”

  She nods, fanning herself and holding her hair up off her neck. “You’re going to laugh. It’s so ridiculous.”

  “I won’t. Please tell me.”

  “Okay, okay. I was at a celebrity golf tournament in the spring, and I saw him in the med tent. He’s pre-med, and he was volunteering there for experience. Anyway, he was really cute in his pale blue scrubs and his hair swept to one side, so I contrived a way into the med tent and introduced myself.”

  “How’d you do that? Pretend to faint or something?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never play into antiquated feminine stereotypes by pretending to faint. I said I got stung by a bee, and I told Daddy I needed an ice pack.”

  I can’t help giggling at that. It’s so one hundred percent Charlotte.

  My eyes swing over to the dance floor, where Dali is grooving with a guy who’s period clothing goes with hers. Her smile is wide and her laughter is infectious, making him smile down as they attempt a twirl.

  Kenneth returns with Charlotte’s Shirley Temple, and she takes it, drinking greedily.

  “Dancing makes me so thirsty,” she says in explanation when she catches me gaping at her.

  Almost before Kenneth can get a sip of his drink, Charlotte takes his arm. “Ready?”

  “Whenever you are,” he answers, following her back onto the dance floor.

  A guy with brown skin and bleached-blond hair comes up to us with a sheepish smile, shooting a glance toward Mikhail before focusing on me. “Would you like to dance?”

  I look at the bodyguard, who merely nods.

  “Um, okay.”

  “Great.” His palms are a little sweaty, but mine probably are too. I’m pretty nervous.

  “You made it back,” Dali says as her partner spins her past me. The golden light washes over them as they maneuver around the two of us and disappear into the crowd again.

  “Yay,” I say, but I’m not sure she heard me.

  Charlotte and Kenneth are dancing and talking in the corner. She looks blissfully happy as she looks up at him.

  The trumpets flare as my partner starts moving to the music, my hand in his.

  Let me just say. Either I am not a good dancer, or this poor guy is not a good leader. I’m not sure which, but we’ve stepped on each other’s feet so many times my toes are swollen in my shoes. I’m about to beg off when someone taps on my shoulder.

  “May I cut in?”

  I turn toward the newcomer, about to decline, when I realize it’s Mikhail. “Yes,” I breathe, relieved when my partner leaves.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Here. Take off your shoes.” He holds out a hand.

  “What?” I have to yell over the music, which has grown louder to compensate for the crush of people who have come into the club in the past half hour. It’s much more crowded now.

  “Your feet hurt, yes?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Take off your shoes. You can dance without them.”

  “Really?”

  Mikhail merely waits.

  I bend down to slide off my heels, unable to prevent the relieved groan from escaping my mouth once they’re off.

  He chuckles lightly, taking my shoes and depositing them under our table. “Now, let us dance. Shall we?”

  I nod. He can’t be worse than the guy I was dancing with before.

  Mikhail arranges our form, and his mouth twitches into something like a smile, as if his muscles are stiff and have forgotten how to perform the gesture after weeks of quiet observation. “Are you ready?” he asks.

  I give him half a smile, glancing down at my feet.

  “Do not worry. I will not trample you.” He begins to dance with the bold music, leading me all over the floor, and even doing some fancy twists. My hair whips out behind me and my skirt hugs my legs as we dance, so fast I barely register the moves we’re doing until he pulls me back to the basic form. Mikhail is an incredible dancer.

  Dali and her partner spin closer to us, and she gives me a thumbs up. “You guys look great,” she calls over the booming notes from the trombone.

  “You too.”

  Mikhail pushes me into one more spin as the music crests and breaks, the song ending. He seems more relaxed here on the dance floor, his body moving in fluid rather than tight motions. Under the colored lights, his tattoos and fit form don’t seem so intimidating. The lines of his shoulders are relaxed as he lets go of my hands and claps for the band.

  I laugh in delight. That was an absolute blast.

  Whoops of enthusiasm go up and another, slower song begins. Mikhail and I make our way back to our table. I pick up my drink, enjoying the icy glass against my flushed cheek.

  “Do not drink that. I will get you a fresh one.” Mikhail signals to the waitress, and I ease my glass onto the table, wondering why the heck I can’t finish my drink. It’s not like somebody messed with it, did they? I eye the bright pink liquid and push it away.

  Kenneth herds Charlotte toward us with an arm around her body. “She was feeling a little dizzy, so I suggested we take a break.” A humorless laugh escapes him as he drops his hand. “Let me get you a chair.” He disappears into the crowd.

  Charlotte laughs uneasily. “That was so much fun, but man it’s hot out there.” Fanning her sweaty face with one hand, she uses the other to hold her weeping glass up to her neck. “Where is Kenneth with that chair? He’s right; I need to sit down.”

  “Here,” Mikhail says, scooping an unused chair from a nearby table and setting it down behind her.

  “Thanks.” She sits and stretches out her feet.

  Kenneth comes back holding a chair, but a flicker of annoyance crosses his features when he sees Charlotte already sitting.

  “I’ll take it!” I say, and he gives it to me wordlessly.

  “I’d like to get another drink.” Kenneth stalks off, despite his half-full cup on the table.

  I look up at Mikhail, who is scanning the room. “So, you can dance! What was that?”

  Mikhail’s eyes shine as he looks at me. “Swing dancing was popular in Moscow. I used to go with friends every weekend, before I came here to the United States. I… missed it. I did not realize how much until tonight.”

  “Well, you’re amazing at it.”

  “Thank you, Adrienne.”

  I like the way my name rolls off his tongue. As I smile up at him, a sense of accomplishment washes over me. I’m pretty sure I just made friends with our taciturn bodyguard.

  14

  Charlotte waits until Monday morning at breakfast to ask me the dreaded question. “So, what did you think of Kenneth?” She toys with her fork as she looks at me.

  “I’m so jealous you got to meet him,” Genevieve says in her French accent. “I’ve only seen pictures.” Genevieve seems to be more at ease this morning, after having spent the weekend off campus with her parents. To her credit, she hasn’t once looked over at where Ricardo is sitting during the whole of breakfast, which is a few times less than I have. I didn’t see him all weekend, and I have to admit, I missed our banter.

  “Hello? Earth to Adrienne?” Charlotte snaps in my face, jolting me out of my thoughts.

  I refocus on her, unsure of what to say about Ken. Do I tell her that he seemed nice, but not terribly interested in her? That she seems to like him a lot more than he likes her? He was nice and all, but the way he practically pushed her away when she hugged him struck me as being almost a little embarrassed by her affection.

  I glance over at Dali, hoping she’s ready with a positive response, but she’s in the middle of a bite of cinnamon sugar oatmeal. Today, her braids are twisted into an elegant knot on the top of her head. She’s not going to be any help.

  “He seemed really nice,” I say at last, hoping I sound eager enough to please Charlotte.

  “He is really nice, and handsome, and smart, and caring. Did you see how he went to get me a chair when I got dizzy?” She sighs, her eyes dreamy.

 

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