Page 123 of Don't Be in Love

What’s wrong with me?

I stared up at the moon as if she’d have the answer, but her lingering stare and crown of constellations that reminded me of Mom only made me feel worse.

One of the doors behind me let noise from the ballroom escape. Footsteps tapped the stone and then hit the stairs. Suddenly, Dorian was in front of me.

“Finally, I found you. We need to go— Adelaide, what’s wrong?”

I sniffed and wiped the wetness from under my eyes. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

I hated that every time I looked at him, I saw the boy in the telephone booth, before I saw the man who preferred Victoria.

“Love, look at me,” he said, and I shivered. He stood on a step below, leaning down. I sat rigid, trying not to give in as his hands consuming my jaw with concern. His entire being overwhelmed me. “Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged.

I brushed his hands away, rubbing the last of the blur from my eyes. “I’m fine, really.” He gave me space as I picked up James’s coat and stood, fixing my skirts. “I was just about to leave actually—”

“You can’t go out that way.” His hand on my elbow stopped me from ascending the stairs.

“And why is that?”

“Because we have a problem.”

42

Don’t Read the Article — Adelaide

The frigid, solid grass was crunching beneath my heels, trying to trap me in the soil as we ran further into the maze of snow-dusted hedges, trees, and stone walls.

I would complain about it aloud again if it weren’t for Dorian’s threat to carry me himself if I didn’t keep up. Clutching onto his hand to not fall behind was painful enough.

“You’re positive that’s what the article said?” I asked.

“I think I know how to read, Adelaide,” he argued.

“But how would they know it’s me in the photo?”

“I don’t know!I heard one person mention it at the bar, I saw the article over their shoulder, and the next minute, I realized every photographer in the room was walking toward me and then searching for you. I didn’t exactly take the time to do an in-depth read. I’ll make sure to ask next time,” he breathed. “Let’s stop here.”

We squeezed between a wide marble statue and what must’ve been the row of hedges closest to the street. Car lights popped through the branches every few seconds. I couldn’t pop my head over the bushes to find out without a pair of stilts.

Shoulders pressed together, we watched our breath leave our lips as strings of photographers jogged by.

“Whose jacket is that?” he asked in a hush tone.

“You thinkthisis the time to be having a conversation?” I whispered, pulling the jacket off in a rush despite the freezing temperature. He gaped as if he had forgotten what I was wearing.

He cleared his throat. “It’s James’s, isn’t it?”

He pulled his jacket off his shoulders and rested it on mine.

“You two are relentless.” I rolled my eyes. “Give me your phone.” He stared at me. “Now.” Begrudgingly, he handed it over. I typed in his name and clicked the first article I found. My stomach plummeted.

“Who Is Dorian Blackwood’s New Love Interest, Adelaide Adorno?”

I skimmed the article, rushing.

… met in late August…together at least once a week … close with Blackwood’s friend James Breyer … raised in Boston by her parents … father Francesco Adorno … absent for the past ten years … her mother, Angela Adorno, was removed from guardianship a few years after … unable to provide confirmation on Blackwood and Adorno’s current relationship status … can confirm that was her in the photo of Christmas Eve, the same night Blackwood was seen with notable ex, Victoria Sutton.

I should be furious. Overwhelmed. Scared that everyone knew. But I couldn’t stop returning to their names. Francesco and Angela.