"What's the point of this game?" I asked, frowning down at my hand of cards. Sitting cross legged in front of me on the aubusson rug, Nate smirked at his own.

"Sh!ts n' giggles."

I smirked back, shuffling through my hand. The kid was whooping my ass and the competitor in me hated the sour taste of losing.

"What are you on now?"

"Fives."

"Sh!t." I chewed my thumb nail, watching as he offloaded more of his cards. I was sitting a seven and thanks to a crappy round, still had five more cards to go before I could drop down to the six's. Crazy Eights was aptly named; it was driving me bonkers.

"Hurry up slow, poke," Nate taunted, flashing one of the first, most genuine smiles I'd seen on his face all weekend.

"Wait!" I sang out, slapping down an ace of diamonds, linking it with a clubs to change the suit. Nate's smile flickered with competitive gleam.

Settling in, I managed to swing the momentum around my way so that by the time he crossed in to two, I was finishing up three's.

"I'm gaining," I sang out, wiggling with glee.

Eyes focused to his hand, Nate razzed his lips. "Not for long." He slapped down a pair of jacks, and I followed with a three, changing the suit to hearts.

"Suck it," I said, off loading my last pair and scooping up two fresh cards from the top of the deck. "Oh, poor baby." I mimed tears. "No hearts to play?"

His scowl deepened as I set down a queen. Nate lifted another card. Evening our hands.

"Oh, sh!t, I can go!" he squealed.

"Hey cheater, it's my turn!" We dove. Collided. Cards rained. Limbs tangled. I snagged Nate in a tucking roll, fingers tickling until he screamed through laughing tears.

"Ok, okay I give. I give! You win! You win!" 

Victorious, I let him go. His face pink from hysterics, faded blue hair a disordered mess from our horseplay. This was the kid I remembered, the kid I knew and loved. This smiley, happy-go-lucky little trickster who played cards and laughed. And suddenly, as soon as that light flickered on, he shut it off, drawing away into that cold, dark shell he'd encased himself in all weekend.

Clearing his throat, he rolled away from me, sat back up, smoothing his hair into a more 'angsty teenager' appropriate coif. "Good game."

"Nate," I brushed a hand over his knee but he jerked it away from me. "Come on, dude, what's wrong? Are you mad at me or something?" I'd wracked my brain last night, trying desperately to work out something. Anything that could explain why he was being so cold and distant with me, and the only thing I could land on was the fact I'd missed his birthday party this year due to a last minute meeting Hong Kong with George Wyatt and a few investors.

His eyes flickered to me face, lowered a smidge. "It's not you. Okay? Seriously. I've just got...things. Stuff." He returned to cleaning up the cards, plucking them up with stiff fingers. Sighing, I helped him.

"Is it your parents' divorce?"

His lips quirked. "F-ck no. I'm glad he's dropping that harpy."

Any other time, I might have laughed at that. "You know you could talk to me."

"Can't," he said, shuffling his stack of cards into a neat little pile.

"Why not?"

Turning, he forked over the half deck to me, shrugged. "Simple. You'd do something about it."

My heart clutched with worry. "Nate," I whispered. "If we don't fix this, your mother's threatening to ship you away. To military school."

He looked up at me, eyes glittering with honed purpose. "Maybe it'd be for the best." Thrusting his hands in his sweater pockets, Nate rose to his feet and walked away. 

#

For the rest of the afternoon Nate was careful to keep his distance, and I didn't see the need to press him further as the evening party preparations were well under way. Caterers, event coordinators, rental decor deliveries and guest descended in a chaotic whirl. Tents were raised in the lush, manicured gardens and seating arranged around dressed tables. A twelve piece live band rehearsed and florists scattered about to the whims of a ruthless planner working her magic.

Dressed in a stunning length of sapphire silk, I stood before the mirror. My hair was a perfectly length of straight auburn, pinned to the side so it fell elegantly over one shoulder and down my back. Diamonds pinned to my ears in a dazzling cluster lent sophistication and status to the look.

Gorgeous. Simple. Elegant.

Paul had made the selection and I was pleased to see he'd done a commendable job, yet again. The end result was something to make Tristan's eyes wheel in his head, and blood rush below the belt.

I smiled at my reflection, and the mental image, I pushed through the adjoining suite door to find Tristan sitting behind the desk, laptop open and face grim. His pressed, expensive Tom Ford suit lay on the bed, untouched.

Aggravated, I crossed my arms, cocked my hip.

"Why aren't you dressed?"

His eyes didn't as much as lift from the screen. "Not going. There's an emergency conference call between the Audit Committee and--"

"Yes, I know all about it."Annoyed, I waved a hand. "We don't need to be on that call. We were flipped the details as a courtesy, nothing more."

"I'm aware of that, however--" I flicked the top down and now his eyes did shift to me. Full of heat and, as they flickered over me quickly, male interest.

"I was working."

"You used up your evening hour and then some."

Rising, Tristan narrowed silver eyes. "You're very bossy."

"Yes, I am."

"I don't respond well to being pushed around."

Smiling, I set my hands to his chest, pushed. "No?" I pushed him again. Backing him up one step at a time.

"No," he repeated, calves knocking against the bed frame. Sliding my hands down, I unknotted the belt of his robe, finding the gloriously naked man beneath. My mouth salivated at the discovery. And he grew hard before my descending gaze.

"I thought we were late?"

"We are," I agreed.

"Seems a shame to mess this up," he said, trailing a finger along my neck, flicking my hair.

"Oh, we won't. That's because," hands back to his chest, I shoved him hard enough so he fell back on to the bed, "we're not having sex." Gathering the length of my skirt, I slid a knee on to the bed. Crawling over him. The swell of my breasts strained against the scooped neckline of my dress.

Hungrily, Tristan slid his tongue along that find edge.

"No touching," I warned, taking his hands and pulling them over his head. "And these stay right here." And curled his finger around the wrought iron bars of the headboard. "Don't let go. No matter what."

His eyes flashed in the dim lighting. Full of desire and challenge. "Or what?"

"Control, Shade." I smiled, flicking my tongue across his nipple. "This is about control. Who can take it, and keep it." Sinking in my teeth, I savoured his throaty chuckle that melded into a groan. Thought his body strained, he held on tight. Knuckles cracking.

Settling back, my eyes roved over the magnificent spread of man over bedding.

His body was stunning. Perfection. I'd seen every inch. Tasted every inch. And still, my mouth watered for more. More of him. Gliding my hands down the contours and curves of his chiselled torso, I settled on my favourite part between his legs. The beautiful, arrow starlight length of him that thickened deliciously between my fingers. So long and smooth, I cupped him with both and still there was more of him then I could handle.

"Your mouth," he said in a ragged breath.

"What about it?" Playfully, my head listed to the side, mouth hovering just so. A whisper of tongue to stroke across the wide crown.

"I want it," his voice slid out, thick and husky with need.

I skimmed my teeth over my bottom lip, smiled. "Good. I want you to want it."

And proceeded to show him who was boss.

#
We made it down to the party, only a respectable ten minutes late--a miracle since I had to put myself to rights and redo my lipstick. But by now most of the nights two hundred guests were seated at the cluster of banquet tables, each festooned with elaborate centerpieces and gilded linens. The colour scheme of pale gold, cream and dazzling shades of azure.

Simple. Classic. Overhead streams of lights glistened like stars in the sheer, gauzy canopy and the night breeze was a warm, loving caress. Tristan brushed a hand over my back as he withdrew my chair from the table, and laid claim to his, respectably positioned on the opposing end.

We were in public now, and that meant keeping up appearances. Just as we had the night of the NYCIFF. Dinner unfolded with the most sumptuous gourmet offerings and I found I could barely eat much of anything, my stomach wound in tight, disappointed knots. Though I only had myself to blame. Tristan was mine, and yet, in the eyes of the public--surrounded by my father's political colleagues, friends and associates--I couldn't fully have him. Not while he still, technically, belonged to another.

My gaze drifting, it landed on Helen to find her watching me with smirking amusement.

Fingers tightening around the stem of my wineglass, I wrangled down the immeasurable urge to break glass and gouge her eyes out with it.

"There's my girl," a voice popped over my shoulder and I plastered on a pleasant smile. "Uncle Percy." Who wasn't, in fact, an actual uncle so much as a man who had stayed close to the family and I had grown up with over the years. Once married to my mother's sister, until her unfortunate suicide, he'd latched on to the rest of us like a security blanket even though he'd since remarried a much younger woman only three short years later.

"Care to dance?" he asked, holding out a hand that wavered slightly between us, a heavy gold ring on his pinky. He was always jittery, though some of that was age; the rest I imagined was merely a result of being so tightly wound. Though he always smiled, his eyes never seemed to. Not really.

As Tristan was deeply engaged in conversation at the other end of the table with France's Prime Minister, as he had been most of the night, I saw little harm in slipping off to the dance floor. The brass band played and bodies swayed to the light, punchy jazz.

My father had been first to the floor, hauling Sheila--whom he'd practically strong-armed to attend tonight; the two of them dancing and laughing and smiling. It warmed my heart to see him so joyful. And Sheila, never to be seen in anything more fancy then a pair of mucked up jeans and galoshes was a vision in shimmering lavender dress.

Uncle Percy set a hand to my lower back and guided me into a quick, fluid step. The man was light on his feet. Dressed in black trousers and a brushed velvet dinner jacket stained a deep burgundy, a blood red cravat popped against the white collar of his shirt made me think of a man who'd been slit from ear to ear.

His dated choice in fashion crossing the line somewhere between Hugh Hefner and Jack the Ripper.

"Those two. Always scrapping," he sighed, nodding towards Helen and Collin who were arguing off to the side of the tent, visible in the folded edge creating a small pass-through to the gardens. Judging by Helen's wildly flailing hands and the colour staining my brother's cheeks, whatever it was they were discussing about wasn't good.

"Dissolving a marriage is difficult," I said, slowing as the music slid into a soft, gentler pace of a ballad. Uncle Percy drew me closer, his hand a solid weight at my lower back and the other, cupping mine, trembled.

"Shameful the way they're carrying on tonight. Such things should stay behind closed doors. Not aired in public." His eyes skidded around us as he tisked loudly. "Shameful. And their son, little Nathanial. Poor lad, where is he tonight? How's he...managing? Heard some dreadful news about drugs in his locker? Another expulsion?"

I looked up at Percy to see he was watching me rather avidly. I shrugged. "Not much I can say. Nate's...changed. I can't get through to him. Helen's thinking of shipping him away."

He jerked a fraction, his fingers tightening their grip.

"Away, is it? You wouldn't happen to know where to?"

"No idea. But I'm sure Helen's looking abroad. And remote. I want to talk her out of it, but we aren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye as is."   

"Yes." Percy's lips drew to a thin, pressed line. "Mustn't get involved, I always say. Terrible though it sounds, could prove to be the best thing for the lad."

Temper snapped under my skin. "Shipping him off to some military facility to be broken to pieces and slapped back together isn't for the best."

Percy's eyes leapt back to mine. "Oh, quite right, dear. Quite right. Dreadful. Hate to imagine a place like that, crushing the youthful exuberance out of such a boy with so much...potential."

"May I cut in?" At the sound of Tristan's voice, my pulse leapt and Percy pulled away. For a moment her and Tristan held each other's gaze, something snapping between them I couldn't understand. But as fast as it happened, Percy's smile bloomed, revealing tightly compacted teeth in one of his more rare smiles.

"The lady is yours," he said, kissed my hand, and slid away into the twirling mass of dancing bodies.