After the Russian woman left her table, the rest of Corbin's guests approached in twos and threes. Within a few minutes, Autumn had to excuse herself to grab more from the kitchen. Honest to God, she thought, where are they putting it all? Especially the ones containing blood. Those simply seemed to vanish faster than she could replace them.
But that wasn't the strangest part of the night so far. No, it was the questions they asked her, all the while examining her like a piece of art on display. What do you think of this political crisis? No, this crisis is more important. What are you doing to reduce your carbon footprint? Are you aware that Corbin doesn't use organic fertilizer in his garden? How do you define happiness? Should we know everything? What's your opinion on string theory? Open borders or stricter immigration practices?
Into the midst of all of this scrutiny walked Corbin like a goddamn knight in shining armor—except he was wearing a suit.
Autumn was in the middle of yet another "Oh, I'm not really into that" when Corbin appeared at her elbow. "No cinnamon rolls?" he asked her with a mischievous grin.
She paused with tongs extended, looked up, and nearly lost her breath. He might as well have been poured into the suit with those broad shoulders straining against his tailored jacket. With both hands in his pants pockets, Corbin stood as if he were casually posing for a spread in GQ magazine. All the other men faded into the background by comparison.
Desire pooled in her belly like warm chocolate. "You ate them all," Autumn murmured, eyes fixed on his face.
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You look beautiful."
Autumn flushed from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. God help her, she was falling hard for him. "Yes, the dress is amazing—"
"I apologize for not stopping by sooner."
Autumn smiled. "You have obligations. I'm perfectly fine here—when your guests aren't trying to make my head explode with their questions."
Corbin straightened and looked around the ballroom. "Ah, yes. They would do that. Remember, I'm the boring one," he told her with a wink.
Boring, right, she thought, shaking her head slightly. "Take these and go mingle," Autumn said, putting one of everything on a plate and handing it to him.
"Do I have to?" He mock-pouted.
"Go."
"She's right, you know," said a familiar voice.
Much to Autumn's chagrin, the Russian woman was back.
"We must open the floor," she pointed out, standing straight with hands loosely linked before her.
Corbin grit his teeth so hard, Autumn swore she heard metal squeal. "Fine, Nastya. Let's get this over with." Leaving his plate on the table, he marched to the dance floor.
But Nastya stayed.
Autumn stared at her. Yes, she was icily beautiful, with a regal bearing that none of the other women appeared to possess. Autumn knew that she was only a baker and hired help at that, but something compelled her to ask, "Did you two date or something?"
Nastya paused and peered at Autumn over her shoulder. "Date? Myself and Corbin? Oh, dear child no! The man is far too dull for my tastes." She began to walk away, but suddenly pivoted and marched right up to the table. "Know this: No matter what you feel for him, you cannot and will not be able to join our world."
Oh, she couldn't be serious. Where did this Hallmark villainess come from? "Child?" Autumn blurted out. "We're the same age!"
Those perfect lips curved into a slow smile. "No, we are most certainly not." With a twitch of her train, Nastya strolled over to the ballroom floor to join Corbin.
"What did you just say?" Autumn heard him demand of the woman.
But Nastya just shrugged. "You know how this works as well as I do. Now, let us dance."
Somewhere, music began playing. Jaw clenched, Autumn turned away. She didn't think she was the type of person to let an overstuffed beauty queen get to her—after all, once you've been ridiculed by half the school for being a teen mom, there's not much that can hurt you. But Nastya's words stuck into her back and shoulders like little needles, slowly sinking deeper and deeper into her skin.
Yes, she had her reservations about where this relationship was going to go, but would the class difference really drive them apart in the end?
You're getting ahead of yourself, Autumn, she thought, taking Corbin's plate and putting it beneath the table. One day at a time. They were leaving on Monday. She'd figure something out by then.
No one was paying attention to her while Corbin and Nastya danced, so Autumn took the opportunity to stuff two lemon bars into her mouth. She washed it down with some water, then wiped her hands on a towel. There, back to being professional.
The waltz ended and Corbin couldn't break away from Nastya fast enough. The Russian woman merely shrugged and glided off the dance floor while the rest of Corbin's guests converged on the spot.
"Back for your dessert?" Autumn asked as Corbin rejoined her in the corner.
He took the plate and set it on the table. "May I have a dance, my lady?"
Dance? She couldn't dance. She was working. "But I'm—" she protested, but Corbin shook his head.
"My party, my rules," he said. "Please?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Autumn noticed Nastya slowly shaking her head. Then the woman was converged upon by three others and was blocked from sight.
"Okay," she told him. What the hell, right? It was his party.
Corbin smiled and led her out from behind the table as if she were Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing.
Much to her relief, Corbin found the first open spot at the edge of the dance floor and stayed there. "I can't waltz, remember?" she told him as he put her left hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry," he told her as the opening chords of a familiar love song began to play. "We won't be waltzing."
Autumn tilted her chin up and looked into his eyes. Corbin's lips curved at the corners as they began to slowly sway, gently turning her in a little circle. Closing her eyes, Autumn leaned her cheek on his shoulder, trusting him enough to not run them off the dance floor.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath the tailored suit, slow and strong; felt his breath stir her curls. How had she gone from simple baker answering a stranger's advertisement to this?
Corbin's head lowered next to hers and the hand that rested chastely on her back moved an inch down. Autumn's lips parted slightly as her skin shivered in response. Oh, God.
"Stay with me tonight," Corbin whispered in her ear, lips trailing down her neck to kiss the base of her shoulder.
A soft, wordless exclamation left Autumn's lips. The hand moved lower still. Warmth blossomed throughout her body as her mind conjured up a vivid fantasy of tender kisses and slow lovemaking, Corbin's strong, muscled arms holding her close. Oh, how she wanted that, but—
They still didn't know each other very well. And she didn't want to make the same mistake twice.
Autumn tilted her head up and looked into Corbin's ocean-colored eyes. "I want that," she replied softly, "I really do—but not yet."
Corbin's expression gradually shifted from affectionate to sad as he took in her words. Slowly, he pulled back and took a deep breath, flashing a small, lopsided smile. "I thought you might say that," he told her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "But it seemed like the perfect opportunity to ask."
"It was," she agreed, running her hands along his shoulders. It had to be the sweetest thing any man had ever asked her. But she wasn't ready.
"Another time, then. I have no problem waiting."
I don't deserve him, Autumn thought, cupping his face between her hands. I don't deserve him at all. She drew his face back down and kissed him, trying to show just how much she cared.