Page 61 of King of Hollywood
After our laughter had died down, I’d done something rather insane.
I’d asked him to dance.
“How do you feel about waltzing?” I asked, voice quiet, hushed. Felix’s expression shuttered and he sighed, lips pinched like he was deciding what to say. His earlier ease was forgotten as he slowly rose from his seat at the table.
“It’s alright if you don’t like to,” I promised, eager for the little crumbs he sometimes dropped. Seeds of truth that felt like gifts. I rose to mirror him, the table still between us, my heart in my throat.
I knew exactly what song to play.
I had no idea if he knew how to dance at all—but part of me, something deep down, suspected he would. That he would perfectly mirror me in this like he did in everything else.
“I…” Felix’s eyes felt very far away again. “I do. It’s just…been quite some time since someone asked me.”
“About time then,” I answered, crossing the distance between us. “Felix Finley?” My voice was low, soft, as I latched onto his wrist and gently pulled him close. My nose brushed the shell of his ear and Felix sighed, melting into the embrace like butter on a warm day. Like he’d needed this as much as I had.
Like he could feel the distance between us too.
And hated it as much as I did.
“May I have this dance?”
Felix inhaled a sharp, overwhelmed little sound. He nodded, his soft golden hair tickling my nose as he did so. “Yes, Marshall Warden, you may.” The teasing lilt in his voice was addicting. So full of life. Vibrant.
Nothing like he’d sounded when he told me he felt like a ghost.
He led me to his living room.
The walls were cluttered with movie posters I didn’t recognize in gilded frames. The most prevalent of which was called “The Emperor”. Dark wallpaper from what appeared to be another era entirely lined the walls, nearly navy blue in the softly twinkling light that hung from a chandelier that dangled above. More crocheted wisteria hung from the ceiling. A cat perch ran along the wall, with a staircase that led all the way to the floor for the felines to frolic. It was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as the line of hats that hung along one back wall.
We moved the couch and coffee table aside to make room.
I tried not to stare at the way Felix’s arms flexed when he did so—or the fact his breaths remained even, not labored at all.
He stared at mine in return, and I admit, I maybe flexed a little more than was necessary—just to see his eyes darken.
Was this flirting?
It felt like flirting.
There was an odd buzzing feeling beneath my skin, like fluttery little winged ants. Reminded me of the ant hills I used to drown when I was a child—but…less creepy crawly. Softer, somehow.
When we had the room in order, furniture spread to the sides, a makeshift dance floor cleared, I turned toward the record player in the corner of the room. I’d intended to use my phone speaker—but this was far better. I’d never had one of these, though I’d always wanted one.
I moved to sift through the stacks of vinyl records, and a startled laugh escaped me when I saw one of the albums he’d collected.
It felt like fate.
“You have Tchaikovsky?”
Felix blinked. He’d been waiting, leaning against the wall behind me, watching me move. He acted as though I was the only person who had been inside his home in years. Which I knew was a lie.
But, I was, apparently, the only guest who made him less lonely.
And that meant something, didn’t it?
“Of course I do.” Felix’s lips twisted into a merry little smile and I beamed at him, pulling the record out with barely concealed delight.
“You are perfect, aren’t you?” I said the words without thinking, and the moment they came out I wished I could take them back. They were too honest. Too much. Even without my masks in place, I hadn’t expected this sort of…open affection to pop free.