HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 52

When Lilith's eyes could be pried away from Snow and his awaiting hand, they automatically sought her father, who was watching the other man with a smileless albeit not outwardly aggressive expression. It made no impression on the blonde; he continued gazing pleasantly at Lilith. Then her father was looking at her, too—this would be her decision—and Lilith realized she knew all along what it would be.

She could never refuse him.

First and foremost, it would be rude.

"It would be my pleasure, sir," said Lilith.

Civilly, her father handed her over. "She's all yours, General."

His tone was weird, but if Snow shared her sentiment, he did not show it.

"Thank you, sir."

Hearing Snow address her father as such was even weirder, but there was no time to ruminate. With a deferential nod, Snow was leading her on.

"Sir—" Lilith resisted the tug, causing him to look around in question. "It's just—I'm not sure if you've noticed, but a few modifications will be necessary." She glanced down at her arm, thin and bent in its maximum extension, and raised it slightly for display. "It's not yet working as it should, you see." Her would-be casual voice was a failure, so she flashed him a smile—that was feeble, too. "You'll have to accommodate and go easy on me."

Never breaking eye contact, Snow stepped in front of her and slid her left hand onto his upper arm, where she discerned a rather defined bicep as he wrapped the rest of it around her back.

"I won't hurt you," he said softly, still gazing at her as his left hand found her right in a grasp that was firm but not tight—the pressure around her fingers was such that even if she did nothing, her hand would not fall. As he eased it up to the ideal height for a her, he added, "You can trust me."

And she did.

Not just because of the way he said it, which made you want to do nothing but believe. There was a vague familiarity about the situation, like she had been here before. Only, she could not recollect the scene or the occasion—just that she had felt safe.

Which was what she felt right now.

As the first chord broke across the atrium, a symphony of notes resonating majestically in four-four time, it occurred to Lilith that they were still staring at each other. Fortunately, at least one of them still had their wits about them—Snow had steered her into a seamless foxtrot. All she did was move to his every beck and call. She was the marionette, and he was the puppet master. That was not the problem. He was the leader, she was the follower—that was the order. That was how all ballroom dances worked. The problem was the silence, which would be impolite if it went on any longer. 

"Thank you for coming, sir," said Lilith, reviving from her captivation. "I hope you're enjoying yourself?"

"It's a delightful party."

"Criseida will be pleased to hear that."

"I thought you planned this."

"Oh, no. She's the mastermind. I'm just the excuse for a good time." Snow looked amused by the quip. Lilith gave a one-shoulder shrug. "It's just as well. I wouldn't have had the time to spare, especially not this week."

If not for Criseida at the helm, Lilith would never have been afforded the peace of mind to focus on everything else she had going on. Criseida might not have been born to be a hostess, but she had definitely grown into the role.

"I see," said Snow, nodding. "How's the therapy going?"

"It's going," affirmed Lilith.

A long way had to be long enough.