You call this fate?

Chapter 31

So of course I had to try and look. But Mr. Rodwell was having none of that. The moment the word Zayn left his lips, he pirouetted me around once more so fast my brains mixed inside my head like beaten eggs. By the time my eyes focused again, we were in a different part of the room.

"Hey!" I protested. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing," he replied curtly, looking around once and then focusing on me.

Now, I want to make something clear here. Yes, we were still dancing. But dancing, now, in the crudest sense of the word possible. The only movements resembling actual dancing that we were engaging in were Mr. Rodwell's occasional twirl and spin. The only thing I was doing was rocking slightly and holding on to dear life.

"I thought you said Zayn was behind us."

"Zayn was behind you, Miss Mahal," he assured. Though he kept his eyes on me, I could practically see how his attention was on something else. "But we can't engage him right now."

"Why not?" Let's just say I wasn't at my very best right then.

"Because, Miss Mahal, for one thing, you need to get him alone as soon as you engage him, and that's only possible if we have a set location to get him alone to. And secondly, you can't walk on your two feet right now, and I can't guide you through this."

I looked down to where I was borrowing his legs. Crap.

"This situation," I said sharply, "in its entirety, is your fault. Where are we going to find my crutches again? What if someone steps on them?" As soon as the horrifying thought entered my head, my metaphorical eye wasted no time in showing me how the disaster would happen. It would be the word-stretching Mrs. Harrison, who, in her pink heels, would step on them right in the middle and...bend! I really did not like my metaphorical eye at all.

"No one's going to step on them. That's what all these people dressed in uniform clothes are for. They pick things up after snobs. We can get your crutches from one of them. I am sure they would know where they are."

I glared at him and refrained from commenting. If he always has everything figured out in his head, does he really have to make me complain first? It's not exactly necessary, right?

"Miss Mahal, please place your hand above to my ear."

"What?" My face was doing the hot-and-then-cold thing again.

He had been looking over my shoulder once more, but there must have been something in my tone, for he looked down immediately. "You didn't find doing that so horrifying seconds ago," he pointed out.

I flushed deeper. If this continued, it would be goodbye makeup! in about a minute. "Why do you want me to put my hand in your ear?"

"Not in my ear, Miss Mahal." His tone was dry. "On it. There's a device there. I want you to press the button. I can't very well do it without toppling you all over the floor."

I hesitated for a second. "What device?"

He sighed. "Miss Mahal, can you please just do what you are asked to do for once in your lifetime?"

"We would be saving much more time if you just told me what I was putting my hand on," I pointed out.

He glared at me stonily for a moment, but when my obstinate gaze didn't melt, must have figured there was something to what I said, for he answered, "I had to have something with which I could contact Christopher as and when I spotted Zayn or Frank."

"Oh, like a spy movie?" I asked, thrilled.

"Yes, Miss Mahal, exactly like that," he answered dryly. "Now please, do it."