Seven Black Diamonds (Seven Black Diamonds #1)(3)
As she walked down the stairs, she could hear soft music in the ballroom. Soon, Creed Morrison would sing, but right now, a chamber orchestra played classical music that wove around the spaces between conversations. Servers circulated with finger foods and drinks. Usually, Lily stayed at her father’s side when she had to attend these sorts of things. Tonight, though, Daidí insisted that she talk to people her own age—other than just her friend Erik.
Erik was there, of course, but for Lily’s seventeenth birthday celebration, Daidí had invited all of his associates’ children, and he’d hired her favorite singer. It was perfect on paper, but Lily didn’t mingle with people her own age. She could escort Daidí to parties, play hostess of the manor as needed, make small talk with the leaders of the underworld, but around other teenagers—even those groomed in the odd etiquette of their society—she felt awkward.
And Creed Morrison? How, or even why, her father hired him for her birthday party was a mystery. He was only a year older than her, but he was already an international phenomenon. If he wanted to, Creed could have dropped out of school entirely. He’d never need the things that were taught in the classroom—any more than she would. Her curriculum consisted of drug routes, interrogation methods, and old family hierarchies.
Those lessons left her ill equipped for casual conversations, but they would be essential if she took over the family business. The social part didn’t come naturally to her. It never had, but she’d never be much of an asset to Daidí if she couldn’t handle her peers.
Smile firmly affixed, she descended the stairs until she reached the landing. Daidí stayed where he was, talking to one of the growers from the South Continent. As she walked through the black-tie crowd, Daidí’s associates smiled and wished her a happy birthday. Their children were a little less practiced in their false magnanimity, but they were far more polished than they’d been the last time Daidí had to insist on their socializing. Being Nicolas Abernathy’s heir apparent and a daughter meant that people her own age weren’t sure what to do with her.
Several boys nodded at her. The girls, however, kept their eyes carefully averted. Lily wasn’t like them. She wasn’t a bartering chip that would be used to strengthen ties to other organizations, nor was she sheltered from the ugliness of her father’s job. The boys acknowledged her, even though they weren’t sure if they should approach her as a potential date or as a future colleague. The one exception was her friend Erik. They’d shared a few kisses now and again, but under threat of retribution if any word of it was spoken.
Daidí knew, of course, as did Shayla, but they also understood that Erik didn’t occupy her heart. Instead, she fantasized about Creed Morrison and Zephyr Waters—celebrity darlings she suspected of sharing her same hidden, and illegal, heritage. She’d studied them in the magazines, but she’d had no intention of ever meeting them. That was part of their appeal. Having one of them here was not something she knew how to address.
Daidí didn’t mean to upset me. As she did with everything confusing in life, Lily thought through the Abernathy Commandments until she found her answer: Commandment #9: Be kind to those who deserve it. Her father deserved her kindness.
As she walked toward her father, her step was measured, and her smile was convincing. She might be filled with anxiety, but no one would know.
The crowd was manageable. Everything was okay. She could succeed at this if she thought of it like a regular business gathering.
She straightened her shoulders and sailed through the crowd—until Creed Morrison stepped into her path, stopping her advance, leaving her uneasy in a way no one ever had.
Creed had the beautiful dark complexion of the Seelie fae. The fae long thought to be both kinder and better were those whose skin was sun-burnished. Creed’s skin had the telltale signs of fae heritage, but Creed’s human father was African American, so Creed had a human excuse he could use to explain his Seelie-dark skin. Lily shared his heritage, but she’d inherited her father’s pale skin instead of her mother’s dark skin. Not all of the fae-blood were able to pass as human, not like Lily was.
“Lilywhite,” he said. She’d heard his speaking voice, listened to interviews for hours actually, but hearing her name from his lips made her unable to reply.
She nodded. Abernathy Commandment #2: Be yourself.
“I looked for you before the crowd arrived,” he said, as if they were friends.
In the tuxedo-and gown-filled room, Creed’s jeans, T-shirt, and boots were very out of place. The art etched on his skin stood out, more because it was visible than because it existed. He was far from the only person in the room with tattoos, but his weren’t hidden under sleeves or jackets. Creed Morrison demanded attention. It was a well-documented—and oft-photographed—fact. She’d read every article on him, clipped pictures from magazines and filed them away. It wasn’t an obsession; actually speaking to him was the last thing she wanted. She had suspected that he was fae-blood and wanted to understand how other fae-bloods lived. Now, seeing him in person for the first time, she knew. Now, he was here, and he was exactly what she suspected—and she wanted to flee.
She fidgeted with one of her bracelets, twisting it around her wrist, staring at the glittering green stones. “Had you needed something, Mr. Morrison?”
“Creed,” he stressed.