I sneak a look at Thorne. He looks powerful and dashing in his black tux. His raven hair shines under the sparkling lights of all the glittering chandeliers in the grand ballroom, with lofty, gilded ceilings and ornate wall columns.

With every step I take, I feel more and more out of place. Even though my hair and my makeup are perfect, and the evening gown I chose fits my style and shape perfectly, I feel insecure and insignificant. It could be because everyone here reeks of privilege and the “upper class.”

Thorne’s parents are the hosts of this party to celebrate his success with Alli. I didn’t want to come. I knew I would be like a fish out of water, but Thorne insisted I accompany him. He nods at someone, but in a way that is designed not to encourage them to come up to him.

We spoke very little in the car. He has been pensive and distant for the last two days. Ever since he came to collect me from my mother’s apartment and we argued.

I wonder if it’s because he is still upset with me, or maybe it is simply that I am unimportant to him, and that first flush of desire for me is gone. It has not escaped my notice that he has only been to my room once since that day. And even then, he did not allow himself to come. He just took care of my needs, and though I asked him to stay with my eyes, he covered my body and went away.

Our bodies have been linked in some fashion or other since we stepped out of the car, but even with that closeness I can still sense a kind of distance between us. I tug at his arm. “Where are we going?”

“I’m looking for my parents,” he murmurs, his eyes searching the crowd.

“Okay.”

“Ah, I see my mother,” he says, as he begins to move me towards a tall and elegant woman. Every single hair in her head has been tamed and sprayed into a smooth blonde helmet. She is taller than me and stick thin. She looks like royalty, or an old Hollywood starlet.

She is speaking to two women and has not yet spotted us. As we move closer, a tall man with silver hair and a trim beard steps towards Thorne’s mother. He looks like an older version of Thorne, and I guess he must be his father. The way he stands, straight and tall, confident of his place in the world, makes me think that he must have been born into wealth. His hand touches the small of his wife’s back, but only for a fraction of an instant, when he seems to be apologizing for intruding on their conversation.

Thorne tightens his hold on me as we approach them, and I look up at him in surprise. His face is tense.

“Speak of the devil,” Thorne’s mother drawls, shifting her gaze from the two women to her son. She has the same freezing gray eyes as Thorne, but she holds her head tilted up as if there is a bad smell in the room. I can see up her narrow nostrils.

“Thorne,” his father greets formally.

“Mother, father,” Thorne says, nodding at each of them.

“We were actually discussing Alli. Lady Boscombe and Mrs. Watkins were curious about your plans for the future. I said that I couldn’t possibly know. It’s all top secret, isn’t it?” his mother says. Neither her voice, nor the expression in her eyes thaw. I stare at her smooth, powdered face, astonished that there is no form of friendly greeting between them.

“Mrs. Boscombe, Mrs. Watkins,” Thorne nods at each of them.

They nod and smile back politely.

Wow! I feel as if I’ve entered the twilight zone. No one is laughing or touching. I might as well have stepped into a room full of robots. Everyone here has forgotten what emotions are.

“Please excuse me,” he says to the women before turning to his mother. “Mother, I would like you to meet Chelsea Appleby.”

His parents look over at me with complete disinterest. If these are the people who bore and brought Thorne up, I am starting to understand why he is so cold and reserved. How can you learn to express emotions if you’ve grown up in an environment devoid of them?

“How do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Blackmore?” I say politely. His mother’s reaction is to look at me as if I was an insect on a stick. I don’t know why I do it. I can only imagine that it must have been nervousness caused by her icy regard, but my knees bend and I drop into a small curtsey.

“Good heavens,” Mrs. Blackmore exclaims mockingly, as she puts a hand on her chest and lets out a single sound. “Ha.”

I know she is laughing at my faux pas, and I can feel my face turn hot with embarrassment.

“You don’t need to curtsey. We aren’t royalty,” Mr. Blackmore chides.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I sputter, my face getting redder.

“Where did you find this one, Thorne?” Mrs. Blackmore asks, an amused expression on her cold, calculating face.

“You’re not supposed to bring hookers to a place like this, son,” Mr. Blackmore says.

I know it is meant to be a joke, but that is just rude. My eyes widen and Thorne looks as taken aback as I am. “That’s not worthy of you, father,” he says slowly, as if he can’t quite believe what his father said. “You need not utter a word here until you have apologized to Chelsea.”

“Apologize? Why?” His father glances at me, his eyes cruel, his disgust barely veiled. “One look at her and I can tell she is a gold digger. Let me guess, at some point she was in your employ, or in a position of servitude. An air hostess, perhaps, or a social escort you hired?”

I cannot believe they are still speaking about me in this way. They know nothing about me, but have decided I am a gold digger. Maybe, they are right. Rich people always know when they are in the presence of people without money. I did, after all, steal Thorne’s money. I don’t belong here. I wish I could disappear and never see these awful snobs again.

Thorne’s breath comes out in a hiss. “Not that it is anybody’s business what Chelsea does for a living, but as a matter of fact, she is an accountant.” The controlled way he says that tells me he is trying very hard to keep his cool.

Mrs. Blackmore turns to me. “My son always had a soft spot for strays. Thorne is made from greatness, and there is only a certain breed of woman that can handle that level of greatness. You clearly are not that woman so I hope you won’t make long term plans.”

“I’m not—,” I start, but Thorne’s icy voice cuts me off.

“That’s enough, Mother!” he grits, his face tight with fury. People are now starting to stare.

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” Mr. Blackmore says coldly.

“Why not? She feels like she can speak to anyone in any way she wants.” He turns to his mother. “Chelsea is more than worthy of me. In fact, I don’t deserve her. She is everything I am not: kind, caring, warm, real, beautiful. But you will never see it because you can hear only the right accent, see the right breeding, the family stock. Today you have made me ashamed to be your son.”

I stare up at him, astonished by his defense. Kind, caring, warm, real, beautiful? Why? He doesn’t believe that himself. As far as he is concerned, I am an untrustworthy thief. The only thing I can think of is he didn’t like to see his parents bully me so he stood up for me for the principle of the matter.

“Never mind. This is a waste of time. Just forget the apology,” Thorne says before looking down at me. “You don’t want to stay here, do you?”

I glance over at his parents who look bewildered. That bit of emotion actually suits them. I shake my head. I don’t want to be in a place where I don’t feel welcome.

“It will be a very long time before you hear from me again,” Thorne says harshly to his parents before he holds out a hand to me.

I let Thorne take the lead as we walk to the entrance and out into the cool night. We don’t speak as we wait for the valet to come around with his car, but Thorne holds my hand in a firm grip. There is something very comforting about his touch, and I smile in the night.