“It can be.”
“And if it is?”
“It won’t be only that.”
The honesty in that unsettled me more than fear ever had.
“I’ll have the dress prepared,” he said.
“I’ll choose it.”
A faint, almost smile touched his mouth.
“Of course.”
He turned to leave, pausing only briefly in the hallway.
“Elisse.”
“Yes?”
“If you ever decide to call them,” he said evenly, “I won’t stop you.”
I knew that now.
And somehow, that made the choice heavier than ever. The war hadn’t come. Not because it couldn’t. But because he had held it back. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to unleash it.
Chapter 18 - Fyodor
I had seen her furious and defiant, and I had even seen her with her hands covered in needles and fabrics while she was in a creative rage. But I had never seen her like this. The bedroom door opened slowly, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The dress fell like liquid midnight against her skin, silken and backless, the neckline sharp but elegant. It moved with her instead of against her. The emerald earrings she had chosen caught the light each time she tilted her head. Her hair was swept back loosely, exposing the delicate line of her throat.
The white and gold mask rested in her hand. She looked untouchable yet painfully real at the same time. I stood in the living room in a black tuxedo, mask already in place, cufflinks glinting faintly under the chandelier. She paused when she saw me.
I could see that she was neither shy nor uncertain but was simply assessing me.
“You certainly do clean up well,” she said, voice calm but eyes curious.
“So you approve the tux?” I asked.
“It’s predictable, but I do like it on you. It is clearly custom-made, and you have everything a man needs to fill out a suit.”
“And do you like the dress?”
She turned slightly, letting the fabric shift along her hips. “What do you think?”
She stepped closer, sliding the mask into place. The gold traced her cheekbones perfectly, and for a moment, we simply looked at each other. There were no guards around us andno walls between us. Just a man and a woman dressed for something almost ordinary.
“It seems to me as if you love it,” I whispered.
“I do,” she whispered back, a smile dangling on her red ruby painted lips.
The elevator ride down was silent, but not strained. Her hand brushed mine once, accidentally, and neither of us moved away immediately. The car door was opened for her downstairs, and she slipped inside gracefully, the dress folding around her knees. I followed inside from the other side, and the city blurred past as we drove. Streetlights streaked across the tinted windows.
“You’ve been to many of these?” she asked.
“Not that many.”
“Do you enjoy them?”
