“No.” She glanced sideways at me at my answer, a curious smile on her face.
“Then why do you even go?”
“Back in Russia, I mostly knew people and did not always want to say no to invitations. Here, it is more about networking.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It can be.” She leaned back against the seat and looked ahead on the road before us.
“I used to love them,” she admitted.
“Masquerades?”
“Not just masquerades. Everything really. Galas. Fashion shows. Any excuse to wear something dramatic and pretend theworld wasn’t violent even when I was surrounded by blood and guns and war.”
“And now?”
“Now I know better than to believe that a pretty dress and a pretty mask and pretension can remove me from the life I have been born in. No matter how much I try to deny my reality, it can never change me or my family, and the chaos that surrounds me and always will.”
I watched her reflection in the glass, knowing exactly what she meant. She had never had a choice in the matter.
“You can still pretend for a few hours,” I said and she tilted her head slightly as if contemplating.
“Is that what you do as well, behind the mask? Pretend?”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you were doing the night we met?”
“I was.”
She smiled faintly.
“I suppose I’ll find out tonight how good I can be at this.”
The venue was an old restored ballroom overlooking the water. Chandeliers hung low, casting warm gold across polished marble floors. Strings played softly near the far wall. Guests moved in clusters of silk and tailored suits, faces hidden behind ornate masks. I was on neutral ground, but I could sense eyes all around us. I was sure the Chernykhs would also have eyes out since they were still looking for Elisse. However, Viktor had told me that the Chernykh networks had gone silent for the past few days. Even our best intelligence was unable to track their movements or routes, which almost made it feel as if they had deleted their entire carbon footprint.
It felt like the calm before the storm.
I ignored my thoughts and focused on Elisse, my hand settling lightly at the small of her back as we entered. She didn’t flinch or tense but instead leaned into it slightly. Eyes turned as we stepped inside, some out of curiosity and speculation, but others could very well be out of recognition, too. Even with our masks, it was never safe. She moved like she belonged there. Because she did.
“Do you miss it?” I asked quietly as we paused near the champagne table.
“What?”
“Being admired.”
She laughed softly.
“I’m still being admired.”
“Yes.”
“But you mean something else.”
“Yes.”
She considered that.
