The mask caught the candlelight with a subtle gleam. Well-made, with a classical elegance. It covered most of her face, revealing only the line of her jaw and her golden curls.
My gaze lingered. My fingers tightened around the glass.
She looked too much like her.
But that was impossible.
Natalie was supposed to be in Las Vegas right now, holed up in some cheap rental, staring at an empty fridge and stacks of bills, getting her naive little singer dreams smashed to pieces. These past two months, I hadn't kept detailed tabs on her—not because I couldn't, but because I wouldn't. I refused to let myself be dragged around by trivial details of what she ate or who she saw. That would be pathetic. Beneath me. My energy needed to go to more valuable things. Even for Natalie.
But that didn't mean I was clueless about her situation. I understood how cruel this world was. A spoiled girl who'd losther Mrs. Winston crown and her family's protection, what kind of life could she possibly have? Vegas would strip away her fantasies faster than anything.
All I had to do was wait. Wait for the right moment, wait for life to teach her enough lessons. Then I'd appear like a savior, extend my hand. She'd understand that only I could pull her out of the pit she'd jumped into. Only I could give her safety and dignity.
That was the logical script. That was how a man in control operated.
So this woman... couldn't be her.
Just as I was about to look away, she shifted. Her neckline slipped an inch. Candlelight fell on her right collarbone, and I saw it clearly—a small dark mole.
How many times had I kissed that mole? When she tilted her head back gasping, when she fell asleep against my chest, when I pinned her down and kissed her neck...
Blood rushed from my brain to my chest, then to my limbs, finally pooling south, making a certain part of me swell and throb in a way that had no business happening here.
It was her.
Not similar. That woman was Natalie.
How dare Natalie show up on my turf dressed like this two months after walking out? Stay calm, Richard. Now wasn't the time to drag her away. I had no interest in letting people watch my marriage become a joke.
I downed more wine and headed for the long table.
Ryan immediately rushed over, enthusiastically guiding me to the reserved seat by the head of the table. Natalie sat across and to the left—perfectly positioned in my peripheral vision. I could watch her every move without even turning my head. Good placement. Ryan finally did something right.
"Mr. Winston, we're honored you could make it." Ryan's voice buzzed in my ear. "This is Nightingale, our mystery guest for the music festival."
"Nightingale," I repeated the name, lifting my eyes to Natalie. "Interesting choice."
Behind the mask, Natalie's eyes widened. Despite her efforts to hide it, I caught the panic in her gaze.
Nervous, Natalie? Seeing me makes you that tense?
I wasn't going to expose her yet. On the contrary, I was curious to see how far my runaway wife could take this absurd charade.
"Which city do you mainly work in, Miss Nightingale?" I asked casually.
She stiffened. "Uh... Las Vegas."
"What a coincidence," I said, lips curving into a humorless smile. "I've been looking at some investment projects in Vegas recently."
"Really?" Her tone was strained. "Vegas is... good for investment."
What the hell kind of answer was that?
My gaze settled on the edge of her mask. I could imagine her face beneath it—biting her lip, cheeks flushed, blue eyes wet with nerves. "Are you from Vegas originally?"
"No, I'm from..." Natalie faltered. "The Midwest. A small town. You wouldn't know it."
I raised an eyebrow. "Try me."
