Nik had been in the garden for nearly an hour. Just sitting. Sometimes, he’d break his statue-like stillness to rub his fingers together or press them against his knee, which bobbed anxiously. Other times, he’d take a long sip from a bottle, then rock as if he’d made the decision to get up and move on. He never did.
Elara watched from the kitchen window, rehearsing a thousand opening lines.
Sorry I lied.
Sorry my mom is someone you probably hated.
Sorry I destroyed everything.
None of them felt true enough to say, and she refused to feed him any more lies. Everything was out on the table now… well…almosteverything. Fernand’s strange note was a dangerous weight in her pocket. Tonight was not the time to bring it up. She’d be lucky if she could convince Nik not to throw her into the street and be done with her.
“Quit being a coward, Rousseau.” She rallied her courage, snatched the tray she’d prepared for them, and stepped into the night.
“I was told never to drink alone.”
He didn’t look back at her.
“I’m not.” He motioned across the garden to a white, long-haired cat lounging in an overstuffed window bed. “Madame Charlotte Geneviève has been keeping me company.”
“I’m sure she’s an excellent conversationalist,” she replied.
Madame Charlotte hiked up her leg and commenced licking with enough vigor that she fell over.
A laugh burst out of Elara. She couldn’t help it.
Surprisingly, Nik chuckled too. It was deep and warm, and he buried his face as if he were ashamed. And Elara wantednothingmore than to draw that sound from him again.
“I brought you this.” She sat beside him, picking a towel of ice from the tray.
She’d seen the bruise in the carriage. What started as discoloration had now spread, and his eye was now swollen shut. Chantal said he’d come from the Souverain box like that.
“Thanks.” He pressed it to his cheek. “What about yours?”
She held up her palm, which was almost like new. “The onsite doctors refused to let me leave unless I got it checked.”
The skin was shiny across her palm and around her finger where the ring had been. Only the top of the tattoo remained, a reminder of a mistake she’d never make again. She was lucky to have escaped alive and only with such minimal damage.
“I never meant for any of this to happen,” she said quietly, rubbing the smoothness of her scar. “It’s why I fought your offer at the Exposé. I was never supposed to make it this far because I knew someone would eventually figure out the truth, and now I’m going to bring all of you down with me.”
“We knew there’d be risks,” he replied evenly.
“Not career-ending ones.”
“I can’t speak for Blai, but Chantal’s career was ruined for her, and I…” He gave a hollow laugh. “I never had one to begin with.”
Elara glared at her melted skin. “It’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this is.” He offered the bottle, and she took it,knocking back a swallow of sweet, pungent wine that was far too smooth for her mood.
“Which is why you need to fix it,” he said. “With or without my… Souverain.”
She choked, rubbing a drip from her chin. “What?”
“Faucher, Perrault, and Tremblay were right. You would’ve never been allowed to compete because of your mother’s mistakes.” He raised a brow. “Tell me the truth. How hard was it to get into a Société?”
“Impossible,” she muttered.
“That’s not right. A parent’s mistakes should never be a child’s burden.”
