“I’m not your cousin,” he deadpans.
My jaw clenches. “I know.”
“Is he truly the man you want to link your fate to forever?”
He asks the question like he already knows the answer, and it throws me for a loop—how certain he sounds, as if the truth is a flat, unequivocal no.
I twist my engagement ring around my finger, the gold band digging into my skin. “Mortal marriages are not necessarily forever.”
There’s a meaningful pause before he breathes, “Then what is the point?”
What’s the point of commitment when it can be broken? A world where marriage is stronger than brittle vows—where magic is exchanged and shared—is dangerously tempting. Fae spouses share something unbreakable. Something certain.
But that’s not my world, not anymore.
My fiancé is sleeping alone upstairs while I’m arguing with a ghost and debating whether I should be engaged to him in the first place. I keep dreaming about a man who doesn’t exist—a pure fabrication of my brain. E is dead. His spirit might linger, but he’s got no body, no pulse, no future.
So why do I feel so guilty for holding a living, breathing man? Why doesn’t my blood race for Lachlan the way it used to? Why do I feel so far withdrawn, weighed down by doubts I never had before?
Lachlan loves a girl who doesn’t exist, my inner voice whispers.
Maybe I could be her again—if I left. If I walked away from this house, this life, and never looked back. But then I’d be hunted by faceless men and their master, with no way to protect myself. I’ve been hiding for so long that I hardly remember what it’s like to be seen. Hiding from the Reds who killed my mother. From mortals who can’t know I’m a witch. From the darkest parts of myself. I’ve worn so many faces that I’ve forgotten which one is mine.
“What about the women in the picture frame upstairs? Who are they?” E asks.
“The freckled one is my mother, and the one with her arm around her might be the one who killed her.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Flaming hells. That’s huge.”
“I’ll cook breakfast and send Lachlan on his way. Then we’ll snoop through Mabel’s photo albums and try to figure out who this Lillivere is.” I raise my index finger. “Behave.”
Excitement and fear mingle in my blood. I should never have allowed Mabel to leave. I should have tied her to a chair until she told me the truth.
And yet, in the chaos of the past few days, I found something I didn’t know I was missing.
I’m trapped in this house, but I’ve never felt more free. Free to speak my mind. Free to stop pretending. Free to be angry, frightened, foolish. For once, I don’t have to water myself down just to disappear into the crowd. For once, I’m not invisible.
My ghost might be the first real friend I’ve ever made. How sad. But this fast friendship doesn’t feel harmless anymore. There’s a current beneath it that’s too alive, too consuming.
The way he lingers in my bubble, close enough to brush against me, and yet untouchable in all the ways that matter… My pulse spikes, dread flooding the cracks in my soul. I could lose myself here, in this house, in him, and I wouldn’t find my way back.
I’m losing my mind.
Chapter 11
Friendship Bracelets
E
Lachlan hesitates on his way out, his useless hand curled around the doorknob like he’s forgotten what it’s for. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the dance rehearsal, after the dress fitting?”
The thought of Max walking back into his arms so soon ignites something dark in me, a spark I hadn’t thought possible in death.
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, but she doesn’t look surprised by the ask, which tells me I missed some of their pillow talk.
“Yes. I’ll be there on time. I promise,” she says.
My empty and useless ghost-stomach churns at the news.
