My heart lurches like a startled bird. I press my free hand to my chest, willing it to slow. “That’s part of what I need to figure out.”
Even though I’ve told myself—over and over—that money and security matter more than messy things like love and vulnerability, I’m starting to feel the crack in that logic. I can’t build a future on something that empties me out. Not when I’ve glimpsed what it could feel like to be truly seen. To laugh and tease and flirt and feel something that was a hell of a lot like joy. What we shared yesterday morning—it mattered. And I’m not sure I can go back to pretending it didn’t.
A knock rattles the door, and Sylvie jumps up, brushing her hands on her apron as she rushes to openit. I catch a flash of another attendant in the hall before Sylvie returns, holding a sealed envelope.
“It’s for you,” she says, “from Lord Lockhart.”
My heart stumbles.
She hands it to me, and I stare at the wax seal. I break it with a flick of my thumb but hesitate, the note trembling between my fingers.
This is so much worse than a text I can preview and pretend I didn’t see. There’s no swiping this away. No three dots bouncing at the bottom of the screen to warn me something’s coming.
“I can’t,” I mutter. “You read it. Wait—no. Don’t read it. Not if it’s bad. Don’t tell me what it says if it’s bad.”
Sylvie blinks. “Oookay…”
“Wait—no, do tell me,” I say, collapsing back on the bed and yanking a pillow over my face. “Okay.” My voice is muffled now. “I’m ready. What does it say?”
I feel her weight settle at the edge of the mattress. She clears her throat and reads aloud, “‘Meet me at the west dock after breakfast. Come alone.—A.’”
“Romantic,” I mumble into the fluffy down. “If you’re into cryptic letters from billionaire spies with mood swings.”
“What was that?” She looks deeply confused now, her brow furrowed.
“Nothing,” I say, tossing the pillow against the headboard.
Sylvie folds the note then tucks it into my palm. “Whatever this is between you two…you don’t have to decide everything right now. But if it matters, and it very much seems to, don’t leave the table just because the firstcourse didn’t go down easy.”
I blink at her. “Did you just compare my relationship to a meal?”
She shrugs. “I’ve been working in kitchens too long.”
I laugh, rustily but real.
“Thanks, Sylvie.”
She stands, hands on her hips, her chin lifted. “Now then, let’s get your hair sorted and find you something decent to wear, so you don’t look as though you’ve spent the entire night pining.”
I groan. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Is it that obvious?”
She lifts both brows. “You look two blinks away from fainting into the nearest chaise.”
I sit up straighter, dragging a hand through my tangled hair. “Well, that’s exactly the look I was going for. Fainting, but fashionable.”
“Well, my lady, you have succeeded,” she says, already moving toward the vanity. “Although I’m not entirely sure we should be excited about it.”
It only takes a few minutes—some clever pinning, a borrowed ribbon, and a fresh dress Sylvie must have sent for, one that falls against my curves in all the right ways—before I feel like I’ve been at least partially reassembled.
I smooth the fabric over my hips and glance in the mirror. I still look tired, and a little too pale, but there’s a bit more of me there now. Enough to move forward.
“Wish me luck,” I say as I pause at the door.
“Oh no, you do not,” Sylvie replies, folding her arms with mock severity. “You cannot answer a mysterious summons from a handsome lord and not swear to tell me all when next you are able.”
I smile despite myself. “Is that your way of admittingyou’re invested?”
She lifts her chin. “I have a sharp eye for trouble, and a soft heart for tales that end well. Of course I’m invested.”
