Page 6 of Autumn Ritual

“Alright, who am I going with?” I hedged.

Relief swept over my father’s features. “I can’t tell you that. It’s a masquerade ball, which means part of the mystery lies in anonymity.”

“Papà,” I groaned.

He placed a hand on my shoulder as his moka pot gurgled beside us. “It’s just a favor, cara mia. Just a dance. Nothing more.”

It was never just a dance. The quaint façade of this small town hid the poisoned underbelly. Most of the locals saw a charming, safe city with good schools. Tourists flocked to San Pietro Cove to escape the bigger metropolises of the East Coast. But those of us who knew saw past the pretty, friendly little Cove.

“Your mamma will help you find a dress,” my father said, giving my shoulder a squeeze before turning his attention back to his second morning coffee. He poured it, said something off topic, and disappeared into his home office.

Alarm bells roared in my ears. I would go, because Papà seemed worried. Whatever the reason, I didn’t want him to get into trouble. But I would make it plain to whomever thought this practical joke was fun that I wasn’t the kind of girl who could be bullied into a date.

Chapter 4 – Sara

Delaying my trip to the lake house until Sunday meant I had the rest of the week to brainstorm with my mother. Talking to her about books and worldbuilding, however, was like chasing a squirrel through the blazing orange leaves. The scatterbrained creature was too busy foraging for nuts to focus on my creation. I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d inherited the mental tendencies from her. Unlike Mamma, I trained my inner squirrel to work when there was writing to be done. It was one of the few times we could coexist in peace.

In those rare sections of time I was able to capture Mamma’s attention, her flair for the dramatic irked me. She stared into the beyond, waved her hands through the air with the slow grace of a dying queen, and spoke words into existence with fervor. Getting through some of the backbone of my new book series wasn’t easy, but other moments were incredibly helpful.

Saturday night, I put on the ridiculous dress, sucking in my stomach as my mother laced the corset bodice behind me. At least it was black. The skirt shimmered, iridescent with flickers of blue and green in the right lighting. That was the compromise Mamma and I made at the last minute, since she wanted color.

“You’ll have to wear your contacts,” Mamma reminded me.

I grimaced, dreading the moment I stuck my fingers into my eyeballs and fit the slim discs in place. “I don’t have to wear the mask.”

Mamma gasped. “You most certainly do!”

“Are you going to make Papà wear one?” I countered.

A smile tipped up her lips. “Absolutely!”

My poor father.

“Do you need help getting ready?” I offered, folding my glasses and setting them on the vanity. I reached for the unopened containers, trying to remember if these contacts were even my current prescription. I peeled back the film and fished the first disc out. At least I had some contacts left! At first I thought I’d lost them, but they’d been buried in the nightstand.

“No, no, Saverio will help me. I wanted to surprise him at the ball with my costume, but he argued that I would need help getting into it—and out of it!” Mamma said breezily. “Go downstairs and wait for your date. Your father and I will see you at the ball. Do not fear for we might be a little late!”

Mamma was having her own Cinderella moment. I didn’t want to think of my parents’ active love life, but it was nice to know they still were crazy about one another after thirty-three years of marriage.

I wrestled the second contact into my eye, grabbed my mask, and scuttled downstairs. The ballet flats slipped on the carpet, but I held the railing for dear life. Thankfully, Mamma knew better than to have me wear heels. Only people with supermodel bodies like her could move in those death traps.

On the bottom step, I plopped down in a cloud of black chiffon. I glared at the front door, readying my speech for whoever was crazy enough to show up as I tied the mask around the sleek hairstyle. I’d forgotten to grab the bobby pins to help the mask’s straps stay in place, but I wasn’t about to risk it by going upstairs for them. My parents’ bedroom door was closed, but it wasn’t soundproof.

A high pitched chime rang out from my clutch. I fished my phone out, but my heart sank when I saw an unknown number. There was no need to answer. It was my ex.

“I really need to get a new number,” I muttered.

And then you would have to explain to your parents why you need one.

Grinding my teeth, I declined the call then promptly blocked the number. It wouldn’t stop Rob. He would just get a new one and contact me again. It was a vicious cycle, but sooner or later, he would realize that I was never going to take his last name. There were plenty of other girls who would jump at the chance to be his missus so they could enjoy his inheritance. I just happened to be the first girl his Scrooge of a grandpa approved of, which was why Rob was this desperate to seal the deal.

A flicker of movement clued me in that there was someone outside. I shot to my feet—or tried to. There was too much skirt. I grappled with the material as the door swung open.

A figure wearing all black stepped through the front door. With him came a blast of chilly air, but that wasn’t the reason the hairs on my arms rose.

He didn’t knock.

He walked like he owned the place—and everyone in it.