Page 7
“Thank you,” I say when she’s finished. “You’re very good.”
She bobs a curtsy, then leads me back out of the sitting room where another man has joined Ben and Mrs. Halloway. Another plot twist. The way he stands next to Mrs. Halloway’s chair has a possessive air to it. It’s probably her husband.
Ben stands from his chair when I enter, which makes me blush. I wonder how long it took him before things like that were ingrained. The movement is so natural on him now. He introduces the man as Mr. Halloway, and I can’t help glancing between him and Mrs. Halloway. Yeah, there’s possessiveness, but also distance. She was far warmer when it was just me and Ben than she is now.
Ben and I follow the Halloways out of their suite and into the hallway to go down to dinner. I forget about my corset and try to take a deep breath in preparation for what’s to come, but the corset forces me to take only a shallow breath, making my chest heave in a way that I barely manage to swallow a giggle over. The number of heaving bosoms in those books makes a lot more sense now.
“That was quite the ordeal for dressing,” I say in a low voice. “I don’t mind being so fancy, but every day?”
Ben smirks. “Several times a day, actually.” My eyes widen, and he chuckles. “Believe it’s real yet?”
I try another deep breath to stave off panic and fail yet again. “Still just really impressed by my imagination, to tell you the truth.”
His smile widens.
“But if this were real—” Another failed deep breath seems to be trying to tell me something. “—how do we get home? Back through the mirror?” Maybe I’m lying on the floor of my closet and the mirror has fallen on me, and that’s why the fact that it’s hard to breathe feels real.
Oh my heavens, wake up, Clara, before you suffocate!
This is bad either way.
“I’ve tried that,” Ben says, interrupting my panicking thoughts. Probably for the best. Distraction. “Again and again. At least every day, and almost constantly when I got the mirror back into my possession a year and a half ago.” He stares ahead of us, watching the Halloways descend the stairs, before he pauses at the top and turns to me. “But we will think of something. I hope it’s not a passage that opens every two years. Did you do something? Push on something?” He leans forward toward me, eagerness in his expression. No, not eagerness. Pleading.
I shake my head. I don’t like disappointing him. “I leaned forward, and after it shocked me, I fell through.”
Ben sighs and turns back to the stairs, starting down them. “Of course.” He draws in a deep breath that I’m jealous he can do without looking like a lusty barmaid.
“How exactly am I supposed to get through a society dinner without messing up?” I’m growing more and more worried that my over-performing dream brain is not actually a thing.
Ben waves it off as though it’s not a big deal that I might use the wrong fork in front of everyone. “I’m sure the story about the robbery has traveled quickly through the hotel. People will be lenient based on surviving something so trying.”
“Ah, perfect. So I’ll play the dramatic part.” I nod along to this plan.
“Exactly. Listen, we’ll arrange for a seamstress and a few tutors to help you out. I don’t know how long we’re going to be here, but we need to have a good story for why you need a tutor now.”
I dip into my exhaustive knowledge of historical novel plots. “My father’s priority was on my mind and not on catching a husband?” I suggest.
“Rest his soul,” Ben replies with a look of mock solemnity. “And while we’re talking about it, we should get our backstory straight too. Your parents died five years ago, leaving your guardianship to my father, who died three months ago.” He takes command of the situation, and while not having a say in the story irks me a little, I’m glad to have someone here to take care of me. Ben didn’t have that, and I’m lucky.
Wait, am I accepting this is real?
Just part of the story, I assure myself. “Let’s say four years.” It’s one detail, and he probably won’t care. “The closer to the truth, the better.”
Ben pauses, turning to look at me as the revelation of my words settles between us. I think of the memory earlier but then quickly push it away. There will be plenty to cry over later when I’m working my way through a multi-course meal with people watching my every move.
“Sounds good,” he says, his voice subdued.
Our conversation halts as we catch up with the Halloways just outside the dining room, waiting for their table. It isn’t a long wait, and Ben leads me in right behind them.
I scan the dining room, taking in all the details as quickly as possible before someone pulls my attention away. I study the tall windows, like those in the alcove above my apartment, lining the far side. Lanterns that surround the lake twinkle back at me and reflect off the dim surface, making small ripples of light that are somehow comforting.
“Still breathtaking,” I murmur. The familiarity gives me reassurance for the dinner ahead. I turn back to the room, noting the large, square tables, all a rich, dark wood as far as I can tell from the legs peeking out underneath snowy tablecloths. I love the way the round-topped chairs accent them, and I picture the combination in my dining room. Another idea to tuck away. Furnishing my condo all vintage like this is appealing.
I’m studying the potted greenery around the room when another man approaches, his chestnut-brown hair combed neatly in a deep side part, but with his sharply defined features—a strong, straight nose and high cheekbones—he wears the look well. This has to be more evidence for the dream column, the fact that handsome men are everywhere.
He holds my gaze, his deep golden eyes catching me off guard. Another memory flashes across my mind: me playing on the stairs that Ben and I just came down with a young boy who has the same color hair as the man before me now. These memories pummeling me make me question my decision to move to The Villa—well, and the fact that it’s possibly led to me being trapped in 1901. Or being in a coma.
Will I know if I die?
