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Marcus had mentioned the boutique delivery while reviewing the final preparations for the gala. Sapphire. He had not known that the detail would occupy my mind. I had selected her mask myself. It had reminded me of her the moment I saw it. The design was intricate but restrained, and the sapphire stones would complement her dress.

I had considered signing the card and chose against it. My name carried implications I could not remove, and obligations that Emilia might not have been able to ignore. I was the Chairman of Blackwood Hall, responsible for funding Aurora. If she had known it had come from me, wearing it might feel less like a choice and more like an expectation. I wanted no part of that. Still, I wondered if she would wear it.

I lifted my own mask and secured it into place before looking at my reflection. It covered enough of my face to delay recognition, which was all I needed. For once, I could enter a room without my name arriving before me. No Chairman. No Patron. No Blackwood Foundation creating distance between us.

I would approach her. And if she allowed it, I would dance with her beneath the chandeliers. Four years earlier, I had watched her leave a conference ballroom and remained in my seat when every instinct told me to follow. I had spent enough time watching Emilia Rossi from across a room. Tonight, I intended to cross it.

Let my gala begin.

Chapter 8

Emilia

I left my suite and made my way through the quiet corridors toward the opera house.

Long before I reached it, I heard the orchestra. A violin carried a melody just beyond recognition before disappearing beneath the richer sound of cellos and brass. As I rounded the final corner toward the opera house, Charlotte emerged from the opposite corridor. We saw each other at the same time, stopped, and laughed.

“Look at us,” Charlotte said, “right on time.”

“I suppose neither of us wanted to be late.”

“Or early.” Charlotte looked at me, her smile softening. “Emilia, you look absolutely beautiful.”

Warmth rose to my cheeks. “Thank you.” I looked at her in return. Her gold mask framed her eyes, delicate against the burgundy of her dress.

“And you’re glowing, Charlotte.”

She laughed quietly. “I had a feeling we’d clean up rather well.”

“I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Charlotte’s gaze lifted to my mask. “Now that,” she said, “I haven’t seen before.”

I lifted my hand to the silver filigree. “It was waiting for me outside my suite.”

Charlotte looked genuinely surprised. “It was?”

“There was a card, but it wasn’t signed.”

Her gaze moved thoughtfully from the mask to my gown before returning to me. “And yet, it matches perfectly.”

“It does.”

Charlotte smiled. “What is it about this place and surprise deliveries?”

“You too?”

“Occasionally.” She looked as though she’d just thought of something and then offered me her arm. “Ready?”

I took a steadying breath. “Ready.”

Candlelight changed the corridor leading toward the opera house. Dozens of lanterns had been arranged along the passage, their flames reflected infinitely in the tall windows. Rain blurred the lights against the glass.

Other guests moved in the same direction, gowns and masks turning the familiar hallway into something from another century. A woman in emerald green. Two men in evening black and identical silver masks. A physicist I recognized from the Fellows’ Dining Room who now appeared to be dressed as a Venetian prince. He carried it remarkably well.

Charlotte acknowledged nearly everyone we passed with either an easy smile or a quiet nod.

“I see Georg has arrived,” she said, gesturing toward a figure near the entrance. “He will have opinions about the string quartet’s tempo by ten o’clock. I’m prepared.”