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“Few of us do.”
“Do you agree with the rest of it?”
“The rest of what?” Confusion laces his tone, but the knowing squint of those striking hazel eyes makes me question if he’s feigning ignorance.
“The Brotherhood, the auction, the queen’s duty…all of it.”
“Yes, to the first—with some notable changes—and no to the second. As for the queen’s duty, I have no problem sharing you, though I’d prefer your willing participation.”
“So basically, you’re saying ‘no’ to all three.”
He raises a brow. “Am I?”
“Your answer to the second question was clear as day. The other two are open for interpretation.” I study him, taking note of his square jaw and the boyish slant of his full lips. He wears that tailored tux as if it’s an extension of him, imparting the kind of confidence that borders on cocky. “Do you not want to bid at the auction?”
“You’re very direct.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I shouldn’t be. While Liam watched you drool over Sebastian, I watched you from the advantage of obscurity.” With a tilt of his head, he tucks a flaxen braid behind my ear.
I suck in a breath. “What did you see?”
“A spirited girl who refused to break.”
“They tried. All of them.”
“I know.” Withdrawing his hand, he inches away. “But they failed every time, didn’t they?”
“Is that why you don’t want to marry me? I’m too resilient for your taste?”
“If I wanted to get married, you’d be at the top of my list.”
So Ford Stryker isn’t the marrying kind. He looks no younger than my eighteen years, but I somehow feel light years ahead of him, because he’s still coming into his own—on his own terms—and I came of age by force and fire.
My attention returns to the masks, causing my heart to stutter. This month, this night, and this boyish man is a turning point. I don’t know how or why the certainty grips me now, but it does.
“If I asked you to decide for me, which color would you choose?”
“Silver,” he says without hesitation.
“That was quick.”
“It’s just one night. I’m not asking you to decide the fate of your future.”
Then why does it feel like everything hinges on this supposedly simple decision? “No offense,” I say, grabbing the box, “but I’ll go with black.”
He chuckles. “I’m not trying to trick you, I promise.”
“Then why the choice?”
“To keep things fun.”
“Fun for whom?”
His tongue sweeps his lower lip, and in that instant, it pulls at me.
The twinge.
