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There is such a thing as a man who was born to wear a tuxedo…a man whose presence feels like a demigod has deigned to come down and pay a visit to his loyal subjects…a man who seems to control the hearts of every person in this room, including mine.
I almost resent him. Almost.
I see what he’s trying to do. He cuts through the crowd, winding a path directly toward me, and though I feel the surge of excitement at having his attention so clearly aimed at me, I know I can’t stand here and let this play out.
Though I haven’t seen them yet, I know Royce and my grandmother are here. Emmett and I have misbehaved all week, and I won’t allow us to continue. Going down to the pier was my mistake, but outside of that, my hands are mostly clean, and I’d like to keep it that way.
“I’m going to get more champagne,” I tell the group, though it’s useless. Like me, they’ve turned to watch the devil stroll into the room, their breaths bated, their lips parted in wonder.
What a fool we all are for a man who wants nothing more than to play us like pawns.
My exit was a sham—I don’t need more champagne. I still have a mostly filled glass, but as I turn my back on Emmett, I down it in one swift swallow and pass it off to a nearby waiter.
“Another?” the man asks gently.
I accept a new glass with a shaky hand and swallow down another long sip. I’m tempted to drink the whole thing, but I’d be left with nothing but a headache.
Even though the ballroom is crowded, it feels like I can’t put nearly enough people between Emmett and me. I look for my grandmother, but I don’t see her. I should have asked Victor where she was when I had the chance.
Without her, my options are limited. I feel like a sitting duck.
I find Royce across the ballroom and I smile, relieved at the idea of standing at his side all evening, playing my part. I’m about to take my first step toward him when I register that he hasn’t smiled back. His expression is hard and unfamiliar, so unlike the gentle man I’ve grown used to.
Then he turns toward the woman at his side—Marie, I realize—and I’m forgotten.
I swallow past the tight emotion in my throat. Though I’m not upstairs in my small room, I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped. Just at my back, two arched doors lead to a small veranda overlooking the backyard gardens, and I quickly make my escape, glad for the fresh air, slight chill and all.
I want to give Royce the benefit of the doubt. In my mask, he might not have recognized me. Though, let’s be honest, I’m hardly wearing a costume. Unless he’s half-blind, he would have been able to easily place my features. Emmett had no trouble…
Maybe he’s just in a bad mood, or maybe he was deep in conversation with Marie.
Maybe…
I squeeze my eyes closed and try to cap my worry. It won’t do me any good to stand out here, twisting worst-case scenarios in my head. If something is wrong, Royce will let me know. We are hopefully friends enough for that, at least.
Sweeping orchestral music begins to play in the ballroom, a familiar Chopin piece. My grandmother used to play it years ago, when a dance instructor came to teach me to waltz. The beauty of the song makes me nostalgic for a time I never existed in, a Regency-era ball where I’d only have to contend with a duke in need of a fortune rather than a devil in need of entertainment.
I sip slowly on my champagne, leaning onto the stone balustrade and taking in the view I’ll be leaving behind in the morning. There are towns across the lake, nestled at the foot of the mountains. From here, they look impossibly tiny, snow globe cities. It’s hard to imagine there are real people living there.
The warm light of the villa’s ballroom spills out onto the veranda, and when a black shadow falls over me, I know it’s Emmett even before he comes to stand beside me.
I take stock of the things I’ve grown familiar with, the sheer size of him beside me, the enveloping force of him. I hold out as long as possible, keeping my gaze on the moonlit lake, until his magnetic pull wins out.
I tip my head gently in his direction and find I’m no less affected by the sight of him now than I was all those years ago at St. John’s. It’s a pity I can’t seem to form a resistance against him.
“Tomorrow, we leave,” he muses.
I hum in reply.
He turns toward me, leaning his forearm on the balustrade.
