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In my haste, I felt a tug at my wrist followed by a slip of silk sliding off my skin. My heart sank as I realized one of my royal blue gloves was no longer gracing my hand—a piece of me left behind like a breadcrumb trail leading straight to Mila Johnson, the maid who dared to dream beyond her station. A moment’s hesitation gripped me, an instinct to retrieve it wrestling with the knowledge that every second counted.
But there was no time for second-guessing. The glove lay discarded on the polished floor, an unintended memento for anyone astute enough to connect it to the girl who vanished into the night. It was a risk I had to take; being found out would be far worse than losing a piece of fabric, no matter how precious.
With a silent apology to Josie and Melody for their thoughtful gift now incomplete, I pushed on toward the exit. The clock continued its ominous song behind me, marking the end of an evening that would forever remain etched in memory—a fleeting dance with fantasy before dawn beckoned me back to reality.
Chapter Ten
Mila
The blare of the alarm jolted me from a world where crystal chandeliers and champagne flutes still danced behind my eyelids. My bedroom, a small box with peeling wallpaper, welcomed me back to reality. Sunlight filtered through the dusty blinds, mocking the glamour of last night. I stretched, the muscles in my back aching from the night spent in heels and borrowed elegance.
In the kitchen, the scent of coffee did little to clear my head as I scrambled eggs for Rachel and Chad. They sat at the table, their chatter a stark contrast to the sophisticated murmurs that filled the grand ballroom. With each crack of an eggshell, fragments of laughter, silk brushing against skin, and Cass’s intense gaze intruded upon my thoughts.
I focused on pouring juice, slicing toast, willing my mind to settle into the familiar rhythm of my morning duties. Yet as I moved about, I couldn’t shake off the remnants of Cassius Portman’s touch; it lingered like perfume on my skin.
I retreated to my room to get dressed for another day at Wintertide Hotel. My uniform awaited—starched white shirt and black skirt—nothing like the royal blue gown that transformed me into someone else for one enchanted evening. As I slipped into my maid’s attire, something soft brushed against my leg.
There it lay—the single silk glove, royal blue edged with sparkling crystals. It lay limp on the floor like a fallen petal from an impossible flower. I picked it up, its fabric cool between my fingers, and for a moment I was back in his arms, spinning beneath a constellation of lights.
I tucked the glove away in my dresser drawer beneath some old sweaters—a secret treasure amidst the ordinary—and closed it with a soft click. The proof of last night’s escapade whispered to me of a life so far removed from this one it might as well be fantasy. But no dream ever felt so vivid.
As I scrubbed the lingering stains from the kitchen counter, flashes of the ballroom’s grandeur flickered in my mind. My hands moved mechanically, but my thoughts waltzed in a lavish dance with Cass. His strong grip on my waist, the warmth of his breath against my cheek, the intensity of his gaze—all these sensations tugged at me, beckoning me back to that intoxicating night.
Chad’s voice brought me back to reality. “Mila, can I have more syrup?”
I blinked away the glittering images and poured a generous amount over his pancakes. “Sure thing, buddy.”
Rachel looked up from her cereal with big, curious eyes. “You seem far away today. Did something happen?”
I forced a smile, setting down the syrup. “Just thinking about work stuff, Rach.”
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I couldn’t afford to get lost in fantasies about Cass—fantasies that had no place in this kitchen or this life.
“I’m heading out to check on the community center after this,” I announced more to myself than to them. “They’re talking about shutting it down, and we can’t let that happen.”
Chad frowned. “But that’s where we play basketball.”
“And where I do art class,” Rachel chimed in.
I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back onto my shoulders. The community center was more than just a building; it was a lifeline for us all.
With each dish I washed I chipped away at the remnants of that magical evening. The kids’ laughter and Brenda’s occasional demands were a far cry from champagne flutes and whispered flirtations. This was my reality—full of needs and obligations—and I was determined to protect it.
I trudged to work, lost in my thoughts a slurry of dreams about Cassius Portman and the very real responsibilities of my younger siblings and my ailing father. There was no room for such silly dreams in my world, only hard work and keeping the family together, safe and happy.
As evening fell and dinner simmered on the stove, the kids’ chatter about school projects and playground dramas filled the room. I tried to listen intently, to engage with them fully, but nothing could keep me grounded today.
The memory of the ball became like a painting hung in a distant room—one I no longer visited as often. My hands moved with purpose as I folded laundry and organized bills, each task a step further from Cassius Portman and closer to Mila Johnson—the sister, the daughter, the caretaker.
When Theo called out for help with his medication, my feet carried me swiftly to his side. There was no room for hesitation or distraction when it came to him.
“How are you feeling today, Dad?” I asked while measuring out his doses.
He offered me a weak but genuine smile. “Better when you’re here.”
And just like that, any lingering desire to slip back into last night’s fantasy vanished completely. My family needed me—and no masquerade ball could ever change that.
After my Dad drifted off to sleep, it was story time for my brother and sister.
