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Chapter one
Layla
Fuck, that was rough.
I take another sip of my whiskey. The drink traces a nice warm tingling line right down to my belly and then, a few moments later, back up to my head. I hate whiskey, but I am open to trying new things tonight. So, I take another sip.
I grimace underneath my mask. The dimly lit room is alive with dancing bodies in arrays of masks. I am seated at the bar, in no mood for dancing. I’ve come to the party to escape the harsh reality of watching my business crumble and to let loose for the night.
Well, I’m also here to network and butter up someone—anyone, to invest in my antique business and enable me to start from scratch. So far, I haven’t found anyone. Although, it doesn’t help that all I’ve done so far is sit at the bar and nurse my drink. Two men sit at the tail end of the bar, not too far from me.
“What’s on your mind, man?” A tall, blond man in a red mask asks his mysterious companion with dark hair. “Aside from the obvious, I mean.”
“Honestly?” The dark-haired man stares at his alcohol like he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. “I’m thinking about Ruby. It’s two till Christmas, and I still don’t know what to get her.”
“You’re at a masquerade party, and you’re thinking about your daughter’s Christmas present?” He clasps the man on the shoulder.
“I can’t stop thinking about it.”
I watch them furtively as I eavesdrop. The man, his black mask hiding his eyes and nose but failing to conceal his chiseled jawline, raises his glass to his lips. I realize I’m wrong. He isn’t drinking alcohol. He’s drinking coke.
Weird.
“You know what you need?”
“What?”
“A real drink!”
“Luke…”
“I’ll be back. Don’t you move!”
The tall man disappears into the crowd in search of a real drink, I suppose. They can have my whiskey. Despite myself, I take another sip. I grimace harder and grab my head.
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying that drink.”
Was he talking to me?
I turn toward the man. His dark eyes are on me, his black mask adding an air of intrigue to his face. He’s dressed in an all-black suit with a maroon necktie and fitted pants that fail to hide his sculpted thighs. Subconsciously, my gaze drifts to his fingers wrapped around his glass.
No ring.
“It’s my first time drinking whiskey,” I confess. “Does it qualify as a real drink?”
“You’re quite an eavesdropper, aren’t you?” His tone is laced with amusement.
“Well, your conversation was so riveting, I couldn’t help myself.”
He raises an eyebrow, his mask accentuating the gesture. Then he smiles—a bright smile that seems at odds with the darkness of his mask. He rises from the seat, his height surprising me. Then he takes the seat beside me. I notice he smells like sandalwood, earthy and oaky. It was strong without being overbearing and pleasant without being too sweet.
“So, what’s an eavesdropping lady like you doing at a masquerade ball?” he runs his hand through his dark hair. “You’ve been seated here, nursing your real drink for over thirty minutes.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
“I’ve been aware of you, as I’m sure you’ve been of me.”
“You flatter yourself.”
