Reluctantly, I take one from him. As I stand and wrap the mask around my head, I have a strange, ominous feeling in my gut, like we’re about to do something very stupid… or life changing. I pick up my glass and drain the rest of my drink, certain that I’ll need the liquid courage and later, the oblivion that will come with it.
♦ ♦ ♦
As we ascend the Oakwood Club to the ballroom, we pass dozens of partygoers. Maybe Mac is right—maybe they won’t even notice us. We’re dressed a little more casually than the others in our usual fashion, with our shirts unbuttoned a little too far, absent a tie or a suit jacket, but it’s a costume party, not a black-and-white ball.
Before we reach the entrance, I watch Mac straighten his pants, making sure the gun in his ankle holster is out of view.
I grab his shoulder, pulling us to the back of the line. “A gun, Mac? Is it too much to ask you to stay out of trouble?”
He grins. “I always do my best, cousin, but trouble usually finds me.”
At the entrance, Damien flashes the invitation he took from Andrej, who wasn’t going to use it anyway, and the bouncers don’t look at us twice.
Inside, I do a quick survey of the room and easily spot Ty and Mr. Jordan standing across the room near the stage. They’re two of the largest men here, and both with scowls on their faces. They look like they might be packing, too. The bulges in their jackets certainly suggest so. I bet Mrs. Jordan doesn’t know. The men in these situations and in our families will pander to the women, but typically do their own thing. That might be why I’ve always been the odd one out. I’d rather act a little carefree and avoid that responsibility then adopt violence and lying as a policy.
Mac migrates toward a pack of giggling girls like a moth to a flame, while Damien heads to the bar. I swipe a cup of spiked punch and move into the shadows, where I’m most comfortable in a place like this. I can hardly believe I let them talk to me into coming, but the anonymity the mask provides is comforting. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to leave all this family drama behind and just be happy. Poor, maybe, but free to show my face wherever I please.
A live band starts up on the stage at the far end of the room, and dancers flood the floor. There are stone benches set up along the perimeter between gilded columns, and I’m looking for one to make my perch for the night, when a beautiful princess catches my eye. She’s wearing a diamond-studded tiara perched on top of her long, dark curls, and the smooth curves of her body are barely contained in a sleeveless silver gown. The silver metal mask over her eyes does nothing to hide the dismay on her face as the man beside her—Philip Pemberton, I realize with a start since he has no mask on—puts his hand on her thigh. She looks up, searching the room as if looking for a way out. I can’t help but sympathize with her.
Ditching the punch, I grab two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and approach her, my heart racing. I’m supposed to be laying low, staying inconspicuous, but I can’t let this opportunity pass me by.
“There you are,” I say as I approach, keeping my eyes on hers and handing her a glass.
She takes it slowly, and I can see her trying to assess which of us is the lesser threat. She must settle on me because she smiles dazzlingly up at me.
“I wondered where you’d gotten off to.” Leaning down, I brush my lips against her soft, rosy cheek. Her breath brushes my ear and her hand wraps lightly around my arm, sending chills down my spine.
“Just here talking to Mr. Pemberton,” she says.
“Ah,” I say, careful not to look Philip directly in the face so he doesn’t recognize me. We aren’t friends, but we do run in some of the same circles. “Well, I thank you for keeping my date company while I fetched our refreshments.”
“Your date?” he spews.
Without acknowledging him further, I hold my elbow out to her. “Shall we?”
“Your father assured me—”
My princess puts a consoling hand on Philip’s arm. “Well, I can assure you that my father does not always know my mind. You’ll excuse me, Mr. Pemberton.” She stands, loops her fingers through my arm, and I spin us onto the dance floor.
She laughs, holding her glass up so it doesn’t spill. The sound of her laughter makes joy bubble in my own chest, a type of happiness I don’t know if I’ve ever felt. My life is so serious, with the feud and the business. Even Mac only lightens up when he’s in the middle of something dangerous.
That’s why this woman, with her joyful giggle, is so attractive. As a waitress passes, I finish my drink and put my glass on her tray, and then I pull my new date against me as we sway to the jazzy music.
“My knight in shining armor,” she says, beaming up at me. Her eyes behind the mask are blue, rimmed with thick, dark lashes. Her voice has a light accent that makes me think she’s from Europe—France or Italy, maybe.
“At your service,” I say with a smile, spinning us deeper into the crowd and away from Pemberton’s prying stare that I feel burning into my back.
“So, what do you do when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress?”
I step us to the side, pushing lightly on her back. She follows my every move as easily as if she’s reading my mind. “I’m a businessman,” I tell her vaguely.
She hums knowingly.
“And you?”
“A businesswoman,” she replies, equally as vague.
“And here I thought you were a princess,” I tease.
She shakes her head slowly. “No, but sometimes I feel the weight of my family on my shoulders as if I were one.”
I pull her closer as the crowd presses us together. She fits perfectly against me. “I know what you mean. The expectations—”
“The pressure—”
“To be something that you’re not.”
“To carry on traditions that you don’t believe in.”
We stop and stare at each other before breaking into wide smiles. I’ve never felt so understood before. Suddenly, a carefree, invisible life doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. I’m in a powerful position; I have wealth, education, and connections. All I’ve been missing is a reason to put it to use. Maybe this woman is my purpose. The growing conviction in my heart says she is. She has already inspired me to step up, to be there for her.
I’m about to ask for her name when her eyes widen at something over my shoulder.
“He’s coming,” she whispers.
I release her and grab her hand, weaving us through the crowd. I hear her delightful laughter behind me and her shouted apologies as we cut through dancing couples. I don’t know where we’re going, only that I want her away from anyone who might try to steal her. I want her all to myself.
When I reach the door to the stairwell, we rush through and slam it behind us. She collapses against the wall with a laugh, pulling her mask down around her neck to give me a better glimpse of her bright blue eyes. Looking into them, I feel like nothing has ever really mattered until this moment. I don’t know anything about her, not even her name, but I know I want to make her mine.
I take a step closer to her and her laughter dies down. “I’ve never seen you before. I would remember.” Standing here in the stairwell with her feels otherworldly, like we’re the only two people alive.