She beams up at me, straightening her tiara. “I just moved here.”
“Really?” As someone who’s lived here my whole life, I’m intrigued. “How do you like the city?”
“I hate it,” she admits, but she’s still smiling. “It’s suffocating. I want to run away sometimes.”
“I’ll take you,” I say, only half-joking.
She laughs again, and I’m pretty sure I would do just about anything to hear that sound for the rest of my life. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” I lean one arm against the wall beside her head and smile down at her.
“I have obligations and responsibilities.” She cocks her head playfully at me. “Don’t you?”
“Sure, but I’d leave it all behind for you.” And I would. There’s something about being with her that just feels right.
Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “Where would we go?”
“Anywhere you want.”
She doesn’t think long before answering. “Sardinia.”
“Italy?”
She nods. “We’ll live on top of a hill looking over the water, and will spend our days cooking pasta from scratch and hiking and swimming. And we’ll be true to each other and have a dozen kids and live to be a hundred years old.”
Her words sound like a wish or a prayer, and all I want to do is make her every desire into a reality that we both share.
“That’s very old,” I say, leaning down slightly just to get closer to her.
She tilts her head up, desire heating her bright blue eyes. “It doesn’t seem old enough though, does it?”
Before I can respond to that heat and tell her that even a hundred years wouldn’t be enough time with her, a door opens into the stairwell and I hear Mac’s familiar loud voice. I grab her hand and go down a level, then another, emerging finally in the dance club where I know we can disappear in the crowd. The music pulses and multi-colored lights flash over us and the dancers. There’s a crowd around the bar that looks like a bachelorette party, and a couple of people on the dance floor with masks on their faces that seem to have escaped the masquerade.
To my surprise, my princess takes my hand and leads the way. Instead of dragging me to the bar or the dance floor, she finds an empty spot in a corner and presses me against the wall. She wraps a cool, soft hand around the back of my neck and pulls my head down.
Our lips crash together, fitting as perfectly as if they were made for each other. She tastes like mint and strawberries, refreshing and sweet. I want to devour her. When she puts a hand on my chest, I realize my heart is racing, and now she knows it. Surprisingly, I don’t mind that she knows the effect she has on me. I coax her lips apart and slip my tongue inside, wanting more of her. Wanting all of her. My hands, which have been resting chastely on her hips, tighten, pressing her against me.
With a gasp, she pulls away from me, her blue eyes searching mine. Reaching behind my head, she tugs at the tie holding my mask in place and lets it fall. I catch it and stuff it in a pocket. She’s searching my face like she’s looking for something, but there’s no recognition in her eyes.
“What happened here?” Her finger brushes the bandage holding together the cut in my eyebrow.
“Family stuff. It doesn’t matter. I want to learn more about you.”
“I’ve never done something like this before,” she says breathlessly.
“Neither have I,” I try to reassure her.
“You don’t promise a hundred years to every girl you meet?” Even though she’s trying to make light of it, I can hear the tentative hope in her voice.
“No,” I tell her. “You’re the only one.” I don’t know exactly why it is. Maybe it’s the boldness in her smile, or the rebellious, carefree way she took my hand, or how our bodies just seem to meld together. Or the way she is a light on a dark day after I’ve been dumped and beaten. But whatever it is, I mean it.
“Let’s go then,” she says.
“To Sardinia?”
“To anywhere. Just away from here.”
“What about your obligations and responsibilities?” I ask her.
She shrugs her slender shoulders. “What about yours?”
At this point, her happiness feels like my only responsibility. “Point taken.”
This time, I lead, dragging her back to the elevators as it opens on the floor, spilling a new group of people into the club. We slip on just before the door closes, and after pressing the button for the lobby, I push her up against the tiled wall, pinning her arms over her head and capturing her mouth with mine again. It feels right and natural, like my body has been waiting for hers. She tips her head back and sighs happily as I trail kisses down her neck. Her tiara comes loose and slides down the wall, clattering against the floor.
The doors open on the lobby and I release her with one last, lingering kiss, turning to find myself staring at Tobias Kline’s sister-in-law, a young girl who hangs around the Oakwood Club looking for trouble and usually finding it. Her silver metal mask is pushed up on her head, and she has angel wings on her back. She’s staring at the two of us, her eyes wide.
“Daphne,” she hisses, reaching past me to grab my princess’ hand. “What are you doing?”
Daphne. The name is familiar, like some distant memory. While I’m trying to think what it is, the girl continues talking a mile a minute.
“Your mom is looking for you. She has Philip, and she’s not happy about this.” The girl looks at me. “About this alleged ‘date’ you have. And your dad looks like he’s ready to execute someone.”
Then, it hits me. Daphne Jordan. I think my heart stops as I take in my princess with new eyes. It’s been what, almost twenty years, since the Jordans sent their daughter away? That explains the accent and the fact that I didn’t recognize her.
I stumble back from the elevator, releasing Daphne’s hand.
She doesn’t seem to sense my panic, though, because she follows me. “I’ll be right there, I’m just going for some air,” she tells the girl.
“No, you can’t, that’s—” But her words are cut off as the doors close.
Daphne grabs my hand again, trying to pull me to the door, but I resist her for the first time since meeting her. Stopping, she turns and looks back at me, her smile fading into a concerned frown, and I hate myself for putting it there. But this—this is impossible. This can’t be happening.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
Before I can form the words, the door to the stairwell behind us bursts open, and Mac and Damien run out. Their masks are in their hands, and I can hear the sound of clattering feet behind them.
“Shit, Theo, there are you. Come on. We have to go.” Mac laughs wildly as he runs by, grabbing my sleeve.
“Theo?” Daphne asks, and I can see the horrified look of recognition on her face. We didn’t know each other by sight, but our names are enough.
The stairwell opens again and this time it’s Damien grabbing me by my shoulder. He jerks me away from Daphne, and I let him, looking back over my shoulder and watching her watch me. She’s fucking perfect. She’s everything I want in a woman.
But she’s my family’s mortal enemy.