by Grey, R. S.
I look to Cornelia for permission, and she simply nods, obviously approving.
I grin. “It’s a date.”
Tori and I sit there talking while more guests are introduced at the entrance of the ballroom. The volume increases and bodies press in. Eventually, the quartet starts playing louder, and the dancing begins. I watch from the sidelines, smiling as couples sweep across the dance floor, arm in arm, waltzing to some of my favorite pieces of music.
I hear Cornelia ask Tori if she’s heard from Nicholas, and I wonder if Tori has a boyfriend and if I’ll get to meet him tonight. Suddenly, I’m hungry to know more people in this world, to find out if they’re all as nice as Tori.
My wish is granted a few minutes later when a guy about my age comes over to our table to introduce himself to me with a slight bow, and I’m immediately struck by how handsome he is. Barrett Knox has expertly styled light brown hair and a tailored black tuxedo that accentuates his broad shoulders. Underneath his mask, he has a charming cleft in the center of his chin and a winning smile he aims at me as we’re introduced.
“It’s good to see a new face in Newport,” he says, holding my gaze.
“Barrett is actually my cousin,” Tori tells me, leaning in as she throws him a cheeky grin. “He’s a few years younger than me and my friends, and he always hated that we didn’t include him in our games when we were growing up.”
He presses a hand to his heart as if the wound still stings.
“Do we have to dredge up the past?”
“How old are you, Maren?” Tori continues, ignoring him.
“Twenty-three.”
She beams. “There, Barrett—now you finally have someone to play with who’s your same age.”
The look in his eyes makes me think he would enjoy playing with me, though not as children do.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he says before excusing himself to make the rounds.
I sag in my chair as he walks away, buzzing from the encounter.
“I’d be careful where he’s concerned,” Tori says, following my gaze.
“Why?”
She laughs. “Because Barrett only loves Barrett. Sure, he might look pretty on the outside, but I gave up hope a long time ago that he knows what it means to be decent.”
He seemed nice enough to me, but then what do I know?
“I’ll try to keep my distance,” I tell her, though I’m not sure the promise will be kept. It’s been so long since I’ve been interested in a guy, even longer since anything actually came from it. My life hasn’t allowed for much romance in between work and bus routes, overdue bills and worry for my future.
I stand to excuse myself so I can go get another glass of champagne, and I take my time strolling around the perimeter of the party. I have the advantage since I know so few people here. I slip by groups undetected in the crowd and can observe everyone from a distance. Jewels sparkle. Champagne fizzes. Dresses swirl in heaps of fabric on the dance floor and I stand apart from it all, sipping a glass of champagne near the doors that lead out to the back terrace and the gardens beyond.
I feel a chill run down my spine, an awareness that seeps in slowly as I bring my glass to my lips and take a shallow sip.
I scan the perimeter of the dance floor with narrowed eyes, halting suddenly when I spot a man staring at me.
He stands across the ballroom, a devil in black. His tailored tuxedo glides over his tall figure. His half-mask conceals most of his face, but the parts I can see hint that the unveiled image would stop me in my tracks. He has a strong jaw, dark thick hair, and unsmiling lips.
Just a brief glance from him makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I don’t know him, but he’s staring like he knows me. Like he hates me, rather. He tilts his head as he continues to study me and my heart is a hummingbird, racing in my chest. I have the urge to get away even before he starts to cut through the crowd to get to me. A hunted animal knows when it’s time to run, so I do. I slip through the double doors that lead out to the empty garden.
But the devil follows.
10
Nicholas
I knew Maren would be here and yet I’m shocked to see her. To find her still in my grandmother’s employ, as a guest at her ball, draped in jewelry and clad in a very familiar white gown has fury unfurling in my stomach.
She’s here, a physical embodiment of Michael Lewis and all the other leeches who’ve come before him. They see my grandmother as an easy target. They mistake her generosity for a weakness, and they feed off of it.
Maren glides around the room on air, and for a moment, at first glance, I’m struck by her looks, but then I remind myself that her beauty shouldn’t be surprising at all. It all fits. It’s just another weapon I’m sure she’s quick to use to her advantage.
My jaw locks tight as she continues to turn heads. Everyone she passes takes notice. She sweeps past in white lace and leaves necks bending in her wake. She could have anyone here eating out of the palm of her hand with one wag of her finger, as I’m sure she’s well aware.
When she picks up a champagne glass and brings it to her lips, I assume it’s for show. She has to know how many of us are watching her right now, studying her every move. My eyes narrow and then, suddenly, she glances up and her gaze meets mine. It feels like a solid punch to the gut. Surprised green eyes take me in cautiously, and I’m glad she found me staring so angrily at her. It means the pretense is over.
She frowns, confused by my expression, but I don’t soften it. I stare, willing her to see that the jig is up. She’s been found out.
Leave, my expression demands, and she listens, just not in the way I would have wanted.
She slips out of the ballroom and walks out into the garden. I follow instinctively, reaching up and untying the ribbon holding my mask in place then stuffing it into the pocket of my tuxedo pants.
The tension inside me only builds with each step I take. Endorphins rush in, anticipating my encounter with her as I step outside.
The ball extends out into my grandmother’s rose garden, which has been lit up for guests with twinkle lights that droop heavily from the trees. It’s early though, and no one has made it out here yet, except for me and Maren. It’s easy to spot her as she walks farther away from the house toward the cliffs at the back edge of the property.
I wonder if she knows I’m following her. I wonder if she wants me to. After all, she’s walking slowly, and it doesn’t take me long to catch her. If her intent was to slink away unnoticed, she could have tried a little harder.
When my pace matches hers, she stops in the grass and wraps her arms around her waist. I can’t tell whether it’s from the slight chill in the air or fear of what’s about to happen.
I stop too, turning to face her so the lights in the trees shine behind her. She takes on such an ethereal form that I find myself unable to speak.
Who is this person and why is she here? With us?
“I was hoping you wouldn’t follow me,” she says, affecting a neutral, almost bored tone. “You seem upset with me, though I have no idea why.” She tips her head, studying me. “Do we know each other?”
“No. We’ve never met.”
She looks down, as if expecting me to extend my hand and issue a formal introduction, but I don’t.
Her eyes narrow.
“Are you a guest of Cornelia’s?” she asks, turning back toward the house briefly as if suddenly nervous to find herself alone out here with a complete stranger.
“Yes. Are you?”
She nods, but then amends her reply. “Well, tonight at least…I am.”
“And tomorrow? What happens then?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Oh…I’m…” She shakes her head and glances down self-consciously. “I’ll go back to what I was before.”
“Her employee?”
She looks back up at me, shocked by my question. “What? How did you know that? Who are you? You seem familiar now that I think about it.”
> “I’m just someone seeking the truth. And who are you?”
“Oh, are we answering in riddles?” The corners of her full lips rise into a smirk. “Compared to everyone else here? I’m no one.”
“Is it your intention to become someone then?”
Her arms tighten around her. “I doubt that’s possible.”
A gust of wind blows off the ocean, sending her hair into disarray. The mess only makes her more beautiful. No, I think. She’s wrong; with a face like that, it’s definitely possible.
“So then why are you here?”
To continue taking advantage of my grandmother?
“Like I said…I’m Cornelia’s guest,” she says, regaining the ground she lost between us, stepping closer to me as if trying to prove she’s not afraid.
I have quite a few inches on her, so she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. When she does, I’m surprised by how scared she looks, surprised she can feign the emotion so well.
“You’re her employee.”
Her eyebrows furrow in annoyance.
“So what?”
I ignore the question and get on to matters I’m much more curious about.
“Did Cornelia put you in that dress? And what about that necklace? Was it a gift too?”
She reaches up to touch the diamond draped around her slender neck. “Who says this isn’t mine?” she challenges with a cool tone.
I huff out a cruel laugh and step closer, wanting to be sure every word is heard over the howling wind. “I say so. That necklace once belonged to my mother.”
Her jaw drops and she looks down as if seeing her outfit in a different light now. “I didn’t know…” she whispers.
As if that makes it any better.
“I think you should leave.”
“The party?”
“Newport,” I say, my unyielding tone leaving no room for opposition.
“But I’m Cornelia’s—”
“Employee. Yes, we’re clear on that. And I’m her grandson.”
My blunt words slice through the air and she whispers my name under her breath, anger evident as she gives me a once-over. It’s like she’s trying to memorize what I look like so she can avoid crossing paths with me ever again.
“What a wonderful introduction we’ve had. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Now, if you’re done trying to intimidate me, I think I’d like to go back to the party. As I am Cornelia’s guest, she’s probably wondering where I’ve gone. I wouldn’t want her to think I’ve stumbled into harm’s way.”
She picks up the skirt of her gown and puts her back to me, walking quickly up to the house so that I’m left out there alone, stewing in anger as the remnants of her floral scent still linger in the air.
It’s one thing for Cornelia to keep her here, quite another for Maren to insist on staying even after I’ve asked her to leave.
She must really like the gig she’s set up for herself—invitations to exclusive parties, decadent jewelry, designer clothes. I wonder how deeply she plans on embedding herself in my grandmother’s life and how long she’s willing to put up with me.
11
Maren
When my parents died in a car accident, I was at home alone, reading. It was their anniversary, and my dad had surprised my mom with tickets to a local play. They were due home before my bedtime. Sometime after dinner, police officers came and banged on the front door of our apartment loud enough to wake the dead. When I unlatched the deadbolt and creaked the door open a smidge, a gruff man peered over the top of my head and asked me if there were any adults present in the house.
I told him the truth, but I should have lied.
There was no one to take me in after their accident, no aunts or uncles or well-meaning neighbors. I was placed in the foster care system almost immediately, shunted around from place to place for the next few years.
I think about what it would have been like if Cornelia was my grandmother, how different my life would have been if she’d swooped in and brought me home to Rosethorn after the accident. What a privilege to have a place to feel safe and at peace, never having to worry where I’d live or how to scrounge for my next meal.
I think about this as I go to sleep that night, replaying Nicholas’ words in my head.
“I think you should leave.”
And go where, exactly? I should have asked him.
It was Cornelia who uprooted my life. She plucked me from Holly Home like I was one of her roses in need of pruning.
I wake up the next morning, surprised that I’m still in a sour mood. Last night was not at all what I was hoping it’d be. After Nicholas and I argued out on the lawn, I found Cornelia, feigned a headache, and ran straight up to my room, locking the door behind me for good measure.
Nicholas’ reaction to me was so strong. The way he looked at me across the ballroom—it’s like he hated me upon sight. Is that a thing? People drone on about love at first sight, but what about the opposite? Can someone lay eyes on a stranger one time and decide on a whim to hate them forever after?
I’m not saying he doesn’t have his reasons for being slightly annoyed.
I understand it was probably a shock to see me in his mother’s necklace, but I am going to give it back to Cornelia! And what does it matter anyway? Is he going to wear the damn thing? I doubt anyone’s even laid eyes on it in years. It was probably collecting dust in some forgotten jewelry box inside this palatial house.
And sure, maybe he was also surprised to find me in attendance at the ball instead of working it like all of Cornelia’s other employees, but she’s the one who invited me, so if he has an issue, he needs to take it up with her.
Even viewing the events of last night through his eyes, there was no reason for him to be so rude. The way he spoke to me, the look of contempt in his gaze—he would have ground me into dust if he had the chance.
Ordering me to leave like that?
Who does he think he is!?
My hands turn into fists at my sides and my molars clench. If he were in front of me right now, I swear I’d throw something at him, the first thing within reach—my pillow, I guess. Shame. Too bad I don’t sleep with an anvil handy.
I stay up in my room all morning, telling anyone who comes by that I still have a headache when, in fact, I’m being a coward.
I can’t face him again so soon. I still feel caught off guard by last night. So, I stay in my room and shuffle around, cleaning up anything that looks even remotely untidy. When I’m done, I finish a book I borrowed from Cornelia’s library and then reach for another. I brought in a new stack two days ago and plopped it down on my bedside table. I thought it’d take me longer to work through it. At this rate, I’ll be done by dinner.
Cornelia comes to check on me, worried that I haven’t come down from my room yet.
Fortunately, she finds me back in bed reading. Five minutes earlier and she would have stumbled in on me doing push-ups to cure my boredom.
She feels my forehead then lets her hand gently cup my cheek. “Should I send for a doctor? You’re flushed.”
Yeah, well…I don’t work out a lot.
“No!” My response is too emphatic, so I shift gears. “I’m not that sick. It’s just a headache, maybe a mild cold. I bet I’ll be better by morning.” And if Nicholas is still here, well then maybe this cold will linger for another day or two.
“All right. I’ll have Patricia bring up something small for you to nibble on.”
I almost ask her about Nicholas before she leaves, but I bite my tongue. He’s her grandson, and nothing I say against him could possibly go over well. There’s no way she’d take my side over his.
In the early evening, I find the courage to quietly roam the halls, mostly owing to the cabin fever that was starting to set in. It’s aimless at first, just a way to get myself out of my room, but when I find myself standing in front of Nicholas’ portrait, I realize I was in search of it all along.
I stand back and study it, co
mparing young Nicholas to the man I met last night. It seems impossible that he could have grown more severe and cold, more confident and haughty, but I have the living proof in my memory.
I think of the way he looked out on the lawn, lit by the warm light spilling out of Rosethorn’s ballroom. There are details about him I wish I could smudge out with an eraser. His coal black hair set against his tan skin. His clean-shaven jaw locked tight in annoyance. His piercing brown eyes narrowed down at me. His lips forming cruel words. I doubt his mouth has ever felt the joy of a smile. I doubt he knows what it feels like to be kind.
Ha.
After that one brief encounter with him, I know for a fact he’s someone I’d like to never see again. And yet, I stand in front of his portrait until Rita finds me and asks what I’m doing.
I jump out of my skin then turn away, ashamed. “Nothing—wandering. Is Nicholas still here?”
“He had lunch with friends and then he had to leave to go back to New York.”
I pretend to study a nearby bust. I have no idea who it is, some old guy in a wig. Meanwhile, relief floods my system.
She frowns and glances back and forth between me and the painting of Nicholas. I know she wants to ask me more, but instead she nods down the hall. “Well, come along. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Someone sent you flowers.”
There’s an overflowing bouquet of pink and white peonies waiting for me on the circular table in the front entry. I’ve never received flowers from anyone, and if you’d asked my thoughts on them before this moment, I would have groaned about it being a silly gesture perpetuated by the Hallmark Channel. That said, now that I’m looking down on two dozen heavy blooms, all meant for me, I can’t help but feel a little flutter of joy deep down inside.
Who in the world sent them? I wonder as I pull out the small white envelope nestled in the blooms.
Sorry we didn’t get to spend more time together last night. I hope you feel better. - Barrett
I’m smiling even before I realize I’m happy they’re from him.
