“People always change when they travel,” I say under my breath, watching the breeze whip the willow branches around.
“No,” he says, shaking his head, hands behind his back as he paces around me. “No, that was not the case with you. You went traveling because you were running away from something. That much I know. When you came back, whatever you ran away from, it was still there. It’s still here, Olivier.” He presses his finger into my chest. “I can see it in your eyes. It’s always there, this ghost, this guilt. This fear. You live in fear, never getting close to anyone except your own family. Why is that?”
I have a hard time swallowing, wanting to look away. Even through the narrow slits of the mask, I can see my father’s honest and loving eyes, and, God, I just want to be a good son to him. I know how badly he wants me to take over, and he’ll never know why I can’t.
I hate having to live with the fact that I’m disappointing him.
That’s what’s in my eyes, along with the guilt and the fear.
Because of my mistakes, I’ll never truly be the man he needs me to be.
I’m a failure.
“Hey,” he says to me, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. “I am your father, and I love you. I will always accept you and always forgive you, no matter what you’ve done, no matter what you do. Your mother always used to say that you were the child with the most potential, not just for greatness in success but greatness of the heart. You have a good one. I wish one day you’d stop pretending you don’t. I wish you’d own your golden heart and wear it with pride. Do good, be good, be proud of who you are. I am. I am so proud of you.”
Fuck. Now that lump in my throat is growing wider. I have no words except “Thank you.” The words come out garbled and hushed, but I can only hope he knows how much it means to me. He has faith in someone he shouldn’t, but it’s his faith all the same. And I’ll hold on to it as tight as I can, for as long as I can, even if I don’t believe it.
He leans in and embraces me in a tight hug, patting me on the back.
“Whoever she is, she’s a lucky woman,” he says to me.
I pull back and laugh. “She? I told you—there’s no one.”
He smiles at me. “Oh, Olivier.” Then he turns and heads back to the party, with me following.
Of course, now I’m extra paranoid that something is going to go wrong tonight. If my father has deduced that I’ve fallen for someone, what about everyone else? I know my father and even Seraphine wouldn’t really care all that much—they’d just be happy for me—but it’s the others that I have to worry about. And I know that when my uncle makes a threat, it’s a threat that sticks for life. It’s never forgotten about. It’s never wiped away.
We go back inside, and the party slowly starts to fill with more and more guests. The costumes this time seem even more elaborate. The actual dress code for the party is just to wear a mask, but because this is in a castle, a lot of people have gone full-on Renaissance, medieval, and every other time period. I’ve seen a few ladies already who could pass for Marie Antoinette.
It isn’t until another hour has passed and I’m starting to get worried that I see Sadie coming over the drawbridge. I’m looking out the upstairs window, the sun having already gone down, and there she is, lit up like an angel.
I didn’t tell her what to wear. I’d only given her the mask, but she’d played up the feathers by wearing a simple white summer dress and a pair of flat sandals, her hair spread across her shoulders in shimmering waves.
I hold my breath as she gets to Blaise and hands him the invitation. He scrutinizes it like he’s been doing to all of them, looking her over and then holding it up to the light. But then after a moment, he lets her pass, not giving her a second glance.
At least that went smoothly. Because she had to take the train from Paris, which, thankfully, is only two hours, and then get in the hired car from Bordeaux to the estate, there’s a lot that could have gone wrong. I texted her once or twice but can’t be sure if she got them or not. Her phone’s service has been rather weak—maybe because her phone itself is a relic.
For a split second I tell myself I should buy her a brand-new one, but then I realize how silly that is. It’s not like she’s staying here forever.
I try to push my heavy heart to the side and stride through the crowd of partygoers. I grab a glass of champagne from one of the waiter’s trays and head down the stairs, hoping to grab her without anyone noticing.
I see her in the corner of the armor room, peering into the caged mouth of one of the helmets. My eyes do a quick sweep, and I wonder if there’s anyone who would take notice of me. Blaise is still outside, though he’ll probably come in soon since most guests are here. I haven’t seen Pascal yet—I haven’t seen him all week, in fact—but that doesn’t mean he won’t show up. I last saw my father talking to Seraphine upstairs, and I caught a glimpse of Gautier, but he pretended not to see me and vice versa.
I take my chances.
I approach her, holding out the glass of champagne. “Madame,” I say, and her eyes widen underneath her mask. “Allow me to welcome you to the masked ball. Champagne?”
“Is it the Dumont label?” she says stiffly, raising her nose. “Because that’s the only brand I drink. The only brand I wear.”
“Oh, is that so,” I say, enjoying our acting. I lean in and reach behind her, pulling the back of her dress away from her skin, glancing at the tag. “Is that why this is from H&M?”
“Mmm,” she says, stepping away, eyes darting, catching my paranoia. “I know better than to flaunt my wealth.”
I’m getting hard just looking at her. “You know, you do this role-playing so well,” I murmur, taking a step toward her until she’s against the wall.
“Careful,” she says, placing her glass between us. “We don’t know each other. We’ve never met.”
“That’s true. You arrived here all right?”
She clears her throat, looking sheepish. “I may have missed the first train, but yes.”
“Fashionably late. Good thing the crowd here feels the same way.”
She smiles at me, and then her eyes go over my shoulder to the front door, where Pascal steps in. My heart thuds in my ears like a drum. We’re enough in the shadows that we’re mostly out of sight, and he doesn’t even glance this way, only toward the back doors, where two giggling girls in mounds of tulle and lace come out clutching their petticoats.
I watch him carefully, holding my breath. Pascal loses interest in the girls, even though they certainly know who he is. His mask might disguise his eyes—even his nose, in this case, since his is elaborately Venetian—but they recognize his chin. He gives them just a smug smile and heads up the staircase with them trailing behind, like ducks picking up bread crumbs.
I exhale slowly and glance at Sadie. She is also watching Pascal and has the most puzzled look on her face.
“What?” I ask her.
“Who was that?” she asks.
I groan. Why does everyone want to know Pascal? “That was my cousin. Pascal Dumont.”
“Oh,” she says, and I can tell she’s frowning underneath the mask. “I thought maybe I knew him from somewhere.”
“Well, you did say you had been stalking my family online. He’s definitely one of the so-called bad boys the press likes to cover.”
She gives me a sharp look. “So-called? Isn’t he the one your father and sister are always battling against?”
“Yes,” I say reluctantly. “He and my uncle. And the man who examined your ticket, that was my cousin Blaise.”
“The bad side of the family,” she muses softly.
Normally I would correct her, but I’ve pretty much been talking shit about them this whole time. And to be honest, it’s a little dicey with her not knowing the whole truth.
I want to tell her.
I just don’t know if I should do so here and now.
I’ve already been talking to her for too long.
>
“Can you make me a promise tonight?” I ask her, searching her eyes.
She nods and stares at me in such a way that I know she’ll keep any promise to me.
“Can you stay away from them? They aren’t good people, and I don’t trust them around you.”
“But they don’t know who I am,” she says. “Right?” Her words come out harsh, fearful.
“They don’t,” I assure her. “I just want to keep it that way. I’ve already been talking to you for too long as it is, and I need to get back to my father and the guests. Just promise me that you’ll stay away, and if for some reason they talk to you, give them nothing, and if you have to give them something, make it a lie. Okay? Make it a lie.”
“What’s going on, Olivier?” Her voice is quiet, almost trembling.
“I’ll explain later. That’s my promise to you. D’accord?”
She nods. “D’accord,” she whispers.
It takes everything in me to not kiss her on the cheek. “Enjoy the party, mon lapin. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Then I turn.
And I leave her.
The angel in the room of armor.
I wish I could encase her in all of it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SADIE
I’ve never been to a masquerade ball before.
Or any ball, actually.
I went to my homecoming and my prom, but that doesn’t really count.
This is the type of ball you read about in historical novels and watch in sexy movies. It always looks so opulent and cool and fun.
And, well, it’s certainly the first two.
I mean, this is held in an actual legit castle.
And seeing all the costumes and everyone mingling with their masks on and the waiters coming around with drinks and tasty little weird things on silver trays, it’s definitely cool.
But fun? Well. This isn’t so much.
It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I don’t know anyone here except for Olivier, and he has to pretend to not know me. When I first accepted the chance to come here, I knew that was going to be part of the deal. That I would have to pretend to not know him, that I would remain an anonymous person. I thought I wouldn’t mind.
But I do. It sucks. I can’t help but watch his every move; my eyes are drawn to his movements like a moth to a flame. I watch as he talks to every guest, always charming, always smiling, always laughing as if the person he’s talking to said something hilarious, and I’m quite certain they didn’t.
He’s mine. That’s all I can think. He’s mine and no one else’s, and yet I’m kept in the shadows, a girl behind a mask, wishing she could remove it, wishing she could remove his. Wishing we could just be together. No secrets, no shame.
But he has secrets, if not shame.
And they all come down to his cousins and uncle.
I know that’s the cause.
I know that’s why he doesn’t want to be seen with me.
I’ve seen his father; he’s even come and said hello to me. It was brief but very kind. I’ve seen his sister too. Absolutely the most fucking gorgeous woman I’ve ever encountered. I was nearly drooling on myself. They both seem like the good people I’ve been told about. They exude it.
And then there’s Blaise and Pascal and Gautier.
Gautier has to be the worst of them.
He’s younger than his brother and yet somehow looks older. Thankfully, I haven’t made eye contact with him, even when I felt him staring at me for a really long time. But from the glimpses I’ve seen of his eyes when looking around the room or talking to other people, they seem to glow with malice. I’m not even exaggerating. There’s a coolness to him, a confidence that doesn’t come from knowing who you are, but rather from knowing that you’ll do anything to stay at the top. He’s a snake on two legs, and even if Olivier hadn’t warned me to stay away from him, I would have naturally.
Oh, and here’s another reason why masquerade balls aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.
They’re creepy as fuck.
I’m going downstairs to head to the back terrace to get some fresh air since it’s still so damn hot inside, when I literally run into some man with a mask that has three sets of eyes.
He giggles maniacally at our encounter, reaches over to pinch my ass, and then runs up the stairs. I don’t even have time to yell at him or react, and, for all I know, he could go and switch into another mask, and I’ll never know who he is.
Yup. Having people stare at you without your even knowing is one thing; overt sexual harassment is another.
“Ugh,” I say to myself, smoothing down the back of my dress and feeling dirty. I’ll be sure to tell Olivier when I get a moment to talk to him, because I don’t stand for that shit, and I don’t care if it’s going to be a problem. That’s probably the vibe I’m picking up on at this party. Like a Marie Antoinette version of The Purge, where everyone is free to flirt and giggle and grab and leer and get stupidly drunk, all while remaining coy and supposedly anonymous.
Outside it’s only a little bit cooler, and while the band is playing and people are dancing on the terrace and on the grass, there’s a swan that seems to take an interest in me, and not in a good way. With my feather mask and white dress, I might look like one of his relatives.
I start going back inside, but before I reach the doors, I see Ludovic, Gautier, and Pascal all step out of a room that Ludovic locks behind them. I hang back and wait, and Gautier and Ludovic then move past the row of armored knights toward the stairs, but Pascal turns toward the doors.
Toward the outside.
Toward me.
I gasp internally and then quickly spin around so that he doesn’t see me.
Which, unfortunately, leaves me nearly face-to-face with that swan.
It opens its mouth and hisses.
I open my mouth and hiss right back.
For a moment the swan seems stunned, and I think perhaps it actually worked. If he thinks I’m a swan, maybe he thinks I’ve said fuck you right back in swan language.
Then he waddles toward me and honks lightly.
“Don’t worry—his honk is worse than his bite,” a smooth voice says from behind me, and suddenly Pascal comes and stands right between me and the swan, his back to me. He mutters something to the swan in French and makes a sudden movement. That sends the swan pivoting around, flapping his wings, and waddling away.
I’m staring at just Pascal’s back, and already it’s familiar to me.
Do I know you? I want to say. How could I?
I don’t say anything at all.
Pascal turns around and grins at me. “But, of course, his bite is pretty fucking bad.”
I blink at him, trying to remember what to say and do. It’s all on me.
“You speak English, don’t you?” he asks me.
I nod slowly. “I do. How did you know that?”
“I heard you talking to some of the guests. Your accent stands out, like a siren call among a sea of sharks.”
Odd analogy. And yet it reminds me so much of Olivier.
“You must be Pascal Dumont,” I tell him, straightening my shoulders and raising my head, forcing myself to be someone else.
He tilts his head and runs his hand slowly over his chin.
That chin.
If I let myself think too much about it, I could swear it was Pascal following me on the streets the other day. But I don’t want to think about it because then I’m going to fucking panic.
“You know who I am,” he muses, and even beneath the mask I can feel this cold intensity in his eyes, like I matter to him a lot more than he lets on, but only in the way a mouse matters to a cat.
“Of course. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
His eyes narrow beneath the mask, just a bit. I can’t tell what color they are—it’s too dark—and the result is a bit unnerving. “But if you know who I am, I can’t say I know who you are.”
“Sadie Reynolds,” I tell
him, giving a faux bow. I know better than to make up a name for myself—besides, it says Sadie on the envelope. If he or anyone else wants to look me up online, they won’t find much on me.
“And what brings you to my party, Sadie Reynolds from Seattle?”
I freeze. What did he just say?
I try to smile, to act breezy. “How did you know I was from Seattle?”
“I can tell. I’m very good at accents. Comes with the business,” he says. “You know, we have an account with Nordstrom. It was the first American store to carry Dumont handbags.”
“I didn’t know that.”
Okay. I want to get out of this conversation now. I look around, trying to see if maybe there’s a waiter with a drink I could get or someone I know. I’ll even settle for the guy with three eyes.
“Planning your escape?” Pascal says, his voice strangely soft. He takes a step toward me. The corner of his mouth quirks into a crooked smile. “Am I making you nervous?”
I laugh. Nervously. “Nervous? No. I was looking for something to drink. It’s so hot outside.”
“It is,” he says with a sigh, rocking back on his heels slightly. “Though I do have that effect on women.”
“Making them nervous?” I eye him quickly before looking again for something, anything.
“Making them hot.”
Now I’m turning to face him, brows raised. “Only a small man would take credit for the weather.”
I know I’m playing with fire here, and after everything Olivier said to me, everything he made me promise, I know I need to head inside, find some excuse. The last thing I should be doing is firing insults at Pascal.
But Pascal seems to like it. He’s laughing. A genuine laugh too.
“I like you, Sadie,” he says. “I really do. Here I was thinking that maybe you were some stupid American tourist who decided to crash the party uninvited, but now I’m not so sure.”
His words strike fear back into me. I swallow. “I’m not stupid. And I’m not crashing this party. I was invited.”
“By whom?”
I had prepared for this. “By Seraphine. Your cousin.”
“Hmm, and how do you know Seraphine?”
“Dance class.” This lie is a gamble. Not so much that Seraphine could be asked who I am, because she apparently has a bad memory and knows way too many people and would just say she knows me anyway. But that I’m not a dancer. I mean, I had dreams of it when I was young, and I took lessons before my dad left, but if Pascal is about to ask me to do some sort of move, I’m going to fail miserably and probably be thrown out of the party.
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