Without her, my options are limited. I feel like a sitting duck.

I find Royce across the ballroom and I smile, relieved at the idea of standing at his side all evening, playing my part. I’m about to take my first step toward him when I register that he hasn’t smiled back. His expression is hard and unfamiliar, so unlike the gentle man I’ve grown used to.

Then he turns toward the woman at his side—Marie, I realize—and I’m forgotten.

I swallow past the tight emotion in my throat. Though I’m not upstairs in my small room, I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped. Just at my back, two arched doors lead to a small veranda overlooking the backyard gardens, and I quickly make my escape, glad for the fresh air, slight chill and all.

I want to give Royce the benefit of the doubt. In my mask, he might not have recognized me. Though, let’s be honest, I’m hardly wearing a costume. Unless he’s half-blind, he would have been able to easily place my features. Emmett had no trouble…

Maybe he’s just in a bad mood, or maybe he was deep in conversation with Marie.

Maybe…

I squeeze my eyes closed and try to cap my worry. It won’t do me any good to stand out here, twisting worst-case scenarios in my head. If something is wrong, Royce will let me know. We are hopefully friends enough for that, at least.

Sweeping orchestral music begins to play in the ballroom, a familiar Chopin piece. My grandmother used to play it years ago, when a dance instructor came to teach me to waltz. The beauty of the song makes me nostalgic for a time I never existed in, a Regency-era ball where I’d only have to contend with a duke in need of a fortune rather than a devil in need of entertainment.

I sip slowly on my champagne, leaning onto the stone balustrade and taking in the view I’ll be leaving behind in the morning. There are towns across the lake, nestled at the foot of the mountains. From here, they look impossibly tiny, snow globe cities. It’s hard to imagine there are real people living there.

The warm light of the villa’s ballroom spills out onto the veranda, and when a black shadow falls over me, I know it’s Emmett even before he comes to stand beside me.

I take stock of the things I’ve grown familiar with, the sheer size of him beside me, the enveloping force of him. I hold out as long as possible, keeping my gaze on the moonlit lake, until his magnetic pull wins out.

I tip my head gently in his direction and find I’m no less affected by the sight of him now than I was all those years ago at St. John’s. It’s a pity I can’t seem to form a resistance against him.

“Tomorrow, we leave,” he muses.

I hum in reply.

He turns toward me, leaning his forearm on the balustrade.