I pushed open one of the many “secret” doors and slammed face-first into someone coming out. Whatever he was carrying fell to the ground in a crash of broken porcelain and smashed food. The man bent down and started to clean it up. He had closely cropped white curls, a light-gray suit, and only slightly weathered hazelnut skin.

“Uncle?” I asked, surprised. Uncle immediately stood up, turning on his heel to go back down the winding stairs.

“Uncle,” I whispered, running after him. “Uncle, wait. Talk to me.”

“They are expecting these items; you know how it goes. Crowne comfort above all else.”

“Wait, stop, let me explain.”

I wasn’t sure how I would explain, but still.

We wound and wound down the staircase until I could faintly hear the sound of the real servant party. Someone yelling Shots! with pop music.

“Uncle!” I grabbed his arm.

We stopped at the bottom of the stairs, light melting in from the hallway.

“I have nothing to say to you, Storybook,” he said.

My face caved in in anguish. Storybook. A name has so much power, doesn’t it? Like a name given by a mother who didn’t really believe in fairy tales, but loved to scam the princess out of her pumpkin and the prince out of his castle.

“Please, just—”

He spun on me. “What the hell are you doing? You were almost out of here!”

I sucked in a breath. My uncle never swore.

“Leaving was your plan. I never wanted to go.”

“I’m not going to be here forever, and then what?” he asked. “What will you do when you have no old man to care for?”

“I’ll become head of girls, like Ms. Barn.”

His brows caved.

I slowly removed my grip, saying softly, “Just let me explain what you saw.”

He paused. “I’ve lived here longer than you’ve been alive. Do you really think I don’t know? What was my one rule I said you had to follow when you came to stay with me?”

I looked down. “Don’t look them in the eyes.”

“I know you. I know you’re dreaming of happily ever afters.”

“I’m not! Grayson Crowne is horrible. He sees nothing in me. He hates me.”

My uncle clicked his tongue. “But what do you see in him?”

My uncle always saw through me. What did I see in Grayson? Why did my heart flutter for someone so cruel?

I saw…me.

Someone buried and buoyed in secrets. I saw glimpses of loneliness beneath a thick mask.

“He doesn’t know who I am,” I said, throat thick. “He doesn’t know who you are. I’m fixing it. Everything will go back to normal.”

He looked at my wrinkled, slept-in dress. Unwashed hair. Unwashed face. I’d barely had a chance to pee. Hadn’t eaten anything. His eyes landed on the cigarette stain. I slapped a hand over it.