Twinkling lights glimmered above us, and the black ocean glittered at his back. Behind me, a gold-flecked white chocolate fountain streamed like water. The party was getting late, easy to tell by the feathery fans every woman held. They’d lost their haughty edge, now mirroring their owner’s tipsiness, flitting and floating like butterflies.

What would it be like to be one of them? The women dressed in white? The swans?

Seen.

After a minute of silence, I said, “That’s what I learned.”

Slowly, as if with great effort, Grayson put his phone in his breast pocket. “That’s your great plan? Lemon cakes?”

I made a fist.

I paid nearly two weeks’ wages for that information.

“No one knows she loves them,” I added.

“Maybe because it’s not worth finding out.” He exhaled and shook his head. “It’s my fault. I enabled…this.” He cast a disinterested hand in my direction, then moved to leave.

I grabbed his arm.

“Everything is worth finding out. How are you going to convince her you love her when you don’t even care enough to learn her favorite food?”

A wrinkle formed between Grayson’s perfectly smooth golden brows. For a moment it was like he was looking at me—Story. For once, his stony blue gaze wasn’t cutting or bored. It was open…soft, almost.

Then it wandered to my grip on his arm, and I dropped him, folding my arms, as if that would hide what I’d done.

“So…” he said, still eyeing where my hands had been. “Lemon cakes.”

Unsurprisingly, it was easy for Grayson Crowne to conjure lemon cakes. Less than an hour later and fresh from the kitchen, we were on our way to woo Lottie du Lac. I followed Gray like a puppy out of Crowne Hall and back onto the beach. No one noticed me; all eyes were on Grayson, and I was back to being invisible.

This I could do. This I was used to. Blending in was as second nature to me as breathing.

I’d barely stepped off the stone steps and onto the sandy grass when someone shouldered me—that I was also used to. About to stumble, I was steadied instead.

It all happened in less than a second. Grayson’s firm hand, steadying my shoulder. His slight squeeze, as if making sure I was good to stand. Then his reach beyond me and his yank on the collar of the guy who’d grabbed me, tugging him back.

“Are you blind?” Grayson growled.

The tendril of possession weaving fire in his voice sent goose bumps up my spine. It was like in the antique room, and it lit the thing in my soul on fire, the one I need to rip out.