As he beamed down at her, she allowed herself to see this moment for what it was. Had he been at the church, this was the look he would have given her at the end of the aisle where he’d have stood waiting for her before they said their vows. She took the champagne glass from him. The stem was thin, and she could feel the chill on her forefinger as she held it. She slid her hand in his. It was warm, like a real one. She clung to it for a moment, pulling the illusion of him toward her.

“You look beautiful.” It was that voice, deeper than you expected from him, that always surprised her. The timbre of it. She’d never erased his voicemails, saving them for the day she could bear to listen to them again.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

The knowing smile he gave her was heartbreaking. “You’ll be fine, Lara.”

“I don’t want to be fine.” Tears so easily began to run down her face, the grief hitting her in waves.

As she blinked, her tears seemed to fade him, like a watercolor in rain.

And he was gone.

Wiping her face, Lara felt something stir, a breeze, giving her goose bumps. Despite the fact that she was at the top of the stairs in a crowded room, everything and everyone in the room fell away. Standing in front of her on the other side of the staircase, wearing a black tuxedo and gold mask, was the man with brown ringlets who had stood in her field all those years ago. Even with his mask, he was unmistakable, dashing. Like a wicked fairy-tale villain from childhood, he flashed the same devilish smile. With him was the woman with the parasol, only now she was wearing a gold dress that matched his mask. Margot—her grandmother.

This entire scene was impossible and yet they stood before her, just as Todd had a minute ago.

“You’re getting so much better with your illusions, my dear. I almost believed he was here with us.”

“Aren’t you another one?” She didn’t have time for games. Lara wanted to run down the stairs and out the door like some princess in a Grimm fairy tale.

“Hardly.” The man slid his arm around her as if he instinctively knew that she was unsteady. He whisked her down the stairs like a Victorian lady and into the foyer below. His arm felt real and people seemed to part for them, as if they saw him, too. “I assure you, I’m as real as you.”

“What did I just do?”