“No. But they won’t stop Anaïs.”

I stared up at him, confused. “What?”

“You’ll see.”

Tristan led me through a series of alleyways, and then stopped at a door in the back of a building. At his knock, a man opened the door and bowed deeply. “My lord. My lady.” His chocolate-brown hair marked him as part human, but Tristan did not introduce us. The man gestured to the entrance of another room, but did not follow us in.

“About time. Do you think I have all day to waste sitting around waiting on you?” Anaïs reclined on a sofa, smirk firmly in place. I scowled at her and her grin grew even wider. “No need for that, Cécile. I am doing you a favor, after all.”

“No, you are not,” Tristan snapped. “You are doing me a favor and it is from me whom you will collect.”

She got to her feet and made her way to Tristan’s side. The parlor seemed too small to contain the three of us. Anaïs was too close, and the satisfaction on her face made me want to hit her. Not that that would go well.

“You don’t do anything that doesn’t benefit you in some way, Anaïs.” I felt too drained, too tired, to deal with her today. Even at my best, she was better. “This is no favor.”

“As you like.” Anaïs laughed. “Turn around, Tristan. I’m not your wife. Yet.” A wink accompanied this last bit, and the urge to strike out became almost unmanageable.

“Get on with it, Anaïs,” Tristan said darkly, but he turned around.

“Help me,” she said, turning her back to me. “We need to switch dresses. I’d never wear something like that.”

“It’s going to take more than a dress for anyone to mistake the two of us,” I replied. But I began undoing the gold buttons running down the back of her gown. Her skin felt soft and overheated beneath my fingers, the lace of her undergarments reminding me of the tattoo on Marc’s fingers, black against porcelain white.

When she was unbuttoned, I pulled off my own dress, needing no assistance to extract myself from its forgiving design. When she turned around I flushed, profoundly grateful that Tristan had his back turned. Fully clothed she was the most beautiful girl I had ever met. Half-naked, I was certain she was every man’s fantasy. Beside her, I felt like the troll. Shorter, plumper, with a smaller chest and a bigger behind.

We put on each other’s clothes, her dress so tight I could hardly breathe and mine hanging off her slender frame. Then she pulled off her shoes and as she settled onto her bare feet, I realized she wasn’t all that much taller than me after all. “You’re short for a troll.”

She raised one finger to her lips and then handed me the shoes. “No one needs to know that.”

I put them on, wobbling on the high platforms and wondering how I would get more than two steps without falling. In the meantime, Anaïs pulled a black wig out of her bag, along with a golden-framed mirror. “Hair is tricky,” she muttered.