I splash water on my face, then dry it. I pick up the bottle of aspirin and open it. It’s almost full. I swallow two, then set the bottle back down and prepare myself to face the women gathered in the next room, ready to do as I’m told, trusting that Nathan will do exactly as Mercedes instructed, even if it means hurting me.

31

Santiago

"Here you are, brother." Mercedes appears behind me in the reflection of my mirror to assist in securing the strap of the mask around my head.

It’s a silver headpiece. Half skull, half minotaur, crowned with roses. Dark and sinister undertones with a hint of the De La Rosa legacy. Once it is in place, I can conclude she has chosen well for me.

"Perfect." She smiles wickedly over my shoulder. "You look positively devilish."

I cast my eyes away from my reflection and clear my throat. "Yes, well, I suppose it will do."

Mercedes follows me downstairs to the foyer, her red dress swishing as her heels tap against the old stone. She will be attending tonight's gala as well, and I suspect she hopes to capture the attention of Van der Smit and his new wife in a dress that looks as if she were sewn into it. If I wasn't so preoccupied, I would tell her to change, but the strange energy coursing through my veins won't allow my thoughts to settle on the propriety of my sister. Not when I have my wife to consider.

We wait for ten minutes in silence until finally, she appears at the top of the grand staircase, flanked by two guards. My breath catches in my throat as my eyes roam over her figure, wrapped in a sweeping black floor-length dress decorated in traditional gold filigree. Her mask consists of matching gold and black detailing, butterfly wings obscuring half of her face entirely. I cannot see her eyes in the dimly lit room, and I am glad for it. I don't doubt beneath that mask there is an expression of hatred. But for tonight, it will be as though those feelings don't exist.

Mercedes looks exceptionally pleased with herself as she crooks her finger, gesturing for my wife to come to us.

"Is it everything you wished for?" she whispers as Ivy moves forward stiffly.

"It is," I answer darkly.

Ivy takes the stairs slowly, clutching the railing as the guards follow her. When she reaches the bottom, she nearly stumbles, and I step forward to catch her in my arms, only for her to right herself and recoil from my touch.

"I'm fine," she says coolly. "There is no need for the pretense of concern."