And then I felt it.
That eerie tingle. The sensation of being watched. Not menacing, exactly. But close. Close enough to make the hair at the back of my neck stir.
I opened my eyes slowly. The night hadn’t changed. The pool still shimmered like melted tourmaline. The candles still swayed gently in their glass prisons. But?—
Then I saw him.
Monte.
Standing near the hedge line, half in shadow. Not moving. Just … watching.
I bolted upright, heart thudding. “Jesus, Monte.”
He stepped forward, hands raised. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You were standing there like a horror movie villain,” I snapped, pressing a hand to my chest. “What the hell are you doing?”
His jaw flexed, just once. “Watching.”
“Great,” I said, sarcasm sharp. “That makes it better.”
“Portia.” His voice was calm. Low. Too calm. “I’m watching to protect you.”
Something in my chest flickered. “Protect me from what?”
Monte didn’t answer right away. He crossed to the chair opposite mine, sat down without asking. There was something worn about him tonight—like he’d aged ten years in the space of an afternoon. He wore all black. T-shirt. Jeans. He looked like grief, bottled and walking.
“You know what’s out there,” he said finally.
I swallowed, the chill of the pool water brushing my ankles like an omen.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Nothing’s happened. Not here.”
He didn’t argue. Just looked at me like that was the problem. “You’re not fine.”
I didn’t answer.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re drowning in this, Portia. And I’m not just talking about Silas.”
A flash of heat rose in me. “Don’t?—”
“You’re carrying all of it,” he went on. “These weddings, these people. Everyone else gets to fall in love and cry over centerpieces and change their minds a dozen times. But you? You have to be the anchor. Every second.”
Tears pricked, unbidden. God, I hated that he could still see me like this. Hated even more that he was right.
“I wanted to give them something good,” I whispered. “Something they’d remember. Something untouched by the rest of it. The world, the danger, the history.”
“I know.” Monte’s voice was so gentle it scraped. “But you forget yourself in it. You always do.”
A breeze stirred through the hedge, carrying the scent of gardenia and salt.
“I can’t fall apart,” I said, more to the night than to him. “Not now. Not until it’s done.”
“You say that like there’s an end to it.” His tone sharpened. “But what if there isn’t? What if this just keeps stretching—more stress, more Dane family danger?”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think about that.
When I opened them again, Monte was still watching me. But something had softened. Not pity. Just … familiarity. Like he was the only person who’d been behind the curtain of the mask I wore every day.
