He looks at me then, and whatever he sees in my face makes something shift in his expression. That private, unguarded look doesn’t disappear. Instead, it turns toward me, and I realize with a jolt that he’s letting me see it on purpose.
He’s letting me in.
“My mother writes to me every Sunday too,” I tell him. “From Johannesburg. With a fountain pen.”
“I remember.”
He remembers.
Something warm blooms in my chest, and I look back at the portrait because looking at Veil when he’s being like this, open and honest and real, is more than I can handle right now.
“He would have liked you,” Veil says. “My father.”
“You said that before. In the study.”
“I meant it then. I mean it more now.”
The silence between us is different from what it used to be. Before the lake, before the library, it was charged with tension and uncertainty. Now it’s something else. Something steadier. Like we’ve crossed a line and neither of us wants to go back.
“The gala is tonight,” I say, because one of us needs to say something practical before I do something impractical like reach for his hand.
“It is.”
“The calligraphy demonstration.”
“Yes.” His lips curve, and there’s the duke I recognize, the one who ambushed me at the workshop. “In front of everyone.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling, and he sees it, and his smile deepens.
“I should warn you,” he says, turning to face me fully. “Tonight isn’t going to be like the workshop.”
“What do you mean?”
“At the workshop, I was testing you.” He takes a step closer. “Pushing to see how you’d react. Whether you’d lean in or pull away.”
“And tonight?”
“Tonight I’m not testing anything.” His voice drops. “Tonight, everyone in that room is going to know exactly how I feel about you.”
My heart does something complicated. “Veil—”
“I’m going to dance with you,” he says. “After the demonstration. In front of everyone.”
“That’s—” I swallow. “People will talk.”
“Good.”
“The media is going to be there. Reporters. Photographers.”
“Even better.”
“Your mother—”
“Is the one who suggested the dance.” His eyes are bright with something that looks like triumph. “She’s not exactly subtle, Evianne.”
