And that’s it.
I open my eyes.
Stare at the back of the stall door.
Okay, God. You can’t get any clearer than that, so...
I take a breath.
Then another.
My hands have stopped shaking.
My chest isn’t as tight.
And I know, I just know, what I need to do.
I need to find Veil, and just like God says, I’ll be strong and courageous as I eat humble pie and apologize for being the world’s greatest idiot.
I unlock the stall and step out. My reflection in the mirror is a mess, mascara smudged, lipstick gone, face blotchy from crying, but I don’t care. I splash water on my face, try to fix the worst of it, and then I’m walking back out into the hallway with my heart pounding and my hands shaking but my resolve firm.
People are still staring.
Still whispering.
Still looking at their phones.
I don’t know why, don’t know what they’ve seen or heard, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. The only thing that matters is finding Veil and telling him what I should have told him on that balcony.
I’m done being a coward.
That’s what this is, right? Cowardice. Running away when things get real, hiding when I should be fighting, letting fear make my decisions for me.
This time I’m going to be strong and courageous...because you can never go wrong by obeying what God asks you to do.
I walk back into the ballroom and scan the crowd for dark hair and blue eyes, for that particular way he stands like the room was built around him, but I don’t see him anywhere.
The fountain pen collectors are still clustered around the displays. The media people are still taking photos. Lady Hampton is signing something to an elegantly dressed couple near the refreshment table.
But Veil isn’t here.
I try the library first because that’s where he kissed me, where this began, but it’s empty. Then the portrait gallery, but that’s empty too. Then I’m walking through corridors trying to remember the layout of this estate, and my heart is pounding for a different reason now, and—
His study.
I knock on the door.
Part of me is terrified he won’t answer.
Part of me nearly cries with relief when I hear him say ‘enter’, and my knees knock against each other as I push the door open and step inside.
He’s at his desk, paperwork spread out in front of him, and he doesn’t look up when I enter. Just keeps writing, his pen moving across the page with sharp, controlled strokes.
“Veil, I’m so sorry—”
“Sorry for what?”
His voice is flat. Distant. Like I’m a stranger instead of the woman he asked to be his girlfriend twenty minutes ago.
