And I’m nothing. Not to her. Not anymore.
11
Victoria
Days have passedsince the kiss, and I keep waiting for something to happen. Anything.
And then it does.
The note is slipped to me.
One minute, Lorenzo is just passing by in the hall, and the next thing I know, something small and folded is tucked beneath the book I’m pretending to read on the couch.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even glance my way. He just keeps walking like he didn’t light my entire chest on fire with one motion of his hand.
I wait a beat. Two. Long enough to pretend I’m not dying to open it.
Then I slip my finger under the fold.
Meet me on the roof.
Five words.
I stare at it intently. It feels like a challenge.
I don’t even know how to get to the roof. Of course, he would choose somewhere unreachable. Somewhere forbidden.
Am I up for the challenge?
I stare at the note, heart thudding against my ribs.
Yes.
Later, I’m in my room brushing my hair and trying not to overthink my pajama choice (and doing a horrible job at that).
Because who overthinks pajamas for a rooftop rendezvous? Apparently, me. That’s who.
I’m mid–internal argument with myself when a soft scrape breaks across the floorboards. A slip of paper slides under my door.
I freeze mid-brush. Then stand from my vanity to go pick it up.
Another note.
I open it. This time, a tiny pebble falls out.Weird.I place it in my pocket and continue to read what he wrote.
Servants’ stairwell. Midnight.
My pulse jumps so fast it’s almost embarrassing. Seventeen years in this house and I’ve only used the servants’ staircase a handful of times.
Midnight.
When the time comes, I head toward the meeting spot.
The hallway is dark. Colder.
We aren’t in Kansas anymore.
I feel like I’m living a double life. Right now I’m the Victoria no one sees. Not the polished or perfect one. No, this version is rebellious. This Victoria doesn’t care if she gets caught sneaking around in the wrong part of the house.
