“I think I forgot how to breathe for like five minutes,” she whispers, brushing hair out of her face with trembling fingers.
“You didn’t even flinch.” I try to keep the moment light, my thumb brushing the back of her shoulder. “You’re practically a professional.”
She cracks a grin. It’s adorable.
“Please.” She flicks my knee with her finger. “I was three seconds from confessing everything and fainting dramatically just to buy us time.”
I laugh under my breath. God, I love her. I love the way she jokes only moments after almost being caught.
She sits, brushing dust off herself.
“I should go,” she says, voice soft but steady.
I hate it. Every second without her feels like someone thinning out the oxygen around me. But she’s right.
I help her up. Our fingers linger far too long in that charged space between holding and letting go.
“I’ll wait a few minutes before I head in,” I say, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.
She nods.
Then she steps forward and presses a kiss to my lips.
“Be careful,” she whispers.
“Always,” I respond, even though it’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
She slips out into the night, and I wait until the faint sound of her steps disappears until I leave and head toward the back entrance of the staff wing.
Once inside, everything seems too quiet.
I walk fast, head down, body angled with purpose. If I can just get back to my room, clean up, change, pretend I’ve been in bed all night . . . maybe, just maybe . . .
“Lorenzo,” my mother says, her voice sharp as a knife. I should’ve known better.
I freeze.
She steps out from the shadows at the edge of the staff hallway, arms folded tightly across her chest. But she’s not alone. Standing next to her is Helen, the senior maid.
Great. Just perfect.
“Evening.” I stuff my hands in my pockets.
Helen crosses her arms tighter. “Why are you out so late?” she says, her voice high and disapproving.
I shrug, leaning one shoulder against the wall. “I was fixing a lock in the east wing. Took longer than expected.”
“Funny,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I could’ve sworn I saw you sneaking off through the garden with Miss Victoria.”
My heart slams against my ribs, but I don’t flinch. I don’t blink. I won’t give her the satisfaction.
“You’re mistaken,” I say, as casual as I can manage.
She lifts a brow so high it’s practically an accusation. “You calling me a liar?”
“I’m saying maybe you saw someone else,” I reply, forcing a lazy shrug. “Lots of guys on staff with dark hair.”
Helen turns to my mom. “You believe this?”
