Thankfully, Ambrose doesn’t seem to be in much of a talking mood. We’re both silent for most of the drive, until an hour has passed and my curiosity grows stronger.
“Where exactly are we going?”
“A charity gala. It’s at a mansion out in the mountains not far from Asheville.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Yes, this event happens every year. The man who hosts it is the founder of a large tech company, but he has a lot of important connections in business and government.”
“So why areyouinvited?” The question isn’t meant to sound rude, but I can’t help but wonder why Ambrose would be going to an exclusive party with tech moguls and government officials. He may be immortal, but he also lives in a small cabin in the woods and generally seems to avoid society.
“As you know, I’ve been around a long time and have my ways of… persuasion. I’m pretty sure most of them are convinced I’m a member of the CIA or something similar,” he chuckles. “The rumors usually go back to something secretive involving the government, which is exactly what I hope for, because then it makes sense to them that I can’t reveal much about my job. I stay on their radars just enough to continue to receive invitations, but not enough that they can pry into my life.”
“Smart. But why do you go to things like this in the first place? You don’t exactly strike me as the high society social type.”
I catch Ambrose’s subtle smile in my periphery. “Going to events like this helps me know what’s happening behind closed doors. I like to be informed about who and what to keep an eye on. And as surprising as it may be, I don’t mind being in social environments from time to time. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you find ways to keep life interesting.”
Like forcing random women into magical bargains where they can’t escape you, I think, but I say nothing.
When Ambrose pulls into a driveway half an hour later, my eyebrows shoot up. Holy shit. He wasn’t lying when he said it was a mansion. The stone building towers over the front lawn, and the semi-circle driveway is lined with flickering lanterns. Warm, yellow light shines through the windows, and silhouettes from those inside cast shadows on the grass.
Ambrose parks alongside a long row of cars that probably cost more than everything I’ve ever owned in my life times one thousand.
“This is insane,” I say.
“It’s a beautiful estate,” Ambrose agrees as he shuts off the car and slips his keys into his pocket.Understatement of the century. “Do you have your mask?”
I lift it, secure the strap behind my head, then pull down the mirror to glance at my reflection. The elegant Venetian-style design covers only the area around my eyes and curves up to points on either side of my face, but it grants me a slight comfort in the anonymity it provides, even though I’m certain I won’t know anyone here.
I’ve barely opened my car door when Ambrose appears in front of me in his own matching mask—though slightly more masculine in its design—holding out his hand to help me step out.
I begrudgingly take it.
“Shall we?” He asks, offering me his arm once I’ve shut my door behind me. When I simply glare at him, he says, “If we’re going to be convincing tonight, I need you to act like you like me.”
“Fine.” I wrap my hand around his arm just above the crook of his elbow, trying not to think about the swell of his bicep under my fingers or the way I suddenly feel invincible with him by my side in our matching black and red attire.
“Why am I here again?” I whisper as we approach the massive double doors at the front of the mansion. I ask not only because of the fact that Ambrose could definitely handle all of this on his own, but also because I already know I won’t fit in with the type of people who attend charity galas in fancy mansions.
“Because having you here will make it easier for me to find the information I need. And because you look exquisite on my arm.”
His praise, as insincere as it may be, still stirs something dark inside of me. I’m about to ask more about how me being here will help his cause, but the front door opens before I have the chance.
The man on the other side is briefly startled by our proximity, but he quickly regains his composure and shoves the pack of cigarettes he’s holding back into his pocket.
“Ambrose! I was wondering if you’d be attending.” He claps Ambrose on the shoulder as if they’re best friends, and it reminds me of the way Brett used to greet Joel.
“Nice to see you again, Mordecai.”
The man—Mordecai—shifts his attention to me.
“And who’s this lovely lady you’ve brought with you?” He asks, not looking away from my masked face.
Ambrose wraps an arm around my waist, and I resist the urge to pull away. “This is my girlfriend, Bri,” is the only introduction he offers, and I don’t miss the way he shortens my name, as if he doesn’t want the man to fully know who I am.
Fine by me.
“A pleasure to meet you.”
