“Thank you,” I murmur, pulling the warm fabric around my bare arms. “It’s just hard to feel comfortable in a place like this.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t belong here. All these rich, important people making a difference in the world, and I’m just… me.”
“You’re more important than you give yourself credit for.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, skeptical. “Right.”
“It’s true. You belong here just as much as any of them do.”
“Try telling them that,” I grumble. Coming here has only exacerbated the notion that I don’t belong in a place like this. Awkwardly sidestepping questions about what I do for work, pretending I understand any of their lighthearted jokes about the stock market.
“I don’t need to convincethemof anything. Their opinions mean nothing to me. Besides, half the people here are simply pretending to know what they’re talking about. I’ll tell you a secret: faking confidence and having confidence are the same exact thing. Nobody knows the difference.”
I shake my head at him, but I have to admit what he’s saying makes sense to some degree.
The silence between us after my confession and his reassurance is heavy, drowning out the hum of noise coming from the backyard and suspending us in the moment. Ambrose watches me with that unreadable expression again, but this time, it feels as if he’s studying me, trying to figure out something he doesn’t quite understand.
Then, without a word, he stands and offers a hand. I hesitate only a second before placing mine in his.
We meander through the winding garden paths, the lantern light catching in the dark sheen of his hair and painting golden strokes along the line of his jaw beneath the dark mask covering the upper half of his face. His ethereal beauty is striking tonight, even with his face partially obscured.
Ambrose doesn’t speak much, and neither do I, but the tall hedges towering over us seem to press us closer together. His fingers graze mine once, and I’m not sure if it’s an accident or a silent question.
I don’t allow myself to consider the possibility of actually taking his hand—that would be too close to admitting defeat in this twisted game we’re playing.
Eventually, he guides me back toward the mansion, and I try not to feel disappointed as we approach the glass doors.
We step inside, the warm air encircling me like a blanket, when a man approaches Ambrose to say hello.
That’s when I see them.
My blood runs cold and I freeze in place, though I do my best to appear calm. Two men stand at the far end of the room near the bottom of one of the staircases. They’re dressed differently, in suits and masks instead of casual white clothing, but their aura is unmistakable.
The angels.
Samuel meets my stare across the distance with his icy blue eyes, and my pulse is like thunder in my ears.
But then he lifts a single finger to his lips in a silent gesture for me to stay quiet, and my stomach drops like a cold, hard stone.
Why are they here?
Ambrose is still chatting casually with the man beside him, oblivious to what just transpired.
I force myself to tear my gaze away from the angels, shifting to face Ambrose and the man he’s speaking to even as panic threatens to overtake me.
The man notices my movement and turns slightly toward me with a warm, easy smile, like he’s been patiently waiting for me to join their conversation. He looks to be in his late thirties, handsome but relaxed, and he gives off the impressionhe’s simply here to enjoy the party rather than to impress everyone else. It’s a refreshing change of pace from the others I’ve met tonight.
“Brielle,” Ambrose says, catching my hesitation and gesturing me forward. “This is Richard, a friend of mine.”
He holds out his hand for a handshake, and I take it, hoping my firm grip hides my trembling.
“Nice to meet you,” I recite for what feels like the millionth time tonight.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Richard has a soft accent that adds to that gentlemanly sense of southern charm he radiates. “Ambrose hasn’t mentioned you, but I can see why; he must want to keep you all to himself.”
I smile in spite of myself as Ambrose chuckles beside me, though his hand curls into a fist at his side. “You caught me,” he says.
