A breath at my ear. “You look beautiful, little lamb.”
I spin around, but there’s no one there. He moved so quickly, no one would have seen him near me.
Just a swirl of laughter. Another song starting. Nora calling my name softly.
I turn, and Conor is there, too close, too possessive.
“I’m watching you,” he says.
“Then stop,” I snap.
“You need to remember?—”
“I said stop.” My voice is sharper than I expect. “Just for one night, Conor. One night where I don’t have to pretend, I’m nothing but a pawn for my family.”
He frowns at my words, but I don’t wait for a response, I slip away with Nora and move toward the drinks table.
I need a minute.
A breath.
Then I see him.
Matteo.
His mask is black and fierce, carved like dragon wings and crowned with curled horns. His suit is dark silk, the vest is blood red, patterns etched like secrets across the fabric. His posture is lazy, but his eyes burn through the crowd and they land on me.
And in the moment the room tilts.
He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
But I feel it all.
The pull. The fire.
The ballroom is so alive tonight, not just with music or light, but with something older. A pull. A rhythm beneath the waltzthat hums like blood in a vein. I feel it through the soles of my heels, in the flutter of my lashes, the catch of my breath. I don’t know if it’s the wine. The music. Or him.
I walk the edge of the dance floor with Nora, smiling softly at the passing masked faces. I nod to familiar ones, other Irish students, allies I barely know.
Smoke coils from the candles. The quartet has moved into a slower waltz now, something that wraps around your spine and makes your body sway without permission. The chandelier above us scatters flickers of crystal stars across the floor.
I lift a glass of champagne to my lips, but I don’t drink. Not yet, because I see him again, standing at the far side of the room, back to a marble pillar like he owns it. Watching.
Every glance. Every tremble. Every beat of the string section.
I try not to look; I try not to let him see me seeing him. But I fail, fuck I fail so bad.
I laugh at something Nora says, and then I see Conor stand in front of me, with his hand out. “Dance?” he asks, and I look at his hand then to him. “You want to have fun tonight, so let’s dance.”
I place my hand in his and smile as he leads me to the middle of the dance floor. The whole time I feel Matteo’s stare. He knows who Conor is. He knows Conor isn’t the one I’m meant to marry.
I thought maybe dancing would help me not feel Matteo’s eyes on me, but it doesn’t. I glance over to him, something I shouldn't have done, but I can’t stop myself and then, like the ballroom itself breathes for him, he moves.
A slow, old waltz fills the space. Couples are joining now, masks turning toward each other in silent invitation. A sea of shadows and silk, spinning to music older than all the sins which the building holds.
I give Conor a smile and then step back and excuse myself. I step toward the far end of the room, away from everyone, so no one can see me as I try to find air in the darkness I’m hiding in.
