“Then stop pretending you care.” I don’t know if he’s telling the truth, to make me feel as if I have someone on my side, when I know I don’t.
He looks at me like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He just sighs and steps back. “Come on,” he mutters. “Let’s dance.”
I don’t want to. Every bone in my body is screaming to run, to disappear back into the dark corners of the academy and never come out, but I let lead me to the dance floor.
As much as I don't want to be here right now, I dance with my cousin, because there is nowhere else for me to be. Yet my mind is on Matteo. Can he dance like this, would he hold me close, would he protect me from the world, would he hold me tight so I forget everything.
The weight of him, the rage in his hands. The way his kiss felt like war. I’m losing my mind.
The song ends and the applause echoes around us.
Conor pulls back, eyes scanning the room again. “Come on,” he says, voice gentler. “Let’s go back. It’s late.”
I nod, relieved. The night needs to end before I rip my own skin off.
We make our way through the ballroom, and I glance over my shoulder one last time.
Still no sign of him. No dragon-winged mask. No red vest. No shadow watching from the edge of the room.
Just emptiness, and somehow, that hurts more than anything else.
When we finally step out into the night air, I exhale, but it doesn’t make anything better, because I can still feel him everywhere and I don’t know if I’ll ever be clean again.
At sunrise,Conor banged on my door like the world was ending. It wasn’t. Unless you count being summoned home to sit like a well-dressed hostage at a dinner I never asked for.
I didn’t want to go. I would’ve stayed locked inside Blackstone's cold stone walls if it were up to me. But nothing ever is. Conor said they asked for me specifically. That only meant one thing.
I had to seehim. My future husband.
Twenty years older. Balding crown. Fingers like claws. Eyes of a debt collector.
Dinner is worse than I imagined it would be.
He'salready here. Rory, my loving husband to be.
He stands, pulls out my chair, I roll my eyes as I sit. The moment my legs are under the table, his hand is on my thigh, moving it up and down as they talk about business. Shipment routes, ports, numbers. His thumb moves, and I nearly snap the wine glass in my hand.
I hate the stench of cigars and expensive failure clinging to him. I hate how he grins like I’m already gift-wrapped.
“Alliances mean power,” Uncle Liam says, swirling his drink. “And with this marriage, we seal more than deals. We seal blood.”
I say nothing. My lips pressed tight until they hurt. I don’t look at him. Don’t acknowledge the hand still on my thigh. Don’t even put on a fake smile.
After what feels like hours of misery, the business talk finally ends and Rory turns to me.
“How was the first week of school?” he asks, like he cares, he’s probably got a countdown on his phone, when he gets me.
My mother told me the wedding is set for the day after I finish school. That’s how much freedom they’re giving me. Not even a fucking day.
“Okay,” I reply, not in the mood to talk to him.
I hear my father laughing behind me, probably annoyed with my cold tone, but I don’t care, nothing is going to change. I can be a bitch; he’s still going to marry me.
“You know, school can be a little much at first, and Blackstone is an intimidating place.” My father puts some humor in his tone to lighten the mood.
“Yes, I remember,” Rory jokes, and I look at Conor walking over.
Finally, time is here for Rory to leave. My father asks Conor to walk him out. Conor throws me a tight glance, before they leave.
