“Evi—”
But she’s already pulling away, mumbling something about needing a minute. She disappears through the open wall leading out to the terrace, leaving me standing in the middle of the golden-lit ballroom, surrounded by laughter and music that suddenly feel distant and hollow.
26
EVI
The night air tastes like rain and starlight, promising moisture as fall sinks in its teeth. I slip out onto the terrace, my heels clicking over marble before I bend to slip them off, needing to feel something real beneath me. The weight of the night presses down on me, my parents’ words looping in my head, cruel and matter-of-fact.
“If you’re still not pregnant…” My mother’s strained sigh. “That means the doctors were right. I’d hoped their diagnosis might have been an exaggeration—a worst case scenario—but if you are incapable of having children, then you need to be prepared for what comes next. Keep up the ruse as long as Sandro believes it. And for God’s sake, Evi, don’t give any signs that you already knew. Our alliance is stable, but that doesn’t mean you can let down your guard. If anyone finds out the truth, they’ll likely kill you—if not every single one of us. You’ll have to stick it out until that brute of a husband tires of you. When he does, we can bring you home.”
I wanted to argue, to defend Sandro—to defend myself—but I couldn’t call attention to us, when the chance of someoneoverhearing could easily make matters worse. So I kept silent, I took their judgmental looks, and when Sandro came to defend me… all I could do was run.
I’m a coward. I don’t deserve him. But God, I wish I did.
Dropping my shoes at my feet, I grip the stone railing like my life depends on it as I stare at the gardens below. Fairy lights twinkle like promises I can’t quite believe in. The celebration still hums inside—laughter, music, the steady rhythm of power shifting hands.
Raf’s vision has finally come to fruition as people recognize what he’s built—or rather rebuilt—from the ashes of his father’s empire. And like a blade drawn from its sheath, Sandro has stood at his side all night, every inch the Chiaroscuro prince he’s been trained to be.
And still, he found enough time to save a dance for me.
I blink hard, fighting the sting in my eyes when I think about how epically I’m going to fail Sandro. But it’s so much worse than that. Because not just failing, I’m deceiving him. Taking advantage of his patience and—even if he wants to deny it exists—his kindness. Sandro has been nothing but good to me since the day I met him. All of the Chiaroscuros have. And no matter how hard I work to make it up to them, I know that my manipulation is unforgivable.
Like my parents said, it’s punishable by death.
Though the thought of being executed if Sandro ever finds out has started to sound far more appealing than it used to when I consider the alternative of continuing life without Sandro in it.
I hear the soft tread of dress shoes as someone steps beyond the threshold of the ballroom’s glass wall, which was thrown wide open for tonight’s celebration, allowing fresh air to circulate through the grand space.
I don’t need to turn to know who it is. I can feel him—the heat of his energy, the natural stealth in the way he moves.
Sandro followed me.
“Evi.”
His voice is low, warm, threaded with something that cuts through my shame. He crosses the terrace until he’s standing just behind me, and my body yearns for his touch. But he doesn’t reach out or close the remaining distance to pull me into his arms.
“What are you doing out here?” he murmurs.
“I needed air.”
“Air?” he repeats softly, as if he doesn’t believe me. “Or distance?”
I let out a small, unconvincing laugh. “don’t read too much into it. I just—” I gesture vaguely toward the stars. “I needed a moment.”
He pauses for a long time, then steps close enough that his breath brushes my neck. “You’re shivering,” he says.
I force a smile, willing myself to feel it, even if Sandro can’t see it. “I’m just a little cold. This fabric’s thin.”
It’s a weak lie, and he doesn’t buy it. His hand comes to rest on my hip—gentle, grounding. “Now will you tell me what’s wrong?”
I exhale, long and uneven. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”
Sandro moves around to face me, blocking the view of the garden as he leans back against the terrace railing. He’s still in his suit—the black one that fits like sin—his tie loosened, the top button undone. There’s a faint sheen at his temple from the heat of the ballroom despite the cool night, and his eyes catch the terrace glow, their polished hematite deep and unfathomable.
“Ruin it?” he says. “Evi, you made this night special. You’re the only reason we’re having this ceremony here, in my family home.”
I shake my head, but he catches my chin, tilting it up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
