What if that’s the reason? He doesn’t want news to reach all the way to Spain, where Miz Mirabella is?
So that if she ever comes back—
No.
Not shock.
Because I remember Mom talking about this. Her whole mind becoming a blur. And then her doing something crazy that led to her and my anonymous “sire” splitting up.
I used to think that was all B.S., but now that my mind is still a blur and I just can’t get past thinking those words—
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
No one is to take photos of him and Miz Tiara.
I drag myself into the shower. I let the water run over me for a long time, and I don’t cry because I still can’t. The tears are in me somewhere, crowded up behind my ribs, but they’re not coming out.
I turn off the water and change into the dress Arkane’s handpicked for me. Black silk. Swirly. Pretty. Matching heels with ribbons that lace up my ankles. He had it delivered yesterday with a note that just said“for tonight”in his handwriting, and I had squealed—actually squealed, like a cartoon—when I opened the box.
I face myself in the mirror.
I probably look like a princess. Probably. But I can’t be sure because everything is just a blur.
I take a deep breath.
I want to tell myself it’s okay.
But the words...
They don’t just materialize in my mind.
I’m already stepping out of the room, and everything’s still a blur.
I’m going down the stairs, and the staff I heard talking earlier, we meet again, and they’re all smiling at me like they weren’t just wondering a while ago if—
“Good evening, Miz Tiara.”
I actually manage a smile.
“Good evening.”
Because once their manners have rubbed off on you, you’re apparently contaminated for life.
And so it continues.
Me showing impeccable, just really impeccable manners as I join the rest of the family in the ballroom. It’s bigger than any ballroom has a right to be—high ceilings, chandeliers, a string quartet playing softly. Most of the family is there already. Aldrich and Joy, Raiden and Icelle, Lucius with his precise posture and a glass of something amber in his hand.
But the other Youngs—Benedict, Marius, and of course, him—
They’re still not here.
Maybe they’re in Spain, who knows?
Who the hell cares?
“Hey, you.”
