“Where are we going?” I asked him. I didn’t mean it as agreement, though it sure sounded that way. My words were traitorous.
Silas reached his hands toward me. He was tall, taller even than my father. All big muscle and cut physique, dressed in a black suit, a black shirt—all black, from his hair to his shoes. The most dangerously beautiful man I’d ever seen.
His lips quirked up, his eyes flicked once again to my tiara. “I am taking you home, Alessia.”
I let my fingers rest on his, and my whole universe trembled. Silas felt it too, I could see it in the way his eyes widened. He breathed in a sharp gasp as if someone had plunged a dagger between his ribs. He bent forward like he couldn’t process oxygen.
I stepped closer, rested a hand on his shoulder, tilted his head up so I could look into his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine.” Silas averted his eyes. “It’s time to go.”
Indeed, as I straightened, I heard things. All sorts of things. Sounds I hadn’t realized had stopped altogether. A rustle in the pews. A cough from a guest. Simon’s grunt of surprise.
Simon!
I’d forgotten all about Simon again. Simon straightened—obviously becoming unfrozen—then glanced at me and Silas standing together at the altar. His eyes narrowed, and he didn’t pause even for a second to ask a question. His ever-present temper flared, and he lunged for Silas as if to throttle him.
Silas raised a hand without turning—without so much as batting an eye. His hand glowed a shade of white light I’d never seen before, and Simon flew backwards. He crashed through the largest stained-glass windowson the Upper East Side and out into the dirty gutters of Manhattan.
More urgently, Silas pleaded with me—his gaze begging—as he put both of his hands on mine. “Come with me.”
“How?” I murmured, as the rest of the congregation finally started to move.
I could sense men rushing toward us as they realized what had happened to Simon.
“Trust me,” Silas pleaded.
I closed my eyes, and I wished one more time.
Chapter 2
Consciousness came to meslowly, as if dripped from an IV, my senses returning one at a time like a series of intricate locks and dams.
Thesmellof fresh bread and coffee. Thesoundof unusual birds frittering about my windowsill. Thefeelof blankets, so plush and soft and lovely against my skin.
Thesightof light, pouring through fluttering curtains as I chanced a peek into the unknown. The curtains that danced before windows thrown open to the sunshine and sea salt and possibility.
And finally,feeling. A new feeling, a novel one. A feeling worth savoring. The feeling as if I finally belonged.
A voice sing-songed to me, as sweet as the critters fluttering outside my window. “Knock-knock, are you awake yet?”
I sat up in bed, trying to absorb my surroundings as I glanced around. Sun-drenched room, fluffy white comforter, cottage-like decor. Fresh lilacs on the table, giving off a faint floral scent. A dancing sea breeze. Maybe I’dwished too hard, and I really had been sucked across the world to the Maldives in an earth bending feat of modern-day physics.
“My name is Millie.” A young woman stood before the door, a tray balanced in her hands. “Got some treats for you.”
She wore a wide-open, bright smile on her face. Freckles dotted pale, rosy cheeks beneath ginger hair, the color a shade of orange that might’ve been plucked straight off a sunset. Her words lilted with the slight tinge of an Irish accent, though I couldn’t be sure.
“Strawberry jam on sourdough toast, along with fresh coffee.” Millie rattled off a list of items that made my mouth water. “The bread’s a little flat, but my starter was acting up yesterday, and I should’ve waited to bake—but I wanted to have something warm and ready when you woke.”
Definitely not quite Irish, but something close. I couldn’t quite place it.
“Well?” Millie asked hopefully, her cheeks turning pink as she extended the tray. “Are you hungry, ma’am?”
“I’m uh...” I cleared my throat. I wasn’t sure what I was, but I wasn’t a ma’am. I told Millie so much, and she giggled.
“Well, then, what would you like me to call you?”
