Page 48 of Prince of Wrath

“Tell me more. Details!” I write.

“Okay.” She lets out a fake sigh, but a smile spreads across her face, light and bright. “He took me on a date.” I stomp my feet, clapping my hands. “Hey, hey, calm down. It wasn’t…” She looks away, then back at me in the mirror. “Okay, fine. It was epic. Like love-at-first-sight epic. But shh. Don’t say anything that could jinx it, I’m way too happy right now, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

I mimic zipping my mouth shut and throwing away the key.

“I think he could meet Troy and Jessie…” She pauses. “I mean, if things go well.” Turning around, I rest a hand on her arm, so happy for her I almost ache with it. “Look at that,” she says softly, glancing down at our contact. “You didn’t have a panic attack. Progress, Ms Brooks. Looking sharp.” She snaps her gum, and I want to cry. Because maybe this is the last day I will ever see her. I do not tell her that, because this moment is perfect enough as it is. So I gather all the courage I have and hug her tight. She stills for half a second before wrapping her arms around me, rubbing my back as her motherly instinct takes over.

“All good, Brookie,” she murmurs. I smile against her shoulder, and perhaps one tear slips from my eye and crashes there. Or perhaps it doesn’t. Either way, when I knock on the doors of heaven, at least I will be able to say I knew friendship.

And for that, I am grateful.

Chapter Fourteen

Tristan

“Relax. Breathe.” Nate’s voice reaches me through the discreet earpiece nestled behind my ear. For once, there is no sarcasm in it. Maddie is safe at home with her own security detail, and he knows exactly what is at stake tonight. He has spent the entire day trying to keep me tethered to reality, dragging me into conversations about chess openings, the American Civil War, and the artistic beauty of computer coding. Normally, I would have loved ranting about any of those. Tonight, I am not in the mood. He is only trying to create the illusion of an ordinary day. As if the woman I love is not walking willingly into the arms of a psychopath in less than an hour. As if my life hasn't narrowed to a single objective. Make sure she comes back alive. To avoid drawing suspicion in case Cole has eyes on us, Brenton, Garron, and I agreed I would not return home after work. Instead, I came straight to the family estate, where the charity masquerade is being held.

So here I am. Freshly shaved, with a black tuxedo tailored within an inch of perfection. A simple black Venetian mask concealing the upper half of my face. I stand beside Nate beneath the grand marble archway, greeting an endless procession of guests as they drift through towering gilded doors framed by cascading ivory drapes. Crystal chandeliers spill warm light across the polished marble floors, catching thousands of suspended prisms that glitter like stars each time another couple steps inside. I will hand it to her. My mother does know how to throw a party.

She’s standing on my opposite side, magnificent in a deep burgundy gown that pools around her like liquid velvet. Pearls trace the edges of her elaborate mask, delicate golden rays fanning upward, giving her the unmistakable appearance of an Italian queen. Add that to her cosmetic procedures, and one would have to be a mind reader to know what she is feeling right now. Nate wears a black mask nearly identical to mine, although every thirty seconds, he reaches up to tug at it with obvious irritation.

“She should already be here,” I mutter. He checks his watch between two handshakes.

“Two minutes late.”

“Exactly.”

“Two minutes isn’t late.” He exhales patiently.

“It is for her.”

“Give her a second. She’s probably terrified.” My stomach drops.

“You think something happened?” Before I realize what I am doing, I have already shifted my weight, ready to abandon the entrance entirely. Nate catches my forearm with bruising force.

“Don’t.”

“I…”

“Don’t fucking move.” His voice drops another octave. “He could be watching us right now. If you break character because you panic, you’re handing Cole exactly what he wants on a silver platter.” Every instinct screams at me to run. To find her. To put my own eyes on her before anyone else can. But Nate is right.

“I just don’t want to…” The words die in my throat as the massive golden curtains part.

Ella.

My Ella.

I would recognize her among thousands of women. Because of the unique way she moves, graceful and cautious.

“Holy…” Nate breathes. I elbow him sharply.

“I’ll break your legs.” I will not hear a word from another man about my woman. He clears his throat immediately. We are not supposed to know who she is.

But every cell in my body already does. Her dark hair is gone, hidden beneath soft honey-blonde waves that tumble just below her shoulders. A white lace ribbon frames her eyes, while the faint blush painted onto her lips draws my attention with criminal efficiency. Her gown… Jesus Christ. It looks as though it belongs inside a Renaissance painting. Layers of pale blue silk flow around her with every step, embroidered with tiny pearls and silver thread that shimmer beneath the chandeliers like moonlight over water. The fitted bodice narrows at her waist before blooming into cascading folds of fabric that seem almost weightless. It reveals another version of her. As if she has stitched herself a beautiful armor. Kathy understood the assignment far better than I ever could have explained it. Her necklace, though eye-catching, is nothing compared to her beauty. Ella reaches me and catches her lower lip between her teeth.

Sweetheart, please don’t do this to me.

I’m only a man.