Chapter 31 Genevieve #2
I set down my wine and move toward the window, heart pounding. Juliette and Felicity follow, Cavall pressed against my side. I pull back the curtain.
Blond hair. Pale eyes catching the light. Standing at the edge of the tree line like he’s always been there.
Watching.
He looks directly at the window. At me. And he smiles like he wants to be seen.
Then he waves.
My entire body locks up, rooting me in place.
Cavall explodes into barking, lunging toward the door.
“Oh my God.” Juliette’s voice is hoarse. “Who the hell was that?”
The front door bangs open and all three of us scream, stumbling into each other. But it’s Roman and Lance, wild-eyed and breathing hard.
Roman crosses to Juliette, cupping her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She grips his wrists. “We saw someone. In the trees.”
“Blond hair,” Felicity adds. “Just standing there.”
Roman doesn’t let go of Juliette, his thumb brushing her cheek.
Lance’s eyes find mine across the room. He doesn’t cross to me the way Roman did to Juliette, and it’s never been more obvious than in this moment how very much not mine he is, but the look on his face says everything his hands aren’t allowed to.
“You’re okay?” he asks.
“I’m okay.”
He holds my gaze too long, something urgent behind his eyes, and then he looks away, hands curling into fists.
“He smiled at us,” I say. “He waved. He wanted me to see him.”
Lance goes still. “Stay here. All of you.”
He’s out the door before anyone can argue. Roman murmurs something against Juliette’s skin and follows.
It’s not nothing. That’s the same man who’s been following me for weeks. At the bar, the trail, and now here. Even though Art said the threat was over.
Lance was right not to trust it. Somehow, this guy…Bors—if that’s really his name—found out where I was staying. Maybe he’s been following me, but that doesn’t quite track. It’s almost like he’s wanted to be noticed.
“I think I’ve seen him before,” Juliette says.
“Where?” I ask, my breath hitching.
“Marcus Montgomery’s funeral. There were men standing off to the side, you remember? I think he was one of them, behind that guy with the long dark hair.”
My mind flies back. Front row, my hand in Art’s, Lance on his other side. Men in suits, far enough away to be coincidence, except they were watching like they wanted to personally watch Roman’s father be put in the ground.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I wasn’t paying attention to anyone except…”
Except Lance.
Because even then, even when I was convinced I hated him, my eyes kept drifting. The rigid line of his shoulders. The way he sat apart from his own family.
The realization is a sucker punch.
“Except Art,” I finish.
Juliette’s eyes narrow.
The back door opens and we flinch, but it’s Lance and Roman again, grim-faced.
“He’s gone,” Roman says. “Footprints east, disappear at the road. Car waiting.”
“Okay, everybody out,” Lance says.
Juliette scoffs. “If you think we’re leaving after that—”
“Little Rose,” Roman says softly, pulling her close. “Your brother’s got it. He’ll call if he needs us.” A sharp look at Lance. “Right?”
Lance jerks his chin.
Juliette pulls me into a fierce hug. “Wear the teal. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
Felicity squeezes my arm. “If he goes full emotionally repressed Calloway, text me. I’ll bring tequila and a shovel.”
They leave, and it’s just me and Lance and silence.
He locks the door. Checks windows. Moves through the cabin like he’s securing a perimeter, not a home.
“Art can’t know we know he lied,” he says, his back to me. “You’ve got to act like everything’s fine at the party.”
“Maybe he didn’t lie. Maybe he was lied to.”
“Maybe.” He rubs his chin. “I hope so.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to dress up and smile and be on his arm like I’m not…” Terrified.
His face softens. “I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t happen. I’m asking you to help me keep whoever’s doing this from realizing they’ve lost the advantage.”
“So tomorrow I just laugh and be Art’s girlfriend?”
“Tomorrow Art gets to be the luckiest guy in the room. And then after, I’ll get you to Boston.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I guess so.”
The teal dress catches the lamplight from the couch. It’s still so beautiful. But it feels like armor now—thin and glittering and not nearly enough.
“Get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
He settles into the armchair by the window like he’s preparing for a siege. I want to tell him he needs rest, too. That he can’t protect me from everything.
But the words won’t come.
So I gather the dress in my arms, breathing in the cedar already clinging to the fabric, and walk down the hall.
I don’t sleep. I lie in the dark and think about pale eyes in the tree line. A dress the color of the ocean. A man keeping watch in the next room, convinced he’s nothing but a knight to be sacrificed.
About Juliette’s words: I can’t just sit here and watch him drown.
Neither can I.
But underneath the fear, there’s something worth holding on to. Juliette’s hug. Felicity’s humor. The way Lance looked at me when he came through that door.
Knights protect the queen.
I close my eyes and hold onto that.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.