Chapter 16 #3
Soon, the ballroom grows too loud. The gawking has died down, leaving me with a small window of reprieve. It’s too hot in here, too full of eyes and questions I don’t really want to answer. I’m already tired, and the party’s just getting started.
The champagne barely helps.
I excuse myself after my fourth glass of champagne and slip down the corridor past the kitchens, toward the guest powder room tucked near the back of the house. A quiet place.
The door is slightly ajar.
Soft perfume coils into the hallway. Jasmine and vetiver, something expensive. I push the door open and step inside, taking a deep breath.
The bathroom is dimly lit, the sconces casting soft golden halos over the marble walls.
I close the door behind me with a quiet snick, grateful for the momentary silence.
The ballroom had been all sharp laughter and clinking crystal, my mother’s proud smile and Silas’ charismatic charm stitched to my shoulder like embroidery I couldn’t peel off.
I move toward the farthest sink and press my palms against the cool marble.
A deep breath steadies me.
That’s when I hear it.
The subtle rustle of fabric.
I glance up.
There’s another woman in the room, standing by the mirror.
She’s reapplying her lipstick with the slow, unbothered elegance of someone used to being watched.
Her gown is dark—deep green or black, it’s hard to tell in this light, but it fits her like it was poured onto her—and her earrings catch the glow like tiny, dangerous stars.
I straighten slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
She glances at me through the mirror, and for a moment I forget whatever apology I meant to offer. There’s something completely arresting about her—the glowing russet skin, the dark curly hair.
“I get it,” she says, her voice soft but amused. “The hiding. These parties are a little like drowning, aren’t they? Especially when you’re the center of attention.”
A rock on her finger catches the light. If she’s here, then she probably had a huge engagement party as well. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Nothing’s wrong with me for feeling overwhelmed with it all.
“Is it that obvious?”
She closes her lipstick tube, using her finger to blend it. It’s the color of fresh blood. “You’re Lady Eden Lockhart.” She rinses her hands.
I nod.
“I’m Alizé.” She holds out a slender hand. “Alizé Duke.”
I blink.
Duke.
That name had been whispered through the ballroom like a warning. Their money is blood-soaked, the kind of people you keep close because you want to ensure you keep your wealth—and your life.
But, I’d expected someone older. Colder. She married into power—a dangerous dynasty—and already bore her husband an heir. I shake her hand, trying not to look startled.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say.
She studies me for a moment. Not rudely. Not even critically. Just…thoroughly. Like she’s reading a book I didn’t know I’d written.
“You’re different from what I expected,” she says lightly. Her accent is distinctly American, though I know the Dukes are British. “They talk about you like you’re a crown jewel.”
“I’m not sure what that means.”
“It means you don’t know how rare you are,” she muses. “Or maybe you do, and you’ve just been taught to hide it.”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
But I do know that I feel…understood.
Alizé steps closer, head tilting slightly as her eyes fall to my shoulder. “Do you mind?”
I hesitate, but shake my head.
She reaches up and adjusts the strap of my dress with the care of an older sister. Her touch is oddly comforting, like she’s been here before—at a party she didn’t want to attend, in a life she didn’t ask for.
“Why?”
She doesn’t even ask what I mean. “You looked like you needed someone who doesn’t expect anything from you. Most of the women outside want to be around you simply because of who you’re marrying.”
My throat tightens. “I did, I mean…I do.”
Her smile is small.
But it’s real.
“Well. For what it’s worth,” she says, stepping back, “you’re doing amazing. The ring’s a bit much, but it suits you.”
I huff a laugh. “Tell that to my mother.”
“I’ve never had one,” she says with the kind of wistfulness that makes me wonder what she’s been through. “But from all the books I’ve read, I suppose they love the performance almost more than the marriage.”
We share a smile and some silence.
And then softly, she says, “I know what it’s like to love a complicated man. Alexander was quite…unique when we first met.” She looks down at her own ring. “But as our love grew, so did he. Now, I can’t imagine my life without him.”
Did he ever hurt you? The question is on the tip of my tongue.
She starts talking again before I can ask her.
“Just—be careful.”
I blink. “Silas?”
“His father does business with Alexander.” Her expression doesn’t shift, but the air does. “And from what I’ve seen, the Peregrine-Ashford men like to wrap their cunning words in lofty promises. Their devotion is all consuming—but it’s still a noose.”
I want to ask what she means. How she knows. What business his father does with the leader of a crime syndicate. But the door opens, and the moment vanishes like mist.
Another woman enters, chattering into her phone, and Alizé gives me one last smile before slipping out the door gracefully. I stare at the mirror for a long time after she’s gone—long enough that reality starts to blur and I can’t even hear the incessant conversation of the woman who entered.
I don’t feel as alone anymore.
But I also feel watched.
Not in the ballroom.
In my soul.
When I make it back to Silas’ side, I’m outside of myself.
I’m floating above it all watching myself dance and talk and laugh. I’m wrapped in lace and satin, wearing a face I no longer recognize. Alizé’s words play over and over again in my head as I mix and mingle.
Dinner is served in a gilded hall with too many forks and not enough air. I sit between Silas and the Count of Wessex’s daughter—Jasmine. She and I are the same age, but we’re vastly different. She’s telling me about the dress she wore to the Vienna Opera Ball.
My mother attended.
But before my engagement she wouldn’t be caught dead with me at a high society social engagement. I was acceptable for church, for volunteering, for trips to High Street when her friends were away, but never for events where the crème de la crème would be.
I try to listen to Jasmine, I really do.
But the walls feel too close even though there are hundreds of people in the room. Everything feels too bright, too sharp. My head is beginning to ache—it could be from all the alcohol. I suppose it’s never good to drink on an empty stomach.
Yet there’s a moment when something shifts.
The air turns electric and cold, like something ancient has just entered the room. I glance up from my plate of veal, trying to be subtle.
That’s when I see him.
Lucian.
He’s standing by one of the exits, half-shadowed beneath an arch of wisteria and golden candlelight. Dressed in black, like always. He’s tailored to sin. Cufflinks gleaming even from this distance. His black shirt is crisp, his collar slightly undone—enough to see the shadowy tattoos on his neck.
He looks like everything I should hate.
But he and I both know that he’s everything I can’t resist.
And now here he is, at my engagement party.
Staring at me.
My throat closes up.
The world narrows to our single thread of eye contact.
He lifts his glass of champagne slightly, a mock-toast. There’s no smile, and that’s when it hits me how much I miss his smiles. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen one, a genuine one. It’s like he’s daring me, somehow.
I drop my gaze.
But it’s too late.
My cheeks are already burning, my body betraying me in ways I haven’t felt since that night. The night that I try to scrub from my memory but dream of every time I close my eyes. The night he made me feel things I didn’t think possible.
Shame claws its way up through my throat.
It was the same night I said yes to Silas.
As if sensing the shift, Silas leans over, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re trembling, love.”
I freeze, looking down at the fork in my hands. It’s clinking slightly against the plate, enough to draw the attention of my mother and a few other guests at our table.
“I’m just a bit cold,” I lie.
He frowns and glances around. “I’ll have them adjust the heat.”
“No, you don’t have to,” I answer quickly.
Too quickly. My voice cracks.
Silas gives me a suspicious look, eyes narrowing. He follows my gaze toward the edge of the room. I hold my breath, expecting him to drag me to the bathroom and remind me why I’m his and no one else’s. There’s no reaction though.
Why?
Lucian’s no longer there.
I blink quickly. Did I just imagine him?
“You sure you’re alright, love?” Silas whispers, using his hand to turn my face to him. I’m staring into his eyes, and I have no idea why but I feel tears brimming by my waterline. So I look down at his chin. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Maybe I did.
I give the best smile I can muster. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
Though he looks skeptical, he lets me be.
The rest of the dinner passes by in a blur. I eat, I think. Conversation slides past me like water over glass. I laugh when I’m supposed to. I sip my wine, but I don’t taste anything. I’m unravelling.
If I hallucinated Lucian, it means that my mental health is getting worse. I can’t afford another trip to the hospital. Not now, not when so much is at stake. I’ve never even told Silas about my issues—it’s something I plan to keep to myself for as long as I can.
I can’t imagine him being supportive.
But if I didn’t hallucinate Lucian, and he’s actually here…
I can’t even allow myself to finish that thought.
He’d never do that.
Would he?