Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
The set-up in the ballroom is absolutely unreal.
Chandeliers the size of Jupiter, velvet drapes, and flickering candles.
(Battery-operated ones, of course, because no one in their right mind would endanger a hotel full of treasured books.) A fun pop song is being piped in from a speaker in one corner, while the opposite corner has been arranged with a bar area giving off speakeasy vibes.
In between, a few hundred people mill about dressed like they fell out of a historical romance fever dream.
And thanks to Rob, I get the chance to experience all of it.
"I told you on our way in to prepare yourself for the fanciest party you've ever seen," he reminds me, his voice low and amused.
"You did not adequately prepare my expectations," I whisper.
He laughs. "Welcome to The Lover's Lane Experience Masquerade Ball. Damn, that's a mouthful, isn't it?"
Before I can respond, a cluster of women do a double-take at the sight of Rob. The smile drops off his face instantly.
One woman steps forward, the brave one of the bunch. "Aren't you that model...?"
"I get that all the time." He huffs a sarcastic laugh. "I'm flattered, but I'm an accountant. I'm just attending the event this weekend with my wife."
Wife?
The woman looks over at me as I stand shocked, horrified that I've commandeered some other woman's husband. I don't remember seeing a ring! I should not be sneaking into parties with a married man. Why didn't he mention his wife before?
My spinning thoughts stop short as I realize why the woman is looking at me. Rob is pointing at me.
Oh. Crap. Yeah, now that I look around, I realize he's staring at me expectantly. Waiting for me to take the hint and play the role of the accountant's wife so that these women will leave him in peace.
"I don't see the resemblance," I announce more loudly than necessary. My hands tremble as more people look in our direction, trying to figure out what's going on, and I double down. "My husband isn't nearly as handsome as that model."
One of the waiting women winces, offended on Rob's behalf. She takes a half-step forward and stage whispers, "You're still a very handsome man. So sorry to bother you and your wife."
"No problem." Rob nods to her stoically.
No one else seems to notice the amused twitch of his lips. He holds back his smile until the women wander off.
"Now that I see what a bad liar you are, I understand why you didn't try sneaking in here yourself before I came along."
I drop my chin and groan. "That was agonizing. Hurry, put on your mask so less people recognize you."
"Why? Does my wife want me all to herself?" he teases.
I’m glad I’m wearing a mask because my face has to be scarlet red. Maybe even magenta by now. Soon I'll be so embarrassed I turn violet, and I'll stop breathing as my entire body shuts down to die of humiliation. That's the only direction this night can be headed.
Unless this is all a dream. In which case, I'm planning to wake up any second now.
Rob obliges, fastening his mask over his face to skew his identity.
"Good." I nod. "You're not as recognizable now as long as you keep your shirt on."
A passing attendant offers us champagne flutes. Rob takes two, handing one to me with a warm smile.
"Cheers," he says.
I take the glass with my trembling fingers. "To what?"
He tilts his head, studying me with a level of interest I've never experienced before. "To breaking rules."
"And not getting caught," I add with a quick peek around us to make sure security isn't hunting us down like a pack of bloodhounds. The big guys in charge of the door would look pretty silly searching the crowd with their noses pressed to the ground, but I'm not ruling the possibility out.
I clink my class to his.
He barely lets me finish my sip before he tugs on my hand, drawing me further into the crowd.
My ADHD meds wore off hours ago, so I lose myself to the overstimulation of the party.
Two women dancing wildly together throw their heads back with laughter.
The light from a chandelier bounces off the metal of someone's tiara.
There are champagne bubbles everywhere, serving staff working the room with their glistening trays of bubbly.
I feel like an extra in someone else's story.
Rob slows his steps to look at me. "You good?"
I nod and force a smile. "Of course. Just mentally rehearsing my escape route in case things go south."
"There's a service exit near the mini-library."
I blink so many times I think I lose an eyelash or two. "There's a mini-library?" I ask, totally awestruck by the very idea. A library is the one way to make any party instantly better!
He jerks his chin toward the opposite corner from where we entered. Sure enough, there's a sign where the line starts for a photo-op with a mini-library backdrop. The sign mentions that the books are being auctioned off for a children's literacy charity after the event.
"Wow," I sigh dreamily. "I might never leave."
"Great," he says. "That makes two of us."
His words sound casual, but there's something about the glint in his eye when he says them that sends a slow heat curling through my chest. I take another sip of champagne to cool down, but the fizz tickles my nose. I avert my gaze, desperate to look anywhere but at him.
Which is when I spot Gisele and Bea.
They're at the center of a group near the stage, dressed to kill in matching black gowns with corset tops and high slits running up the length of their thighs. Their black hair hangs glossy behind their backs like something out of a shampoo commercial.
They're laughing. Loud, theatrical, and perfectly timed.
Waving at The Tempted , their fans, like they're royalty.
Excited readers circle them, desperate to get closer to the social magic they've seen from my step-sisters online.
Gisele and Bea will make sure no one gets close enough to see behind the mask.
Their metaphorical ones. Not masquerade masks. They haven't bothered wearing those despite it being the theme of the party. I'm sure they didn't like the idea of not being recognized.
And if they find out I'm here without their permission, they won't like that either. I'm sure it wasn't an oversight that they didn't get me a ticket for the ball in the first place.
I duck behind a nearby column, dragging Rob with me.
"Whoa," he says. "Everything okay?"
"Yes!" I squeak in a painfully high pitch. "Totally fine. Just... hiding."
He raises his brows.
I wave my hands around wildly. "Not from the law or anything. Just, y'know, from life. The noise. All the sequins."
"You sure?" He doesn't seem convinced.
I nod vigorously. Not suspicious at all. "Definitely not avoiding specific people who would be mad if they saw me here."
He doesn't press. Just sips his champagne and leans casually against the column beside me, eyes scanning the crowd with the interest of someone who spends more time being observed than getting to be the one doing the observing.
"Your outfit makes a good disguise," he says eventually, tapping the edge of my mask. "You look like a mysterious heiress on the run."
I smile. "And yet I feel like a fangirl in a prom dress."
"You're not giving yourself enough credit."
"Seems like you're giving me enough for the both of us." My smile widens.
He shakes his head at me with a soft huff of a laugh. "Come dance with me." He holds out his hand.
"Oh no. That's a terrible idea."
"Why?"
"Because I'll ruin all your high opinions of me the second you see that I have the coordination of a newborn deer."
"I'll take my chances."
"Rob..."
"I won't let you fall, if that's what you're worried about," he teases. "I promise, I've got you, Daisy."
And somehow, that's all it takes.
I gingerly place my hand in his, letting him tug me out from behind my hiding place and toward the dance floor, threading us between couples and groups of friends. He plops us right into the densest part of the crowd, letting me hide in a new way.
The music slows.
The only real dancing I've ever attempted was a Zumba class I abandoned halfway through after losing my balance and careening straight into the instructor at the front of the room. I really should have stuck to the back of the class.
Rob doesn't seem bothered. He pulls me in, pressing one hand to the small of my back, the other cradling my hand in his. I barely have time to let my panic set in before we're moving.
Step, step, step.
Step, step, step.
Step, step, step.
The world seems to blur around us as he leads me easily with all the intimacy of a partner rather than a stranger. Nearby laughter makes my ears perk, but Rob doesn't seem to notice the small intrusion. His eyes stay on mine, the soft pressure of his hand keeping me grounded.
We make it through the song without a single clumsy incident, then another, and then a third. And with each passing song, I feel myself growing more connected to him. The simple act of dancing together makes my heart all gooey. The warmth of his palm against mine makes me want to swoon.
I finally understand what the leading ladies in my romance novels must feel when they first start to fall for their love interest. The feeling of inevitability. Of jumping without a parachute.
"See?" Rob murmurs. "Not so bad."
"You're doing all the work," I whisper. All I have to do is follow, and that's not hard to do with a man carrying such easy confidence.
"You're doing great."
I fight the urge to melt in his arms. Turning into a puddle at his feet on the dance floor would garner a lot of attention that I'm trying to avoid. Too risky. Even if he does make me feel like mint chocolate chip ice cream on a beachfront boardwalk on the hottest day of summer.
Rob draws me closer even as the soft music fades away and the DJ transitions back to an upbeat song that's been playing nonstop on mainstream radio lately. His fingers brush along the zipper of my dress.
"I want to know something about you," Rob says.
"You know my name," I point out hopefully, wanting that to be enough. Tonight has been a fun little Cinderella moment, but my carriage is dangerously close to turning back into a pumpkin.
Even if Rob's interest in me were more than one fleeting night of curiosity, I can't bear the thought of him seeing me again this weekend.
Not once Gisele and Bea have their claws in me again, treating me more like a medieval peasant who snuck into the royal house than their stepsister who also happens to moonlight occasionally as their hired help.
Working for them always sends my more chaotic tendencies into a tailspin.
Prince Charming would probably turn straight into a frog the moment he saw me in all of my people-pleasing, ADHD-with-anxious-tendencies, messy glory.
"I want to know more than your name," Rob insists. "Where are you from? What do you do? Who are you here with?" He looks around like my own gaggle of bookish girl pals might materialize to whisk me away.
If only.
This is exactly why I prefer staying as invisible as possible.
Forgettable. Flying under the radar, the best I can at all times, so that few people get close enough to see the magnitude of my chaos.
One of the features of my ADHD is that I struggle with Rejection Sensitivity.
I've perfected the art of being socially avoidant while still coming across as friendly, making me a great acquaintance, but the kind of woman who keeps few close friends.
The best way to avoid feeling rejected is to avoid getting too close to people in the first place.
I'm at The Lover's Lane Experience to fetch coffee and refill stock for my stepsisters, not to slow-dance with a hot cover model who's waiting for me to spill my life story.
I force a laugh. "Isn't a little mystery part of the charm?"
"Maybe, but I prefer to keep the mysteries in my life to books; that way, I always know I'm getting all the answers in the end. Everything wrapped up in a neat bow."
Dodge and weave, Daisy! Dodge and weave!
"Do you ever read thrillers? Some of those books really leave the answers ambiguous, you know? Not everything has to fit in a box at the end. Sometimes you only get half-answers and unreliable narration."
He tips his head and furrows his brow as he studies me. Tries to read between the lines.
I step back, breaking the hold between us. "I, uh... I should go."
"I'll come with you." He tries to reach for me, but I quickly take another step out of reach.
"You can't." I shake my head firmly, loosening the tie of my mask. I reach behind my head to tighten the knot before the mask can slip and expose my face to him.
I have it on good authority, thanks to all of the classic Cinderella-themed movies I watched alone in my bedroom as a giddy teenager, that he'll never be able to recognize me from my eyes alone. (The logic is good enough for those movies, so it's good enough for me, too.)
"Daisy..."
I wasn't prepared for him to look ready to argue.
"I remembered something. Something important!
Urgent, even. A very urgent something that I need to go take care of– alone– right now.
Or else!" Oops, that sounds vaguely threatening.
Time to make my great escape. "Bye, Rob.
Thanks for the dancing." I spin on my heels before he can respond, the skirt of my dress swishing dramatically around my legs like a hired actor.
By the time I reach the far end of the ballroom, my pulse is still hammering. I slip out through the same hallway door near a set of bathrooms that Rob and I used to sneak into the ball. Behind me, the music swells before being cut off as the door snaps shut.
An ominous quiet escorts me down the hall to the bank of elevators near the lobby. I step inside the first elevator to open and press the button that will return me to my floor and my not-so-fairytale-like reality.
The afterglow of my surprisingly delightful evening leads me to imagine the sound of hurried footsteps rushing after me. Any woman would be delirious after such a magical night.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the doors close on me alone in the elevator.
I'm too realistic to fantasize about Rob running after me, but for a moment, I allow myself to imagine him intrigued enough to still be standing in the ballroom where I left him, frozen in time, watching the space I left behind.