Chapter 17 Ophelia #2
He seems surprised, and it takes him a beat to respond. “If you say so.” He spins me so Ethan and Anya are out of sight. “Saw you looking for me. That was sweet.” I don’t miss the mockery in his tone.
“I’m confused. Last time I saw you, you didn’t want me to go. Now, you toy with me. I swear you give me whiplash, Silas.” I ask, trying to slip out of his grasp because no matter the things I feel for him, the rightness of being in his arms, this man can get under my skin like no other.
“I’m not toying with you.”
“Right. I wasn’t looking for you by the way.”
“I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.”
“We didn’t agree on anything. What are you doing here, Silas?”
“Came to see you on your big night, Barbie.”
“Do you get some sick pleasure out of antagonizing me?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s very easy to get a rise out of you.” Silas chuckles, but his mood is serious. Weighted. This banter is an act. I get under his skin just like he gets under mine.
“Did you really buy our house?” I ask.
“Did I come up in conversation?” he counters, taking in the room, gaze catching somewhere over my shoulder. I glance back to see it’s Mr. Fox he’s locked eyes with. I shiver, and Silas looks down at me. I’m sure he felt me shudder.
“Is it worth it?” I ask.
“What?’
“Coming here just to piss him off?”
“I told you. I came to see your big moment.”
“Then you’ll be disappointed. How did you finagle an invitation?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Charm.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you dancing with me to irritate them?”
He opens his mouth, closes it and when he finally speaks, I get the feeling he was going to say something other than what he ends up saying.
“I like dancing with you, actually.” He pauses, eyes searching mine, gaze honest. I feel myself soften, my skin warm.
But then he continues. “Pissing off Sly and Ethan is just a bonus, not my end goal, not tonight.”
“Did you buy our house?” I ask again.
He grins. “You look appropriate, by the way. I’m sure the Foxes are very pleased. But you know I like you better natural.”
“Why do all the men in my life get a say on how I look?”
“Am I a man in your life then?”
“Why can’t I just be me?”
“This isn’t you. The sweet girl with wild hair and big glasses is you.”
“This isn’t you, either. The boy who always came to my rescue, that’s you.”
“Maybe I am here to rescue you. Maybe I will always come to rescue you.” He spins me. “Broken hero or not. Villains often win, don’t they? The other endings are fairy tales. Don’t you know that yet, little girl?”
“You’re infuriating.” I tug my hand to free it from his, intending on slipping away but Silas tightens his grip.
“Whoa, Barbie. Calm down.”
“Don’t call me Barbie. I’m not that.”
“You are when you look like this. The way they want you to look.”
“If you came here to ruin my night, you’re too late.”
His expression, what I can see of it through the mask that covers one half of his face, grows serious.
“I came to see if you’d come to your senses yet.” He makes a point of feeling my ring finger, which is empty, and smiles. “Ophelia Hart, don’t tell me you grew a backbone?”
“Fuck off, Silas,” I say. I try to break away but of course he doesn’t let me.
“Let’s go.” Without waiting for me to acquiesce and in the middle of the dance, he whisks me off the floor, and I realize the whole time we were dancing he was leading me through the crowd and to the edge of the dance floor. Silas Cruz is as calculating a man as any I know.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m done with men like you.”
“Men like me?”
“Men who have an ulterior motive. Men who are only with me because it somehow benefits them.” Because that’s what Ethan was doing too.
He was with me because it’s what his parents decreed for him, not because he wanted to be with me.
I wonder if he’s secretly relieved that I broke it off.
He’d never have done it. “And I’m done playing the fool. ”
“Good. It’s about time,” Silas says, eyes intent on me.
“I wasn’t looking for your approval.”
“Yes,” he says.
“No, I—”
“Yes, I bought your house,” he says. I stare up at him, my mouth agape.
“Why?” I finally manage to ask.
“Come, Ophelia,” he says, a note of tenderness in his tone.
“Why would you do that?” He overbid on the house. The buyer paid almost double what it’s worth.
He shrugs a shoulder as he leads me to a staff corridor. This time, he doesn’t have to force me along. He opens the door at the end of the hall. “It’s yours, isn’t it?” he asks.
“I don’t understand.”
“I may not be a good person, Ophelia, I may be the villain you accused me of being, but I will always be there to rescue you, whether you think you need me or not.” I am stunned into silence.
What he said feels raw, naked. Honest. I wonder if he’s been thinking about my calling him a villain ever since I said it.
I wish he wasn’t wearing that mask. I wish we were somewhere quiet and alone, and we weren’t wearing masks at all, and I could see if what I think I see is real.
And he could see that ache that I know is written on my face.
If he did, he would see that for me, it’s more real than anything else in my life.
He can’t know how much those words he said to me after finding the ring in my pocket hurt.
How much they still hurt. The wound they left is still raw.
And right now, all I want is for him to know that.
“Silas?”
He takes a deep breath in, then turns to lead me up the stairs.
The room is located above the stage upon which the orchestra is situated.
From here you can see out into the ballroom while remaining unobserved.
I wonder if this was where he’d been watching me from, like some sort of phantom.
It’s a storage room of sorts full of dusty curtains and tablecloths, boxes upon boxes of dinnerware, crystal and silver service, the works.
“Do you remember what happened the last time we were here?” he asks, turning me to face him so the small window is at my back. He unties the ribbon that holds my mask in place and sets it aside, taking his off and placing it beside mine on the empty stool nearby.
God. He’s so beautiful. Even with his crooked nose and the scar on his temple.
“Do you?” he prods.
I bite my lip, nod. Of course, I remember.
He’d been up here when I’d come last time.
Ever since I was little, my father used to bring me to The Sinistral for a very fancy high tea once a week.
Often, he would meet with business associates, and as I grew older, he’d leave me to entertain myself during those hours.
I’d take my book and wander the grounds, outside during the summer months, inside during the winter.
When I’d found this small, forgotten room, I’d started spending more and more time up here, lying on the chaise, which still stands covered with a dust cloth along the far wall, reading my books.
When the staff were setting up for events below, I’d spy using my binoculars.
It's not those days Silas is asking about, though. The last time the Foxes had thrown the gala, I’d been excited about seeing Ethan after so many months, excited for him to see me, see how I’d become a woman.
But I’d learned pretty quickly that Ethan wasn’t remotely interested in me, not any more than formalities and polite inquiries, a dance, whatever his parents decreed he must do.
Ethan was the only boy who had ever really paid attention to me.
Going to an all-girls school doesn’t exactly help in that department, and I was extremely shy to boot, but it was more than that.
From the moment the Foxes moved in next door, it was almost as though he and I were being groomed for a future chosen for us.
A future that maybe didn’t take into consideration our feelings.
The fact that we never did fall in love with each other.
Anyway, I’d been young, and I hadn’t known then what I know now.
I was a senior in high school, and by then, he’d been away at college for two years.
Of course, I knew he had girlfriends in that time.
It’s not like we were a couple. When he came home, he hung out with me.
After the time Silas found us in his bedroom, he never really did more than hold my hand or, now and again, kiss my cheek.
If I think about it, I’m not sure Ethan is even really attracted to me.
I’m not attracted to him. Because as I look up at the man standing just a few feet from me, I recall what he said to me the other night, asking about Ethan.
I can say one thing for certain, and it’s a thing that’s never changed.
When Silas so much as looks at me, butterflies take wing in my belly and my heart begins to beat at an unnatural pace.
It’s something I’ve never felt with anyone else.
Never. It’s only ever been Silas. It’s always been Silas.
But that night three years ago, when Ethan had disappeared and I’d found him making out with Anya in an alcove, I’d been upset—not for his betrayal, but because of my own expectation.
After that, I’d seen our relationship for what it was.
A casual friendship, if that. Ethan wasn’t interested in me romantically.
I didn’t realize I wasn’t interested in him that way either until then.
After I’d spied Ethan kissing Anya, I’d snatched a bottle of champagne and come up here to lick my wounds, but the room hadn’t been empty.
Silas had been standing at the window watching what was happening below in the ballroom.
He’d been as surprised to be found as I’d been to find him.
He took one look at me, at the bottle in my hand and raised his eyebrows.
I still remember the moment. I’d been afraid he’d send me back down. Tell me I was too young to be drinking.