Chapter Twelve
Skye
I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The girl looking back at me is someone I used to know well but no longer recognize.
The midnight-blue dress fits perfectly, and my hair is swept up in an elegant twist that took the stylist two hours to perfect.
I look every inch the woman my mom wants me to be.
Yet all I can think about is how the other night has to be my last night with the masked men.
It’s the last time I’ll feel the rush of adrenaline when I hear footsteps behind me in the dark.
The last time I experience the mix of fear and anticipation, and the last time I belong to my masked men, even if it’s only ever been a fantasy.
I need to stop fighting. This image in the mirror is my life, and nothing I’ve done has changed the hold my mother has over me, and I doubt anything ever will.
My phone buzzes on the vanity, and I glance at it, hoping for . . . what? A message from them? They don’t have my number. I’m simply another client to them. A girl playing out her fantasies.
Tapping open my phone, I see the message is from Mom.
MOM
Where are you? Guests have started to arrive.
I close my eyes and push down the hollow feeling in my chest. Tonight, I’ll smile and nod while Mom parades me in front of whatever trust-fund baby she’s picked out this time.
I’ll make polite conversation about the weather and charitable causes, and I’ll pretend to be interested when he talks about his yacht or his family’s summer house.
Then I’ll agree to marry him, because what is the point in dragging this out any longer?
Every new man is a carbon copy of the last.
The irony hasn’t escaped me; I’m mourning the loss of something that was never really mine. Three strangers who I’ve never seen without their masks and who I know nothing about—except that they make my body come alive in ways I never thought possible.
But it felt real. For the first time in my life, something felt completely real.
I pull myself together and head downstairs, where I find my mom playing the picture-perfect host.
As I get close, she turns to me and hisses through a staged smile, “Remember, darling, shoulders back, smile like you mean it, and for god’s sake, try to look interested when people talk to you.”
I roll my eyes; it’s like I have never done this shit before. “Yes, Mother,” I murmur, falling into step beside her.
The ballroom is a sea of designer gowns and tailored tuxedos. The sound of classical music mingles with the laughter and conversation. I spot several familiar faces from Mom’s social circle, all wearing the same rehearsed smiles—if you can even call it a smile after all the Botox.
“Mrs. Radcliffe!” Mom practically glides across the floor toward her; she is some politician’s wife.
“What a magnificent event, Lillian. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Mom acts all coy and tells her it was nothing, and they engage in conversation until Mrs. Radcliffe excuses herself. While Mom works the room, I scan the crowd, trying to spot tonight’s victim—or should I say my potential suitor.
That’s when I see him. Kain is standing near the entrance, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit.
His blonde hair is perfectly styled, and he looks every inch the professional security expert.
His gray eyes scan the crowd, but when they land on me, everything else fades away.
Why the hell does he have this effect on me?
Out of our two interactions, during one he was a complete dick.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I have to force myself to look away.
“Skye, there you are.” Mom appears at my elbow with a man in tow. “I’d like you to meet Preston Thorne. Preston, this is my daughter Skye.”
I know who he is. Mom texted me yesterday with instructions to look him up and find out as much as I could about him.
He was exactly what I expected—tall, conventionally handsome in that generic way that screams “old money,” with perfectly styled brown hair and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, which seems very common among the wealthy.
You would think money would make someone genuinely happy, but it doesn’t—maybe they are as miserable as me.
I highly doubt Preston can’t find a wife on his own, so that tells me his family is associated with my stepfather.
“Skye, it’s a pleasure. Your mother has told me so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” I reply automatically, the words feeling foreign in my mouth.
“Of course. She mentioned you’re studying psychology? How . . . interesting.”
But the way he speaks makes it clear he finds it anything but interesting. He probably thinks higher education is simply something to keep women busy until they find a husband.
“Yes, I find criminal psychology particularly fascinating,” I say, taking pleasure in the way his smile falters slightly.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to explore your hobbies while we get to know each other better.”
Hobbies. So he considers my education a cute little pastime and not something I plan to make a career. How dare I want to be my own person and make my own money?! Oh, the horror!
Movement near the serving station catches my eye. A waiter is refilling champagne glasses, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he works. He looks up, and my breath catches in my throat.
Silas, my TA is here, dressed in the white shirt and black vest of the catering staff.
“—don’t you think so, Skye?”
I realize Preston has been talking, and I haven’t heard a word. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I was saying I believe women are most beautiful when they embrace traditional roles, focusing on family and supporting their husbands rather than pursuing demanding careers. Don’t you agree?”
Before I can tell him exactly what I think about his opinion, someone approaches our small group.
“Excuse me, mind if I steal the lady for a dance?”
I turn, and my world tilts completely off its axis. Zay stands beside us in a perfectly tailored navy tuxedo, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Preston says stiffly.
“Zayce Maddren, but my friends call me Zay,” he replies smoothly, extending his hand. “And you are?”
“Preston Thorne. Skye and I were just getting acquainted.”
“Well, you can get acquainted later. The lady promised me a dance.”
I definitely did not promise him any such thing, but I nod anyway. “Of course. Preston, would you excuse me?”
Preston’s smile is tight. “Certainly. Save me the next one?”
“We’ll see,” I murmur, letting Zay lead me toward the dance floor.
His hand settles on my lower back, and I resist the urge to lean into his touch.
“Fancy meeting you here, pumpkin,” he says with a smirk. “I told you we should get married. Thought I’d crash your fancy party and make my case before it’s too late.”
“This isn’t funny, Zay. What if someone figures out you don’t belong here?” I hiss.
“Who says I don’t belong here? Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
He spins me expertly across the floor, and I catch a glimpse of my mom watching us.
Zay is certainly handsome enough to meet her standards.
At the edge of the dance floor, Preston looks on in annoyance.
I also spot Kain, watching us with an expression I can’t read, his jaw clenched and his hands balled at his sides.
“You’re causing a scene,” I murmur.
“Good. You looked like you needed rescuing from Prince Charming.”
“I can handle Preston.”
“I’m sure you can, but you shouldn’t have to.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me look up. “Zay?”
“Your mother’s coming,” he says. “Time for me to make my exit.”
Before I can ask what exactly he means, he spins me one last time and dips me low, his face inches from mine, his eyes locked on my lips.
“Until next time, pumpkin,” he murmurs, then pulls me upright and disappears into the crowd.
I’m left standing alone on the edge of the dance floor as Mom reaches me. “You didn’t tell me you’ve met someone. I wouldn’t have been so pushy if I’d known.”
Of course she would have. When she finds out he isn’t someone who will benefit her, she will forbid any relationship between us.
“We barely know each other,” I say, which isn’t a lie. I can’t exactly tell her how we met.
“Well, you should get to know him better.”
Before I can answer, Preston materializes beside us. “I believe you promised me the next dance.”
I force a smile. “Of course.”
But as he leads me back into the center of the floor, I can’t stop scanning the crowd.
Kain is still at his post, but his eyes follow my every move. Silas has shifted from the serving station, but I catch glimpses of his dark hair moving through the crowd. And Zay is nowhere to be seen. Why does it feel like more than a coincidence that they are all here tonight?
The evening blurs into a parade of polite conversation. Preston finds every excuse to touch me, guiding me by the small of my back, his fingers lingering on my arm when he introduces me to his friends, his hand possessively placed on my waist as we stand talking to other couples.
“Skye’s studying psychology,” he tells the Whitmores, his arm sliding around my waist. “Though I’m sure she’ll have other priorities soon enough.”
“We’ve only just met,” I say while trying to step out of his embrace.
“Sometimes you just know,” he says, the stench of alcohol clouding his breath. “Don’t you think, sweetheart?”
The casual use of the endearment when we’ve only known each other mere hours makes me want to punch him in his stupid face.
When dinner is announced, Preston pulls out my chair with exaggerated chivalry, then leans down to whisper, “You’re even more beautiful than your mother described.”