Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Tristan
“Relax. Breathe.” Nate’s voice reaches me through the discreet earpiece nestled behind my ear.
For once, there is no sarcasm in it. Maddie is safe at home with her own security detail, and he knows exactly what is at stake tonight.
He has spent the entire day trying to keep me tethered to reality, dragging me into conversations about chess openings, the American Civil War, and the artistic beauty of computer coding.
Normally, I would have loved ranting about any of those.
Tonight, I am not in the mood. He is only trying to create the illusion of an ordinary day.
As if the woman I love is not walking willingly into the arms of a psychopath in less than an hour.
As if my life hasn't narrowed to a single objective.
Make sure she comes back alive. To avoid drawing suspicion in case Cole has eyes on us, Brenton, Garron, and I agreed I would not return home after work.
Instead, I came straight to the family estate, where the charity masquerade is being held.
So here I am. Freshly shaved, with a black tuxedo tailored within an inch of perfection.
A simple black Venetian mask concealing the upper half of my face.
I stand beside Nate beneath the grand marble archway, greeting an endless procession of guests as they drift through towering gilded doors framed by cascading ivory drapes.
Crystal chandeliers spill warm light across the polished marble floors, catching thousands of suspended prisms that glitter like stars each time another couple steps inside.
I will hand it to her. My mother does know how to throw a party.
She’s standing on my opposite side, magnificent in a deep burgundy gown that pools around her like liquid velvet.
Pearls trace the edges of her elaborate mask, delicate golden rays fanning upward, giving her the unmistakable appearance of an Italian queen.
Add that to her cosmetic procedures, and one would have to be a mind reader to know what she is feeling right now.
Nate wears a black mask nearly identical to mine, although every thirty seconds, he reaches up to tug at it with obvious irritation.
“She should already be here,” I mutter. He checks his watch between two handshakes.
“Two minutes late.”
“Exactly.”
“Two minutes isn’t late.” He exhales patiently.
“It is for her.”
“Give her a second. She’s probably terrified.” My stomach drops.
“You think something happened?” Before I realize what I am doing, I have already shifted my weight, ready to abandon the entrance entirely. Nate catches my forearm with bruising force.
“Don’t.”
“I…”
“Don’t fucking move.” His voice drops another octave.
“He could be watching us right now. If you break character because you panic, you’re handing Cole exactly what he wants on a silver platter.
” Every instinct screams at me to run. To find her.
To put my own eyes on her before anyone else can. But Nate is right.
“I just don’t want to…” The words die in my throat as the massive golden curtains part.
Ella.
My Ella.
I would recognize her among thousands of women. Because of the unique way she moves, graceful and cautious.
“Holy…” Nate breathes. I elbow him sharply.
“I’ll break your legs.” I will not hear a word from another man about my woman. He clears his throat immediately. We are not supposed to know who she is.
But every cell in my body already does. Her dark hair is gone, hidden beneath soft honey-blonde waves that tumble just below her shoulders.
A white lace ribbon frames her eyes, while the faint blush painted onto her lips draws my attention with criminal efficiency.
Her gown… Jesus Christ. It looks as though it belongs inside a Renaissance painting.
Layers of pale blue silk flow around her with every step, embroidered with tiny pearls and silver thread that shimmer beneath the chandeliers like moonlight over water.
The fitted bodice narrows at her waist before blooming into cascading folds of fabric that seem almost weightless.
It reveals another version of her. As if she has stitched herself a beautiful armor.
Kathy understood the assignment far better than I ever could have explained it.
Her necklace, though eye-catching, is nothing compared to her beauty.
Ella reaches me and catches her lower lip between her teeth.
Sweetheart, please don’t do this to me.
I’m only a man.
“Good evening, sir,” she mouths silently. I hold on to every syllable while my brain promptly forgets every language I have ever spoken.
“Ms…” I clear my throat. “You… I mean…” Wonderful. Brilliant start. “I…” My tongue refuses to cooperate. “Enjoy your evening.” Absolute poetry.
She gives me a shy smile, the kind I have learned is earned by relentless care, patience, and attention.
Enough to make every rational thought evaporate.
Watching her feels suspiciously close to a religious experience.
If I ever find myself standing before God, I fully intend to defend that statement.
“Right, right,” Nate says brightly, rescuing me before I embarrass myself further.
“Welcome, miss. Please enjoy the evening.” Only then do I notice the queue stretching halfway down the staircase.
Hell. I had forgotten there were hundreds of other guests.
Ella gives us a polite nod before disappearing into the ballroom.
Vanishing from sight. Not from me, though.
My entire nervous system remains painfully aware of where she is.
Breathing the same air. Walking toward the most dangerous man she has ever known.
I resist the urge to adjust the communication earpiece hidden beneath my collar.
“Well…” Nate murmurs once she is gone.
“Don’t.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Then don’t.”
“You looked at her like a starving man.”
“I absolutely did not.” He snorts.
“Anyone could have figured out she’s yours. You have to be more careful. Act cold as shit. I’m not kidding.” The word settles somewhere dangerously close to my heart.
Yours. Being cold to Ella is unnatural. Painful.
Ella and I do not even have a name for whatever we are.
No rings or official status. Yet somewhere deep inside me, beneath logic and reason and common sense, exists a certainty so absolute it feels woven into the laws of nature.
The earth turns. Fire burns. The tide answers the moon.
And Ella belongs beside me. Because every future I can imagine ends with her hand finding mine.
The months of restraint, the nights spent forcing myself to slow down every instinct, every agonizing second had been worth it.
Because somewhere along the way, I discovered something about myself.
Making her smile brings me more satisfaction than closing a billion-dollar acquisition.
More than any hostile takeover, any victory, any assertion of dominance.
More than anything I had ever mistaken for fulfillment.
For thirty endless minutes, Nate and I continue welcoming guests while I catalog every disguised officer in the ballroom without ever appearing to look directly at them. Deputy Garron. Brenton. Two tactical units. North balcony. West corridor. Everyone is in position.
Garron’s voice crackles softly through my earpiece, “He’s here.
” Every muscle inside me locks. “He entered through the staff entrance.” I keep smiling at an elderly donor shaking my hand.
“White tuxedo.” Another handshake. “Red mask covering the entire face.” My pulse hammers against my ribs.
“Two bodyguards. White ghost masks.” I swallow carefully.
Nate does not say a word. He can probably hear my heartbeat from here.
It is her turn now. My hands are tied. I thought I understood torture back in juvenile detention.
I thought solitary confinement had shown me the limits of human suffering.
How na?ve. There is no agony like standing still while the person you love walks into danger, knowing that saving her too soon may be the very thing that gets her killed.
Ella
Champagne is definitely not giving me the courage I had hoped for.
I swallowed nearly an entire flute in three gulps, wincing after each one, only to discover that, for my first taste of alcohol, it’s disappointingly bitter.
I tighten my fingers around the delicate stem, seeking liquid confidence.
Breathe. My pulse has not settled since I stepped through the ballroom doors. Not since I saw Tristan.
I expected him to look handsome, because he always is.
What I wasn’t prepared for was him looking at me like that.
His mask concealed the upper half of his face, but it couldn’t hide his eyes.
I watched them darken first with relief, then soften with something so achingly tender it stole the air from my lungs, before hardening again as he forced himself back into the role of gracious host. It happened in less than a heartbeat, yet I caught every shift.
Golden drapes cascade from windows that stretch nearly to the ceiling, crystal chandeliers scatter an amber light over polished marble, and silver trays float through the crowd carrying miniature desserts so carefully crafted they look more like artwork than food.
Everywhere I turn, elegant strangers hide behind masks embroidered with pearls, feathers, and gold leaf, smiling politely as they pass me.
There are too many voices, too many people weaving around one another in beautiful gowns and immaculate tuxedos until they blur into a single moving wall.
Every time someone brushes my shoulder, I fight the instinct to recoil, and every time a man speaks too loudly, my stomach tightens.