Verum (The Nocte Trilogy, #2)(46)
I almost believe that it’s that easy.
We finish our dinner, and drive back to Whitley and when we’re in the car, Dare hums.
I close my eyes and listen, and soak in the sound. I think it’s the song he played on the piano, and when we get home, I ask him to play.
So he does.
The salon is quiet and dark, and his notes drift on the air like snow.
I sit next to him, content to soak in the sound, his scent, his air.
If he’s the air, I’ll happily breathe it.
I almost float away on his song, and when he’s done, the silence is loud.
He walks me to my room.
“Some things are best left alone,” he reminds me at my door.
“But what it…”
He shakes his head, interrupting me.
“Trust me.”
I wish I could.
But he did a terrible thing.
And I have to know.
Chapter 22
When I stare into the mirror, a woman looks back. A woman draped in red silk, a woman with thick lashes and full lips.
“You look beautiful,” Finn tells me as he straightens the clasp of my necklace.
“Thank you, but anyone would look good in this dress.”
He can’t argue because he’s not real.
“What do you think will happen tonight? A dance? A sacrifice? Will you have to drink goat’s blood or bathe with a thousand virgins?”
I roll my eyes.
“Doubtful. But if you were here, you’d have to do the Macarena.”
He grabs his chest and falls onto the bed. “I would refuse.”
“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t here.”
“You’ve got this,” he announces. “Even without me.”
I’m not so sure.
But I have no choice other than to just go.
I find the great room and discover that it’s been transformed into a ballroom.
It’s draped with white tulle and sparkling lights, with candles and pungent flowers.
I find Eleanor, dressed in a conservative black dress and pearls, chatting with a small group of men in suits. Her lip is as stiff as her back, and I decide she must never relax. I scan the room for the most important face, and it doesn’t take long to find him.
Dare is in the back, sitting at a table in the shadows.
He’s here just like he promised.
He’s watching me, his dark gaze impenetrable. In his black tux, he’s impossibly handsome and I find I can’t look away.
He’s got a glass tumbler in his hand and he sips at the amber liquid, and it looks to be something strong, like scotch.
My breath is shallow and I can’t quite catch it. I take a step in his direction, then another, then I pause. Because his expression is so unreadable.
Without breaking our gaze, he thunks the glass down on the nearest side-table, and then turns his back, walking to the open veranda doors. He steps into the night, and I desperately want to follow him.
Not just because I want to be with him, but because it’s away from here, away from Eleanor, away from the prying stares of the people who are wondering who I am.
But I’m stopped by well-meaning snobby people who want to chat.
Where are you from?
Will you be attending Cambridge?
Will you be at the polo match this weekend?
Will you come to tea?
Eleanor, I see, manages to skirt the crowd and sit alone in the corner with a cup of what looks to be tea. I wonder if it is spiked. Then I wonder what the purpose of this party is at all… other than to force me into interacting with people.
Why would she do this? She has to know I’m not ready.
Dare’s words come back to haunt me.
The hawk is coming, and you’re going to get eaten.
Who is the hawk? Him?
I twist to find him, and he’s still on the veranda, joined by a blonde girl. She knows him, that much is apparent. She’s holding onto his arm and my belly tightens, bile rising in my throat. She’s possessive and he doesn’t push her away.
I turn my back.
Eleanor is watching Dare, too, a look of mild distaste on her face, but it’s the same look she always has with him. She hates him for some reason, that much is apparent. But why?
I’m being watched, and I scan the sea of faces to find Sabine shuffling along the back, dressed in black.
Her eyes have found me in the madness and we’re all a bit mad, aren’t we?
I swallow hard, and turn away. There’s no one here I can trust.
No one.
No one.
No one.
I make a run for the bathroom.
Because I need to hide.
Once inside the quiet powder room, I sink to a seat on a velvet bench, my breath shaky.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong here.
“You don’t belong here, do you?”
It’s like the calm voice reads my mind.
The voice belongs to the voluptuous blonde who was hanging on Dare’s every word.
Startled, I look up at her.
She stares back at me coolly, but not unkindly.
“You’re wearing my dress.”
My heart hammers. This dress was made for Miss Aimes, but we can make her another.
“Uh,” I stammer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”