I had enough to torment myself without including the mess of my past.
It didn’t help that the instant I was mentally and physically appropriate for the unwanted masque, I couldn’t stop pacing my hotel room.
Only a few doors down from Pim and all I wanted to do was interrupt her and demand she hear me out. But I didn’t know what I’d say to her—the jumble in my brain too messy to configure.
I couldn’t outrun the hatred for all I’d done, the pressure I’d put her under, the frustration with her silence, or the rancid desire that led me to force myself upon her the first time.
Who was I?
And why the fuck had she put up with me?
Me.
I didn’t deserve a damn thing.
I’d made her steal for me.
I’d made her come for me.
I’d overstepped every fucking boundary I could.
So no...with the way I was feeling, I couldn’t wait for her like a gentleman. I had to run like a beast and lick my self-inflicted wounds in private.
I travelled to Hawksridge Hall on my own—encased in a car without Pim for over an hour.
I glanced unimpressed at the giant estate as I arrived at the bottom of an incredibly long driveway to one of the oldest holdings in England.
It made me anxious to have so much permanency on land. The ocean lived in my veins and I missed it already.
I didn’t care about turrets or copper cupolas or the lattice-work of grass growing up impressive spires. I didn’t smile as I nodded thanks to my driver and entered the warm welcome of such an ancient hall. I didn’t glare at the tapestries of prior lords and ladies or try to figure out the many secrets beckoning to be uncovered.
My fascination with secrets had gotten me into this mess. It wasn’t my right to dig for answers about anyone; I intended to stop such a nasty habit this very moment.
Moving through already tipsy crowds, ducking around ballgowned women and nodding tersely at tuxedoed men, I made my way to the pop-up bar complete with decanters and goblets and allowed myself one drink.
Just one.
My rule of tasting a drop to refrain from the entire bottle.
As I sipped the neat vodka, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the entrance as I waited for her.
The girl I owed a thousand apologies.
How was I supposed to clear my conscience? What if she didn’t turn up? What if she vanished into her home country, deciding for both of us enough was enough?
You know she won’t do that.
The connection between us was too strong to falsify. We were committed—whether we’d voiced that commitment didn’t matter.
I knew in my bones Pim wouldn’t vanish, just like I knew I’d never be able to atone for my needs to master her body and soul.
The elegant ballroom with its stately pillars and monogramed mosaic floor was made to house an event such as this. The curtains glittered gold, and the guests looked every bit as splendid as the wealth dripping from crystal chandeliers as they danced in sync to the orchestra.
But I didn’t care about any of it because it meant nothing to me.
The only thing that meant something was late.
My drink was empty, but my fingers remained tight around the warmed glass—needing to clutch something...waiting.
I thought I’d be prepared for her arrival. In the time it took to drink my vodka, a hastily scribbled script had formed. I was prepared with my apology and explanation.
But when she finally arrived?
Fuck me.
My knees turned to water and my breath to stone.
I couldn’t move.
Christ, I couldn’t move.
She appeared with Selix trailing behind her. Her eyes skittered over the dancing, mingling crowd, squinting against rubies and diamonds glinting in the low-hung chandeliers.
The large ballroom with its marble and four-story windows paled to nothing but brick and mortar as I drank her in.
If I didn’t have a soul connection with her and imprinted every nuance—if I hadn’t studied every twitch and mannerism—I might not have recognised her.
The mask.
It hid her eyes and forehead entirely, delivering her from woman to queen.
The time it took five nights ago to go through the one-of-a-kind designs thanks to my host’s wife’s fashion line was entirely worth it.
She was no longer anyone’s prisoner...she was no one’s princess.
The mask gleamed a deep, rich red to match her stunning blue and red dress, wings of the mask hid her cheekbones, flaring up to her hairline in a regal tiara. Red gemstones dangled beneath her eyes like blood tears while midnight feathers adorned the lacy crown.
Her gown swayed as she moved forward, her gaze seeking something, someone...me.
When I’d ordered the dress, I’d rolled my eyes at the name Bruised by Beauty. Yet another gimmick employed by a store to sell their underwhelming product.
How fucking wrong I was.
Pim looked as if she bloomed from a bruise. A pretty flower opened and still standing even after every petal had been damaged by plucking human fingers.
She looked draped in pain and blood; a queen of agony and everything she’d lived through.
I wanted to fucking bow to her. To take her hand in mine and kiss her knuckles with reverence. To pledge my loyalty, fealty, fortune, and heart.
And then she saw me.
And she transformed once again.
Her sin-red lips tilted into a nervous smile. Her green eyes glowed uncertain behind her mask, and her hair stole the candle light, absorbing it, glowing like liquid chocolate twirled and bound with a blue-black ribbon.
I’d never seen someone so beautiful or been so broken by it.
Instead of collapsing in homage, my legs moved toward her.
I couldn’t breathe as I cut through the crowd, moving ever closer, bound within her spell. When we met in the centre of the ballroom, the music switched to a heart twisting waltz and couples began to merge into one, swirling around us as if we’d stepped through time and entered a ball centuries earlier.
I had so much to say to her and no words worthy.
I had so much to feel and no heart capable of such things.
So I did the only thing I could.
I bowed with my arm tucked over my waist. I bowed right to her skirts and waited for the fluttering of her hand upon my head. The moment she touched me, I couldn’t stay apart any longer.
Sweeping my arm around her, I tucked her close. Grunting at the perfect sensation of her slim body encased in miles of satin pressing against mine, I swung her into a waltz.
I didn’t know how to dance.
I’d chosen music over footsteps, but my OCD, for once, served as a gift instead of a flaw. Every movie I’d ever watched and show I’d ever seen, I recalled the rhythm, the flow, and my feet fell effortlessly into beat.
And just like I’d been winded and awed by Pim, I was once again blown away by how my brain quieted better than any joint.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
The waltz rhythm ran through my veins and ears and blood.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.