Page 116 of Shades of Silver City

With that, he releases me, tucking himself away.

When I stand, my legs tremble, and I fear I won’t be able to hold myself up. Archer is at my side in an instant, pushing my curls behind my shoulder and offering me an arm. I reach up, using my thumb to wipe away the lipstick staining his mouth, and he does the same to me.

“How do I look?” I ask.

“Like a dream,” he whispers. “If beauty were a language, you’d be its most eloquent expression.”

I blush, biting my lip as I glance down shyly. My Gods. “You sap! You are going to ruin me for every other man, aren’t you?”

He smirks, leading us toward the ballroom. “It’s a good thing it’s you and me versus the world, baby.”

We dance for a few songs before I excuse myself to pee. When I return to the ballroom, I spot Archer by the far wall, surrounded by a few important-looking men in suits. His gaze flicks in my direction, and his features relax. I send him a soft smile and a wave, at ease again with him nearby.

My legs are still jello, and the ghost of him inside me lingers. I’m oddly content—satiated.

Figuring he has work shit to do, I put up my hands in a “stay” gesture, then point in the direction of the lounge in the corner. He can come find me when he’s done.

Archer Acciai is mine.

The thought makes me giddy.

The only open sofa is a fancy high-backed couch with soft, plush material, but it’s just out of Archer’s sight. I fight the urge to plop down and instead gently perch on the edge and cross my legs.

Almost immediately, a presence invades my space. Alarm shoots down my spine as I glance up.

“Fantasia,” the mysterious man in the horned mask says.

“What do you want?” I stand, squaring my shoulders and jutting out my chin, showing the man I’m not afraid of him.

“Pretty, pretty butterfly. Who are you under that mask?”

“You already know, asshole.”

“No, Fantasia. I mean under the mask you wear so well every day.” He extends a hand, and his fingers graze the exposed skin on my jawline. My stomach tightens with fury, and I slap his hand away.

He leans in, undeterred, and whispers in my ear, “We all wear a mask, every moment of every day. Different masks for different situations, different people. When does yours come off? When you’re all alone in the dark of night? Or do you keep it on permanently, lying even to yourself about who you are?”

I jerk away from him.

Just then, a voice comes over the loudspeaker again, talking about Mesmeric Labs and the auction items for tonight’s event. I barely register it. My stomach tumbles, and I fear I might vomit.

Suppressing a growl, I say, “You bast—”

A spotlight comes on, illuminating the man before me. All eyes seem to shift in our direction.

No, his direction.

Scurrying backward, I quickly put a bit of space between us, not wanting to be anywhere near the large circle of light, where everyone is now focusing their attention.

The man’s expression morphs into something friendlier. He waves, glancing around.

I study him in the new lighting, trying to pinpoint what exactly seems off about him.

He’s not exactly familiar, but he also doesn’t look like a stranger. He appears to be maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. Even in his creepy metal mask, with his haughty demeanor, the man is extremely handsome. His eyes are black, I notice, as they swing toward me again. The exact opposite of Archer’s golden—

My spine goes stiff.

The man apparently notices, and his smile grows.

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