Page 117 of Brazen Mistakes

And when that failed, I still scraped my way out with good grades and hard work.

I’ve had to recreate myself before. I can do it again. I just have to remember that the struggle is part of the transition. And if this one is harder than I’d like, that means the payoff is bigger too.

Grabbing my laptop from my room, I go up two flights of stairs to find the attic transformed.

Gold and black fabric drapes in artful cascades from the center of the room out, like I’m in a gilded tent, fairy lights strung at uneven intervals, adding whimsical flare to the even cadence of the fabric.

The stripes continue down the walls, but opaque bobbles, different sizes and shapes, scatter in clumps over every third stripe, gold glass against black fabric, and black glass resting against gold.

A warm presence steps up behind me, Walker’s pine and maple syrup scent making me melt against him. “What do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous! How did you do it so quickly?”

“I had some help, even if I was down one set of hands.”

Because I’d fallen asleep on RJ. At least he doesn’t sound upset by that fact.

He continues, hands running down my arms. “I’m glad you like it, princess. But there’s one more thing.”

I turn to face him, finding the left half of his face covered in a mask that matches the decor, velvety black with slashes of gold leaf slicing across it like claw marks from a viscous magical beast. Or like the shedding of a snake’s skin. The sculpted face looks like temptation incarnate, Walker’s eyes adding to the illusion.

My hand goes up, sliding along the edge of the mask, feeling his jaw, brushing up to his hair, pushed back for the night. “It’s beautiful, but how am I supposed to kiss you if half your mouth is covered?” I ask.

Jansen’s laugh has me looking over my shoulder, his mask covering his eyes, swoops bending from the outside up in curved triangles, while the bottom of the mask has a mirrored image curving over his cheeks. His is more gold than black, the pattern reminding me of the spots of a leopard’s skin. “She’s got a point,” he says, his arms banding around my waist, but not pulling me from Walker’s grasp.

The visible side of Walker’s face scrunches up. “I didn’t think about that.”

Trips just huffs out a disgusted sound, and turning the other way, I find his mask entirely black, covering everything but his eyes, a demon or bear readying itself to growl. His skin looks pale as snow, his icy blue eyes nearly glowing fromthe contrast. “How are you supposed to eat? To talk?” I ask him.

He just raises a single eyebrow, and well, I guess that explains that.

Walker’s finger on my chin has me turning back to him. “I made one for you, too.”

The urge to bounce on my toes bubbles up, and for once, I’m not faking it. My nap must have helped. “Really? Can I see?”

He looks me over, his grin growing. “You even dressed to match.”

Before I can ask for clarification, he hands me a delicately wrought mask of gold wires, the edges spreading wide into golden wings. Finer wire threads the feathers, making them look almost real, like a bird was unlucky enough to fly in front of Midas, its feathers turned to gold and abandoned on the cobbles. “Oh—” I say, unable to put into words how it’s literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever held.

“Is it okay?” he asks.

“Walker, it’s breathtaking,” I manage, following the wired feathers that spring out from the center, along the top, plumage that will never fade or be nibbled on by mites.

Walker’s hands wrap around mine. “Can I tie it on?”

I don’t want to stop looking at it, but I also want to see it on. I nod, turning. Gold ribbons disappear from my periphery as I hold the mask to my face, Walker’s fingers gentle. Jansen’s gaze is bright as he takes me in with the mask on, Trips behind him watching too.

Once it’s tied, Walker pokes my head with a bobby pin a few times before I hold out a hand. He sighs in relief, handing mean entire package of pins. “I have no idea what I’m doing with those. You might need to redo my pins. Jansen’s too.”

I cross a few over the ribbon on either side of my head, shaking to make sure it sticks. “Can I look first?”

It’s Trips who answers, though, by opening up the camera on his phone and switching it to selfie mode, holding it up to me like a mirror.

The woman looking back is mysterious. Classy. And with the way the feathers angle up from my eyes, feral.

I love it.

“I’ll take good care of it, Walker. You’ll get it back in one piece, I promise,” I gush out, almost unable to believe that the woman staring back at me is really, well, me.

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