Page 112 of The Misfit

“After the gala. After our deal ends. After?—”

She studies my face and no doubt sees the hollows under my eyes and the paleness of my skin. “I don’t know yet. I can’t until you stop hiding yourself from me.”

I huff out a breath, my patience withering under the pain inside me. “It’s not a secret. Promised Land. I just don’t like talking about it.”

She slides her gloved hand forward almost involuntarily, then tucks it back. “And I won’t rush you, but … I can’t promise anything. Let’s just get through the gala.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat and pushing back the burn behind my eyelids. “Yeah. Let’s just get through the gala.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

salem

“You don’t haveto do this,” Noah tells me for the third time since we left the house. He pulls up to the private entrance of The Grand Hotel, where Lee stands waiting under the spaced garden lights. “We could go get ice cream instead. Watch bad movies. There’s no need to subject yourself to this, especially after what he did.”

“Yes, there is. I made a deal.” I smooth my hands over the burgundy silk of my dress. The dress Lee chose with such care, with such attention to my needs. The dress that feels like a beautiful cage. “And I’m keeping my word.” And thanking the heavens I didn’t tell himeverythingLee did, or Noah would already be out of the car right now.

Noah’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Even when the other person doesn’t deserve it?”

I don’t answer, can’t answer, because Lee’s approaching the car. He looks devastatingly handsome in his classic tuxedo. His dark hair is styled for once instead of brushed askew with his fingers. His full lips bend up in a smile, and it slams deep into my thundering heart because, for once, he’s sober. Each step is careful and measured, nothing like the chaos of recent weeks.

“I’ll text you when I need a pickup,” I tell Noah, reaching for the door before Lee can open it.

Lee’s faster and beats me to it, appearing at my side with the same grace that first drew me to him. “Salem.” His greeting is soft, careful. “You look beautiful.”

For a moment, everything feels like before. Before the distance, before the walls, before whatever broke between us. Like a true gentleman, he offers me his hand, and I take it automatically.

“The dress is perfect,” he says as I step out. “Just like I knew it would be.”

Hope flutters in my chest, unwanted and dangerous. I want to extinguish those feelings, set them on fire, and watch them burn. Why does he have to look so steady, present, normal? Like the Lee who used to make everything make sense.

It isn’t real. It’s just another mask he wears. Another layer.

I can’t trust the image painted before me. Can’t trust him or myself when I’m around him. Still, armed with that knowledge, when he guides me toward the entrance, his hand warm at my back, I let myself pretend. Just for a moment. Just for tonight.

Even if I know it will hurt like hell tomorrow.

The Grand Hotel’s ballroom sparkles with crystal and candlelight, but Lee guides me to a quieter alcove first. “I had them set up a space for you,” he says, gesturing to a small table with sealed water bottles and fresh hand sanitizer. “Somewhere you can retreat if it gets overwhelming.”

The thoughtfulness of it hits hard. At the same time, the memory of how we used our last quiet space surges up, making my face hot. This is the Lee I know—the one who anticipates my needs, creates safe spaces, and remembers every little detail that matters to me.

“Thank you,” I manage, hating how my voice quavers slightly.

“And look.” He points at the nearest exit, partially hidden behind elegant drapery. “Quick escape route, just in case. Twenty steps to fresh air.”

He remembers how I need to know my exits. Remembers how crowds can suddenly become too much. Remembers me.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” I twist my hands together, silk sliding against silk.

“Yes, I did.” His voice carries that intensity I’ve missed. He reaches for me, then stops himself. “Salem?—”

“Lee!” Emma’s voice cuts through whatever he was about to say. “Mother’s looking for you both!”

Something flickers across his face—frustration? Regret? But when he turns to his sister, his smile is perfect. Practiced. “We’re coming.”

He offers me his arm. “Ready?”

I take it graciously because this is what we agreed to. This is the final act.

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