Page 29 of Violet

This dress, though… Bare shoulders, bare arms, long and touching the ground all around, clinging. When I walk, the skirt’s clever pleats at the left hip allow me to move with ease. It also has a hidden slit in the pleats that ends just above the knee.

And with the mask…

“Here’s a little bag you can put the mini tablet in,” Mom says. “Every participant in the Season will have oneso that Alphas can book a dance, ask for a date, or take you for a walk. It’s so exciting, don’t you think?”

All I can do is offer her a smile.

As the ruckus downstairs grows, she glances at the door. “I’d better see what’s going on.” She hesitates. “Are you sure about the dress?—”

“Yes, trust me. I love the dress. It’s perfect.”

My words bring relief and joy to Mom’s face.

“I’ll be right back.” She hurries downstairs, and when I’m alone, I give in to the shaking. Still staring at my reflection, I slide the mask off carefully until my worn and uneasy expression stares back at me, the one I hide from everyone.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

Taking a deep breath, I try to relax, but my mind drifts back to the man in the boathouse, the one with the warm smile and oak-y scent. I don’t know why I’m thinking of someone I won’t see again.

What I need to do is concentrate on the damn ball and getting through it without losing my sanity.

“You can do this, Violet,” my reflection says. “I have confidence in you.”

I’m glad someone in this room does.

The entire ballroom is a whirlwind, the amount of scent blockers painting the air with a strange void-like nothingness that feels stiff and unnatural. It presses down on me, along with the weight of tonight’s lofty expectations, and I feel soexposed.

“Breathe, Vi.” Iris presses a drink into my hand, and I look down.

“Is that wine?”

“You’re twenty-one,” she says. “You’re allowed to get wasted.”

Iris wears a super cool blue tartan dress she made out of an old one, and she has her combat boots on.

“I don’t want to get wasted.” I try to hand the drink away, but she shoves it back.

“Have a few sips for courage, and remember, you’re the hottest girl here.”

I take a sip to shut her up, just as Trixi Belle sings over the sound system. The tune’s catchy, boppy without being too much. There’s a band setting up on a dais for later, but this earlier hour is meant to be a mix and meet part of the evening.

I swallow down the wine. I don’t like the taste; it’s dry on the tongue, but there’s a hint of oak and that makes me think of the boathouse Alpha again.

And now it’s like my feverish mind’s conjured his ghost because I swear I can smell him. Through all the blockers, even.

Another drink is pressed into my hand, the empty glass replaced. I drink that one, too.

“Thanks, Dahlia. I don’t want to leave her,” Iris says. I don’t even remember Dahlia coming over. “Is Mari keeping Heath distracted?”

“Yes, and Rue’s with Mom…for now,” Dahlia says.

Iris cranes her neck to get a look at them across the room. “Just…keep the drinks coming. Vi’s going to need it.”

The conversations from other guests filter in from adistance, and I try to stop drowning in panic. I look at the peaked ceiling, all cast in marble and draped in gold silk. The lights above us flicker, and it makes me wonder if the Monarch had her chandeliers set with real candles or if they’re using some kind of artificial ones to bask the ballroom in a warm, romantic glow.

“Violet?” Iris hisses my name. “Vi, listen. Dahlia’s getting you something stronger to drink. But just sip that. Don’t guzzle it.”

When did she learn so much about drinking?

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