Page 98 of Masks and Mishaps

“Don’t be mad—”

Her expression turns grim. “Those words have never boded well for me…”

“—but Christian knows something.”

“Something? What doessomethingmean?”

“Unless you want to hear about how your future stepson believes I’m a masked serial killer, and how he subsequently tried to get his sister and her friends to flee before I could murder them and bury them behind the stables…no.”

My mother’s brow folds. “Honey, if Christian knows, it’s a matter of time before Porter finds out. He won’t take it well. None of the boys will.”

“I know,” I admit, and I exhale like I’m extinguishing a candle with a stubborn wick. “I know Essie and I have to…”

I can’t say the last word—stop. The thought makes my stomach roil.

Mom tilts her head against my arm. “I’m so sorry, darling. Maybe Porter and the boys could come around one day...”

But we both know how unlikely it is. “And if they don’t?”

“We’ll try,” she promises, patting her hand against my cheek. “But in the meantime, be careful. Let’s do this right.”

Right. Let’s do this right.

Easier said than done.

Thirty-Four

ESSIE

“Ican’tbelieveIdid that,” I murmur for the fourth or fifth time while pacing the foyer.

“Come here,” Valeria requests, pulling me into a hug. “Maybe Lander and Everett’s fight worked.”

Cora scoffs and fiddles with one of her rings. “Lander and Everett’s fights have only succeeded in making both of us draft prenups…but maybe Dalton can convince Alyssa she misheard you.”

We’re all silent for a beat. If a plan hinges on Dalton—the most straightforward person in the District of Columbia—successfully gaslighting his mother…

“Everyone is going to find out,” I murmur grimly.

“Find out what?” my dad asks, coming around the corner. His arms are laden with garment bags, and he stops when he sees Valeria hugging me and Cora standing with her arms crossed. “You girls okay?”

“We’re fine,” I lie.

He dips his chin. “Anyway, the tailor dropped off the tuxes for the boys and me. Can you help me out? I don’t know everyone’s sizes.”

“I’ll do it,” Dalton intervenes, appearing in the foyer. He takes the garment bags before I can and gives me a meaningful look. “Can we talk?”

His expression makes my stomach tighten. Unease has taken over his usually placid mien, and it tugs at my gut like a barbed hook.

“Actually, I need to talk to you first, Ess,” my dad says, oblivious to how oblivious he is.

Dalton’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t object. He pins me with a focused stare, and I breathe out, forcing back tears.I’m completely fine. I’m completely fine.

When Dalton seems satisfied I’m okay, he nods. “Find me when you’re done,” he requests before he motions for my friends to follow him upstairs.

Once we’re alone, Dad’s posture is easy and loose. He tilts back against the antique wooden staircase and lets out a satisfied sigh. “Tons going on, but we didn’t resolve things at brunch a few weeks ago. I wanted to say how proud I am of you and your job, kiddo. I know you work a ton.”

“Thanks, Dad. That’s great,” I say, forcing a smile—anything to get this over with.

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