Page 53 of Prince of Masks
I fiddle with the scraggly ends as I hit the elevator button. It only stops the next floor down, which is where my suite is, and the ground floor for the hotel lobby.
I twist my hair around and around until it’s a rope, then release it with slumping shoulders.
The elevator takes too long, since Oliver was first to snag it and get out of here.
Whatever he and Serena are spatting about, it’s one of their biggest fights yet, that’s for sure. He’s too on edge about it, too consumed.
But then, I do think he loves her.Verymuch.
Part of me wonders if Oliver would be sleeping around on occasion if Serena didn’t want to. Maybe it was her idea, her insistence. I can see him being loyal to her, faithful, even prior to marriage.
But Serena…
There’s distance in her when it comes to my brother. I do suspect she loves him, but there is something in her that’s cold—and Oliver feeds off that whenever there’s drama between the pair.
I’ve witnessed their shouting matches in the foyer of Elcott Abbey, the order-your-popcorn-and-sit-on-the-stairs kind of fights.
Serena gets handsy, and she getsmean.
Oliver is no angel himself, the way he speaks when he’s pissed off, it’s enough to break off an engagement, if we had such choices.
We don’t.
Not that I have one to break off.
The only choice facing me now, as the elevator dings and the doors open, is how will I style my hair. I might call the front desk, they could send someone.
My thoughts wrap around that as I pad my way into the elevator. My slippers slap unevenly with my steps. I feel bulky, with the cotton gown wrapped around me.
I hug myself and turn for the buttons.
But I only get a moment to look at the buttons before a softly tanned hand comes around the side and presses a middle finger into the button of my floor—and his floor.
Dray moves into the elevator, then passes me, shoulder brushing mine. He slumps on the wall at the rear of the elevator just as the doors thud shut.
I look over my shoulder at him, at his sagged, fatigued posture, the weight of his lashes, the wet strands of hair brushing over his brow.
I sniff and turn my cheek to him.
I stare at the button.
Dray’s tone is rough and tired, “You seem to have benefited from a longer break. You look well.”
I lift my gaze up.
The camera above me blinks red every second, and I get the fleeting suspicion that the camera is the very reason Dray keeps our encounter cordial and proper.
I hum in answer.
No words, no response.
I can’t always get away with this little scheme of mine. There will be times that others are around, or perhaps it’s just us and no cameras. Times I won’t risk the silent treatment.
But I risk it now.
The elevator jolts to a stop.
I spare him no look, no notice, no nothing before I march into the corridor.
