Page 14 of Unveil
“I meant what I said, Orion Fury. My daughter’s made her choice, and it wasn’t you. Which means your ‘pact’means nothing. The New French Opera House and Bordeaux Conservatory are neutral ground. Start a fight here and it’ll be your last. I’m only letting you stay now out of respect for your mother, but I want you out of my city by morning.”
“Believe me, I’ll be gone by midnight,” I seethe.
He appraises me, fists clenched and vibrating at his sides, then he’s gone, vanishing into the shadows of some secret passageway only he knows. I’ve found this place is full of them.
I turn back to the chaos below. Ozias shakes hands with congratulators while Luna looks adrift, stunned, brow bunched in confusion.
Then she looks at me.
She’s probably wondering where her father went, but I lock eyes with her, leaning forward so she can see the promise there.
Hatch whistles. “Look at that Fury jealousy in full force.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hatton,” Dash snaps, dropping Hatch’s real name like a pissed-off parent.
Hatch waits a beat, then he murmurs low, serious for the first time since they arrived, “This changes things. They figured out King’s rumor was bullshit. Waiting until tonight was to mess with your head.”
My teeth grind. “I know.”
That’s the thing about Hatton Fury. He loves fucking with people ninety-nine percent of the time. But that means one hundred percent of the time, he knows exactly how they tick.
Dash leans forward. “It’s neutral ground. What do we do?”
I keep my gaze on my future bride.
“First, I’m going to take this outside. Then I’m stealing my fucking wife.”
“Pretentious-looking thing, huh?” Brylie inspects the ring, a gold band with an I-have-no-idea-what-carat boulder sits on my finger.
“Ugh,” I groan, snatching my hand back and turning the ring so the diamond faces my palm.
Brylie has her thinking face on while Lucy worries the feathers on her tutu from theSwan Lakecorps de ballet she and Brylie wore to match my bodice.
For the after-party, I freshened up and changed into something more comfortable and less sweaty, while still matching the masquerade theme. Now I’m in satin ballet flats, the white swan feathered bodice without the leotard, and myGiselleromantic tutu. A white-veiled feather crown pins back half of my hair with the rest tamed in loose barrel curls that fall over my shoulders.
I would’ve felt pretty, but ever since Momma showed up, I might as well be a Troll doll. At least if I decide to dramatically cry from rage or pity, my feather mask will hide my tears.
Brylie shrugs. “Take it off. It’s not like he’ll notice. He’s barely talked to you all night.”
I wince. “It sucks that you’re right.”
Lucy analyzes me in that curious way she has of reading people like a book, right down to the last page. Which is a relief at the moment because I don’t want to have to spell out the confusing mix of emotions inside me.
“You’re spiraling, huh?” she finally asks. “That’s why you’re in the darkest corner of Masque?”
“Yup, I’m spiraling.” I wrap my arms around my stomach, where fear, anxiety, and regret churn like a hangover from hell.
“And I don’t blame you!” Brylie whisper-shouts around her drink cup. “That was like proposing at someone else’s wedding.”
“Not helping, Bry,” Lucy scolds.
“I know, okay?” I answer anyway. “I feel awful about that too.”
“Youshouldn’t feel bad,” Lucy insists. “It’shisfault.”
She glares at the back of Zy’s head while he probably brags about how he came up with the idea to sabotage Bon Temps Night.
I mean… propose.
