Page 26 of Unveil
Lucy and I have talked about it, the expectations that come with being part of the Troisgarde, the elite in this city. Brylie’s prickly attitude makes her immune, but Lucy and I get bombarded everywhere we go, online and in real life. Our actions are heavily scrutinized, and not just onstage.
That’s why leaving is so tempting. Just… disappearing. Lucy and I fantasize about it all the time. Being anonymous, normal. That’s what I want right now. Rebellion and sabotage itch under my skin, telling me to flee and never come back. It’d devastate my parents, but I need to do something or I’ll combust.
I press my fingers to my temple, trying to massage away an impending headache.
My emotions are everywhere. I’m running on fumes, adrenaline, and alcohol—a terrible combo, but that’s what I get for pregaming two nights straight. A surprise proposal by the guy I was one conversation away from breaking up with doesn’t help either.
“May I have this dance?” a deep voice says, barely audible over the thumping music.
A black-gloved hand enters my vision, palm up. My gaze rises to find Zy in the Siegfried costume jacket, its high collar raised to his jawline, a crossbow peeking over his shoulder, and his dark hair tousled over his black mask. The costume team really went all out on the prop weapon. It looks real, not that I’d know the difference. And Jesus, I knew Zy was big, but sitting down like this, he looks as massive as a Saints football player.
His sharp focus needles into me like he’s searching for signs of… something.
“You feel okay?” he asks, an edge to his voice. His posture is stiff but his hand is still out casually, waiting for me to hold it.
I blink. “Yeah… of course, I just…” Even with all that running through my mind, only one thing comes out. “You changed your mask.”
His lips twitch, and I swear his shoulders relax. “The white wasn’t me.”
“Fair enough.” I laugh.
A small smile curves his lips, then he blinks quickly, shaking his head.
“Hold on.” He pulls a bouquet out from behind his back—where the hell did he get that from? “For you.”
I blink, taking in the wildflowers and blush roses amidst sprigs of green, with downy feather accents. A lush meadow fills my hands as I slowly take it and inhale deeply.
The scent reminds me of family road trips through mountain parkways, my hand surfing the wind outside the car window.After the awful meeting that changed everything, we never went back.
My eyes sting, my voice suddenly watery, and I have to clear my throat. “But you already got me flowers.”
The ones my mom loves.
“You like these ones,” he says simply, like it’s no big deal.
“Did you go to Saint’s Petals?” It’s our family’s favorite store, and the only place in the city that always stocks my favorites for me.
“Is there anywhere else? I got them before your show. My… cousins brought them from my car before the party, and I hid them in the corner until I could have my first real moment alone with my fiancée. Miss Mabel’s son says, ‘Hi,’ by the way.”
His words are slower than usual, but maybe that’s the shots catching up to me. Or the fact that this guy I questioned everything about a few minutes ago just asked me to dance and gave me my favorite flowers from my favorite store.
He closes my dropped jaw with a gentle lift of his gloved finger.
“You sure you feel okay?” he asks again, but with less worry behind it this time. “You look a little confused.”
“I am.” I tilt my head at him. “I think I’m not used to this side of you.”
“Ah. Makes sense.” His grin suddenly sends my stomach all a-fluttery, and he motions to me with two fingers. “Come on, Luna Bordeaux. Dance with me.”
For the second time this conversation, my lips part in surprise, entranced by the man who most assuredly got hit on the head during his smoke break. But hell, if he’s asking me to dance, I’m not gonna pass up the opportunity.
I use the tablecloth and mountains of tulle in my tutu to covertly slide my phone back into the carrier garter on my thigh that Brylie’s mom, a costume designer, made for me. Zy tracksthe movement, and I swear there’s heat there I’ve never seen before.
Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.
Before I take his hand, I reach for the drink I’ve barely touched, but it’s snatched from me.
“Zy, what the hell?”
