Page 25 of Mistletoe Masquerade
Turned out, I had just seen what I wanted to see.
Turned out, I’d been played.
I spin us around so that her back is against the wall with me facing her. I keep one hand across her mouth and use the other to pin her hands above her head.
“I’m going to remove my hand, and you’re not going to scream. Understood?”
She nods.
I ease my hand away. It slides down to her throat and angles her face so her eyes are lifted to mine.
“What were you after?” My voice is sharp as a blade and equally ruthless.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. Sante and Tommy had nothing to do with this, I swear.”
“You must think I’m real fucking dumb,” I growl at her.
She lets out a whimper, and I have to fight back the urge to apologize for Christ knows what.
“You weren’t on that guest list. You hid the fact that you were in with the Morettis. You fucking lied, Sachi. Now, tell me why,goddammit.” My outburst causes me to accidentally tighten my grip. Sachi’s eyes widen a fraction, but she doesn’t struggle, despite the fear reflected in those beautiful brown eyes.
I instantly relax my hold.
I can’t help it. Despite it all, I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t even want her to fear me, though that’s the only way I’m going to find out what this was all about.
“I did lie to you, but not in the way you’re thinking.” Her softly spoken confession is calm. Vulnerable. I sense genuine grief, and I don’t understand it. My intuition has never failed me on such a grand scale. But if I were to believe what my gut is telling me, how can I possibly align that with everything I’ve learned?
“You were horrified to see me on the other side of that door,” I remind herandmyself.
“Yes, because I was worried my friends would be upset and that you’d hate me for deceiving you.”
“You’re saying they didn’t know you were there.”
“They knew I went, but they knew nothing about you.”
“And why, pray tell, did they think you were at theball?” My question drips condescension because I can’t imagine how she can explain her way out of this.
“I wasn’t on the guest list, but I didn’t sneak in,” she whispers, her gaze dropping as though in … what? Embarrassment? What would she have to be embarrassed about? I stay quiet and allow her to continue. “I was there for work. I was part of the catering team.”
My body stills as I process what she’s told me.
I hadn’t even considered that possibility, mostly because there hasn’t been enough time, and I’ve been too worked up to think clearly during the time Ihavehad. “You were supposed to be a server at the party?”
“No, I’m a sculptor. I carved the fruit displays.”
I think back to the food tables. “Poinsettias.”
She nods.
“The art gallery,” I recall. “You said you started out in sculpting.”
“There is a gallery, but I work there. I don’t own it.”
“I don’t understand,” I demand impatiently. Why all the smoke and mirrors? What’s the motive?
Her chin quivers, cinching a vise tight around my chest. “I work all these extravagant parties, and for once, I just wanted to experience things from the other side. One night of indulgence. I never expected the rest to happen.”
I chew on her words and hunt for the telltale tang of deception. “You weren’t surprised when you saw me tonight—not the same way I was. You knew who I was.” It’s the one sticking point I have left. I’ve never met her,but she somehow knew me. She knew seeing me at Sante’s place was a possibility.
