Page 131 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

Chapter Forty

Natia

A Taurus doesn’t get mad or even. You just become irrelevant when you screw them over.

Supposedly, people only remember twenty percent of a conversation. So why do I remember every single word of the one I had twenty-four hours ago?I will protect you… I want you… I can be that darkness you crave… You just need to surrender… I won’t hurt you… We aren’t finished.

I shake my head—maybe because he’s burrowed his way deep in my soul, and my stupid heart hangs on to his every word? I’ve come to a number of conclusions over the course of the day, while ensuring the champagne glasses are in the correct place and the napkins match the tablecloths. One, Archan is like the Borg—resistance truly is futile. The only thing I can do is control the descent. Two, I need to come clean about the key—at least to my guys. Secrets can only hurt us and set us on a disastrous path. Plus, it’s the literal key to Pandora’s Box or, in reality, the Jar, and if I tell the guys, maybe I won’t feel the need to carry it around with me. Even now, it sits in my clutch. Three, heels are torture devices masquerading as fashion—all balls should make sneakers compulsory at black tie events.

Sighing, I slip on the deep purple satin heels and stare at my reflection in the silver-gilded floor-to-ceiling mirror. My hair is in an elaborate updo, and my makeup is dramatic, with smoky eyeshadow that makes my turquoise eyes pop. My black dress has a fitted, plain, black bodice with two thin straps that streak diagonally over one shoulder. My back is bare, apart from the intricate gold roses painted on one side. The full tulle skirt reaches my calves at the front then dips at the back to trail on the floor. A vintage half masquerade mask decorated with tiny crystals and a lace design that shields one eye finishes the look.

There’s a knock on the door. “Natia, are you ready?” my grandfather asks.

I open the door and hand him the mask. “Put this on for me?”

He grins. “I don’t know, sweetheart, I don’t think it will suit me.”

“Ha ha, Gramps.”

I face the mirror and hold the mask in position. He ties the silk ribbon and peers over my shoulder at my reflection. “You look beautiful, Natia… Your grandmother would be so proud of the captivating, smart, young woman you have become.” His words tear at the part of me that’s been so tender these last couple of weeks. A sudden sob gets caught in my throat, and I turn to put my head on his shoulder.I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry.

He holds me close and pats my back. “Come on, sweetheart… our guests await.”

“She’s with us, you know, Gramps.”

“I know. She still admonishes me for eating too much chocolate and not doing enough exercise.” I laugh as we make our way to the top of the sweeping grand staircase, complete with a red carpet; it’s like something out of a fairy tale. My grandma was a romantic and liked to make an entrance.

I hold tightly to Gramps’s hand as we walk down the wide stairs. “Don’t let me fall.”

“Never, sweetheart. We can’t have a repeat of the 2003 summer ball, can we?”

I nudge him gently with my elbow. “That’s not fair! My dress was too long. I tripped over it.”

He chuckles. “Natia, the dress didn’t reach the floor. Your grandmother would have never allowed it. Find a better excuse, or stick with the truth.”

“And what would that be?” I enquire innocently.

“That you had a crush on Adam Taylor, and you went stomping down the stairs in a temper when you saw him give Wendy Thomas a glass of punch.”

He had me there. “He shouldn’t have been giving anybody punch but me.”

“Natia, she was seventy-three years old.”

“That’s beside the point.”

We crack up laughing before catching ourselves to look like the classic stony-faced hosts we’re meant to be. I sweep my gaze over the room; there must be over three hundred people here.

I lean over and whisper, “Did you invite every eligible bachelor in Seattle? This isn’t a ‘marry off Natia by Christmas’ ball, is it?” I start panicking a little, a bit worried my theory may be true.

He laughs. “You’re more than capable of finding your prince when you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Remember that when you’re trying to get me to dance with skinny George over there who’s investigating the origin of his brains via his nose, or Ben, who’s rearranging himself in front of three hundred people.” Gramps follows my gaze, and we both chuckle.

I spend an hour with Gramps, being led from family to family, who all say how wonderful it is to see me back. I don’t point out this is one ball, and if I could help it, it would be the last. Social duty complete, I head to the far-right corner to sit in the window—my little safe haven when the party gets to be too much.

On my way, I grab a glass of champagne and some unrecognizable canapés, one of which has three small layers: cream, pink, and brown. Not the most visually appealing combination of colors for food—but it’s in layers, so I couldn’t resist. Dropping my purse next to me on the floor, I swing my feet onto the window seat, pull my knees up, and slide my back against the wall, allowing me to hide behind the heavy drapes.

Selecting my first canapé, I carefully pick the top cream-colored layer off and pop it into my mouth. My brain sorts through the possible flavors—something cream cheese based, I think. Just as I start to peel back the pink layer, a familiar, deep, baritone voice rumbles, “I see you still have strange eating habits.”

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