Page 24 of Captive Bride

We both know it.

I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, head held high as I navigate my way to the ballroom. Back to the Governor and my gilded cage.

I enter the ballroom with steadfast determination. I don’t know why I’ve come here, but I know it’s where I have to be.

The doors swing open in a rush, a sad imitation of announcers at royal balls long gone.

Still, the effect is the same. Hundreds of eyes turn to meet me.

The smiles are instantaneous, masks firmly in place.

“Isobel!” a stranger shouts. “There you are!”

The rush is just as before. Countless well-wishers swarm around, each looking to bestow their good tidings.

The champagne has definitely helped this time around. On steady feet, I face them.

“I’m SO happy for you!” says a woman in a peacock mask.

“Yes, such a match!” pipes a man in a top hat.

Someone should really tell him that masks are the order of the day.

“The Governor is a great man.” a silver masked woman adds.

I take it in stride, my mind millions of miles away.

In my head, the sea of faces is reduced to one. I see only forest green eyes.

I taste his tongue in my mouth.

My wrists ache with the pressure of his grip.

I can feel my skin flushing, heat searing it’s way into my body.

I can’t stop picturing my masked man. I can’t stop feeling his touch.

“Isobel!”

My mind comes screeching to the present.

My mother stands before me, eyes full of worry.

“Where have you been, dear?” she asks, words dripping with honey.

“Here,” I lie. “Just making the rounds.”

She looks sideways at me, clearly not convinced.

“I just needed a moment,” I add hastily.

My mother can’t find out the truth. I might as well go and confess my whereabouts to my father.

For all of her decorum, the woman’s mouth is a running faucet. I won’t slip up now.

I think again of the stranger in the lobby.

It’s unendingly stupid, I know that. If my father were to find out about the kiss, he’d have the man killed in a heartbeat.

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