The moment I fix the clasp on my bracelet and smooth the gown from my waist, the door to my room swings open without warning. Lucien fills the doorway. My eyes flick to the clock on the wall—10:30, on the dot. Of course.
He is wearing a slim-fit charcoal suit that looks like it has been sewn onto him. The crisp white shirt underneath frames the sharp V of his chest, the top button undone. His dark hair is pulled back into a low bun at the nape of his neck. It looks subtle but not overly polished. His dark suit made the lighter flecks in his lethal blue eyes stand out.
"You ready?" he asks in his smooth voice.
I turn fully toward him while my fingers rest against the vanity. "What do you think?"
Lucien glances over me once, slowly, from the slit of my gown to the shimmer of my earrings. I can't believe even his gaze alone prickles my skin. This silence is making me uneasy, so I clear my throat and ask him. "Aren't we a little too fancy for dinner at home?
He leans against the doorframe, one hand braced on the molding, the other resting in his pocket. "We are going somewhere."
This small tilt in his head, the way his mouth hints at a smile, makes my pulse trip. He holds out his hand. "Come on."
Eleven months ago...hell, even six... I would have asked where and demanded the full details. But his version of Anaya Brooks has been stripped down and rebuilt. I don't ask now. I just nod, stand, and cross the room toward him.
My heels click softly on the floor, the slit in the dress parting with each step. I place my hand in his, and his fingers close around mine—cold, certain, not too tight, but firm enough to clench my pussy.
As we walk down the hallway together, my mind churns with questions I am not gonna ask. Because with Lucien, half the danger isn't in the answers; it is in not knowing what is coming next.
I slide into the leather seat of Lucien's black Maybach; the faint scent of rich cedar and something darker lingers in the air. The door clicks shut with a muffled sound, sealing me with Lucien. He is beside me, one leg stretched out, one arm resting loose but controlled on the center console.
My mind just keeps going 'round and 'round with that obvious question—where the hell are we going? Why is he pulling me out like some kind of prize to be shown off? Why all of a sudden the grand exit? Why now?
Lucien isn't the type to play tour guide. If he wanted me to know, he'd tell me. And yet, here I am in a gown that can turn heads, sitting in a car that can outrun anything on the road, with him looking like he just stepped out of a GQ spread.
I look at him out of the corner of my eye. His jaw is relaxed, but I am sure he is thinking ten steps ahead. Every turn the car takes feels deliberate, like we are headed somewhere he'd planned well in advance.
"Lucien." I finally break the silence. "You are not gonna tell me?"
He doesn't even bother to look at me, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he finds my impatience amusing. "You'll see."
I roll my eyes, leaning back. He is infuriating when he is like this, calm, collected, and holding all the cards.
When the car slows and the familiar ivy-covered walls of Hotel Bel-Air come into view, my breath catches in my throat. I turn sharply toward him. "What? I mean...why are we even here?"
He looks at me. And raises his brow. Like, he doesn't understand the language I am talking in.
"Last time I went out." I try to remind him. "Remember, I bump into Autumn."
Lucien nods firmly. "Yeah. And I knew it before it actually happened."
I take a deep breath, shake my head, and lean back into the seat. "I don't think I am ready to bump into anyone. I wanna go back to the mansion.
The car rolls to a smooth stop. His arm slides subtly around my waist. Not forceful, just there, sending shivers down my spine even through my dress. "Do you trust me? he asks, low.
My instinct is to fire back no. Not right now. Not when trust feels like a loaded weapon in his world. But the way his eyes locked on mine, steady and unflinching, keeps me still. Anchored.
The door opens, and a rush of cool night air sweeps in. Something in me shifts. Maybe it is adrenaline, or maybe it is Lucien's proximity, but a flicker of confidence ignites in my chest.
I step out, his hand still at my back; this is another level of torture; I have to force myself not to let loose in his inevitable charm. Inside, a soft glow of chandeliers greeted us...along with an attendant offering us sleek black masks on a silver tray.
I stare at the one in my hand. "Seriously? Masquerade?"
Lucien is already sliding his on, the sharp lines of the mask framing his eyes, making me even more unreadable. "Just keep your chin up and smile," he whispers in my ear.
When his breath touches my earlobe, I literally feel a heat between my thighs. He is doing exactly...chin high, shoulders loose, like he owns the room. He turns to me, extends his hand. "Dance with me?"
I arch a brow. "With pleasure."
On the floor, his icy cold palm settles at my back again, guiding me through the crowd. I let myself move with him; the sway and spin pulling me into a rhythm that makes it hard to think straight.
"What if anybody recognizes me here?" I ask, keeping my voice low as he twirls me under his arms. "Aren't we gonna be in trouble?"
"You are free, Anaya," he says. I was waiting for more, but that's it? Should I be carefree with these four words?
I blink. "Free?" I repeat the word like it doesn't belong to me anymore.
I know he is not gonna explain; he just draws me closer into the next turn, the music carrying me through the crowd like nothing else existed.
And though I don't understand what he means, I don't push. Instead, I keep dancing with him, carrying a thousand questions in my head...about him, about myself, about why this night feels like it is opening a door I don't even know is there.
The last note of the music hangs in the air before the room dips into that brief, fragile silence between songs. I feel Lucien's hand loosen at my waist, his other sliding down from my palm and then…
The door at the far end of the ballroom swings open with a sharp clack against the wall.