He laughs then, a rich sound that fills the space between us, and for a moment, it drowns out everything else—the music from inside, even the wind through the trees.
“We all wear masks,” he says. “Some are just more obvious than others.”
He turns toward me fully now, our arms almost touching along the balustrade. I think about leaning in closer, of allowing his arm to brush mine, then I rebuke myself for the folly.
Still, I inch closer, my gaze fixating on the mask that obscures his features. It’s ornate and expertly crafted to cover everything but his mouth. Even his eyes remain hidden behind the reflective surface.
“Why are you wearing such a thorough disguise?” I ask.
“A man must protect himself, even in celebration.”
“You speak as if you’re in danger,” I say, trying to match his playfulness.
“Perhaps I am.” There’s an edge to his tone that suggests he’s not entirely jesting.
“From whom?” My curiosity piques further. “The masked dancers within?”
He leans closer to me. “From enchanting strangers who ask too many questions.”
I can’t help but laugh. There’s something about this man, his wit, the ease with which he carries himself that captivates me.
“You’re quite adept at avoiding questions.”
“And you’re quite persistent in asking them,” he says, his voice warm and teasing.
“Can you blame me?” I press on. “A man of mystery appears on my birthday, speaking in riddles and half-truths.”
“A birthday? Then perhaps a gift is in order.”
“A gift?” My long, unbound hair brushes against my shoulders as I shake my head at him. “But you don’t even know me.”
He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a necklace with a seashell pendant.
My fingers tremble as I take it, the cool metal pooling in my palm. I run my thumb over the seashell’s smooth surface, taking in every whorl and curve of the conch shell.
“How did you...?” My voice trails off.
He couldn’t possibly know of my love for seashells. Only my family knows. Well…and Jasce.
It’s really him!
My pulse thrums in my ears as I think about throwing myself into his arms. “This is impossible,” I whisper, not wanting anyone else to hear me. “You are—”
“—delighted to see you.” He smirks, as if he finds amusement in his words, then he wags his hand at me. “And remember, impossible is a word used by those lacking a keen imagination.”
My mouth parts as I jerk my eyes over his mask, wanting to rip it away, to see his ruggedly handsome face.
The applause inside the ballroom crescendos, like a wave crashing against the cliffs. I look up as Asha steps onto the veranda and glances between me and Jasce. Even though I know she won’t recognize him behind his disguise, panic rises in my throat as I imagine guards swarming us, their swords drawn.
Her focus slides to Jasce, and for a split second, her eyes narrow before she schools her features into practiced neutrality. “Who might this be?”
Instinctively, I step between them. “Just someone who appreciates the night as much as I do,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the thundering of my heart.
Asha studies me for a moment before she speaks. “I see,” she says, and I fear she sees too much.
“Forgive me,” Jasce says before Asha can delve deeper. “I didn’t mean to intrude on family time. I’ll take my leave.”
He bows to Asha, then to me. Asha’s eyes follow him as he retreats into the shadows of the garden.
