𝙒𝙝𝙤 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨?
Newly graduated accountant Cordelia Ashling has come to terms with the fact that her life is destined to be absolutely uneventful. That is until her parents gift her wi...
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I have never felt so torn. Being trapped on this island with Cordelia has been like something out of a dream. I had given up hope of finding that person who I connect with on so many levels. She breezed into my life like a twister, uprooting everything. Yet, she is the spring winds laced with jasmine and fresh strawberries. She is perfect for me in every way, and someone is determined to take her from me.
So much remains unsaid between us, life-changing declarations that I'm sure would put her in more danger. After tonight when the spell no longer binds us to this island, I'll come clean. She will know the truth about who I am and the bond that ties me to her. She will be able to return to the safe life her parents built for her or return with me to live an extraordinary existence. Either way, the choice will be hers. Until that moment, I plan to enjoy what could be my final night with Cordelia Ashling.
I take a final look at the mask that will hide me from her during the masquerade ball. The full-face covering is simple in its molding. A genderless face made to look like marble with silver and gold filigree meticulously placed along the jaw and curving over the brow. The spell cast on the mask will allow me to see out but will disguise my eyes as endless dark pits. I place it over my face and pull the hood of my black cloak over my head.
The masquerade ball is the final test of the Wicked Encounters event. If true matches were made over the summer, they must find each other, and rumor has it that the task isn't easy. Everyone must either wear a cloak and mask or a veil, depending on the attire they are most comfortable in. Many have found themselves in the arms of someone else by the end of the night. I don't fear that being the case for Cordelia and me.
It might take her a moment to locate me in the crowd. She will expect me to be wearing a suit, but it is a cookie-cutter replica of the others—a black thigh-length jacket trimmed in the same filigree that lines our masks and white shirt and tie. Even with the matching attire, I have no doubt that she will find me.
She was meant to find me.
With one final glance at my eerie attire, I step out of our room. My cape billows behind me as I take long strides toward the ballroom, and the heels of my leather shoes tap against the floor. Others descend the grand staircase along with me, remaining silent as we were directed.
I pass several women who wear elaborate gowns that sweep across the floor and matching magical veils that distort their features. I don't need to hear their voices to know that none of them are Cordelia. They lack the sexy sway of her full hips.
The music of an orchestra flows down the corridor, leading us all to the ballroom. The double doors are held open by members of the house staff who bow their heads in greeting as we pass through. Several people have already paired up on the dance floor, twirling under the golden glow of the candlelit chandeliers. Others huddle in groups, leaning in close to speak over the music and masks that muffle their voices.
I tried to convince her to give me a hint about what her dress looked like, but she wouldn't even tell me what color it was. I don't blame her; we are supposed to be utterly clueless about the other's attire for the "test" to be truly valid.
