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“In a good way?”

“The best.”

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel at peace. Safe and cherished in a way I never thought I’d know.

He holds me tighter, his hands running through my hair, comforting me. “You okay?”

“Mmm.” I press a kiss to his chest. “More than okay.”

“Good.”

Pushing myself up from the cocoon of Connor’s embrace, I blink away the remnants of satiated bliss. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Right through there.” Connor points to the door opposite of the bed. “I’ll make us some food.”

I pad across the plush carpet to the bathroom. Inside. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—hair mussed, skin flushed, lips swollen from Connor’s kisses. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I look thoroughly ravished, and I fucking love it.

After a quick rinse, I wrap myself in one of Connor’s obscenely fluffy towels and head back into the bedroom. The bed tempts me, rumpled sheets beckoning… Food first, then round two. Or three. We’ve got all the time in the world.

I rummage through Connor’s dresser drawers, searching for something to throw on. Socks, boxer briefs, ah—there we go. I snag a soft gray T-shirt and pull it over my head. It skims my thighs, the hem just barely grazing the tops of my legs. Perfect.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply, Connor’s scent enveloping me like a warm embrace. Wearing his clothes, surrounded by his smell… I could get used to this.

As I open my eyes, ready to find Connor, something catches my eye. There, at the back of the drawer, peeking out from beneath a pile of clothes, is a masquerade mask.

Chapter 39

Mary

My heart stops.

No.

My fingers tremble as they close around the smooth material. I hold it up to the light.

Holy shit.

It’s the same fucking mask. The one Chris wore that night. The night that’s been seared into my memory, every detail etched into my brain.

It can’t be.

Connor isn’t Chris. He can’t be. We fought about this, argued… I almost lost him because of my obsession with a man who didn’t want me.

And yet, here it is. The dark blue masquerade mask.

Is this some kind of sick joke? Why? Why would the maskbe here?

I rummage through the drawer, my heart pounding, and my hand closes around a phone. It’s on, the screen glowing, but locked with a passcode. Fuck.

This can’t be happening. There has to be a logical explanation for why Connor has the same mask Chris wore that night. Maybe it’s a popular style, and they both just happen to have the same one. Yeah, that’s it. Lots of people probably bought that mask for that party. It’s just a coincidence.

And the phone…

No.

No.

He would have told me. He wouldn’t let me pour my heart out about another man, knowing it was him all along. Connor wouldn’t do that to me.

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