Page 54 of Obsession & Oath

No. I made a promise; I have to see this through. If only to prove to myself that I am capable of selflessness. If I manage to prove that to Carmenin the process, that would only be a good thing.

Women draped in silk and satin watch me from across the hall. Their laughter is soft and calculated, and their movements are designed to be seen. They glance my way, waiting for me to approach, waiting for me to choose. I try not to wince.

My mother is somewhere among them, undoubtedly pleased with the performance unfolding before her. Evelina is above emotions as common as smugness, but I’d wager she was very close.

Especially when I force myself to smile and acknowledge her gaggle of bachelorettes.

I agreed to this. Not because I wanted to, not because I care, but because of Carmen. Because she knows me well enough to push my buttons. Because I care enough tolether.

I feel her absence keenly, like a missing piece, a note gone silent in the middle of a song. Carmen isn’t here, and suddenly, no mask in this room is enough to hide the fact that she’s the only one I want to see.

So here I am, standing at the center of a world I don’t want, surrounded by people vying for a future I never wanted to accept.

I take a deep breath, straighten my jacket, and step forward, slipping into the role they expect of me. If I’m going to do this, I’ll do it right.

I barely make it three steps before I hear the familiar click of heels against marble. A moment later, my mother appears beside me, her presence commanding even in the midst of the swirling decadence around us.

Evelina Grasso does not need a mask to make an impression—sheisthe mask, the force that keeps this castle standing and this family together. And yet, as she looks at me now, there’s something softer in her gaze.

“You look…how they say…dashing,amore mio,” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear over the low hum of conversation before leaning in. “Your smile could be a little less strained.”

I smirk, offering my arm, and she takes it without hesitation. “Is looking the part not enough?”

She laughs—a real laugh, warm and knowing. “Perhaps I have simply gotten so used to your happiness these last few weeks. I find that I miss it now.”

I narrow my eyes. There’s something in her tone, something teasing, but before I can pry, she squeezes my arm lightly.

“Thank you, Dante,” she says, and this time, it’s without any edge. “For this. For humoring me.”

For a second, I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve spent years keeping my distance, resisting every attempt she’s made to bring me home. And yet, here she is, asking for nothing but my presence—and oh, how I hate that Carmen was right.

But I don’t get the chance to reply.

“Dante.” The voice is smooth, practiced, and unmistakably confident.

Rina Roma stands before us, her dark hair pulled into an elegant twist, her mask adorned with gold filigree. Her smile is deliberate, her gaze playful as she dips her head in greeting, her attention solely fixed on me.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to fight for a moment of your time,” she says, her lips curving in amusement. “Surely, you wouldn’t deny me a dance?”

I glance at my mother, who arches a brow, her expression unreadable. Odd…she’d been so eager for me to indulge Rina before. But perhaps the older woman was frustrated that the bachelorette had imposed on our moment.

Not wanting to cause a scene, I turn back to Rina and offer my hand.

“Of course,” I say smoothly, easily slipping into the performance. “It would be my pleasure.”

But as I lead her onto the dance floor, a strange unease settles in my chest. My hand rests lightly at her waist, guiding her through the measured steps of the dance, but my focus is slipping.

“I was hoping you’d be more delighted to see me,” Rina says softly, not bothering with the preamble. “Hosting a ball after all this time…I thought you might have had a chance to consider my proposal from the beginning of the summer.”

“Is this not the face of a delighted man?” I reply, pointedly refusing to address the latter part.

She quirks her head slightly. “Usually, men are slightly more…enthralled when I make an effort to dress up for them.”

Belatedly, I note the gown of deep emerald silk that clings to her every curve with scandalous audacity.

“You look lovely.”

She huffs at my mechanic tone. “Perhaps you could save me the embarrassment and simply tell me what will enthrall you the most.”

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