Page 98 of Prince of Masks
Peeling away from Mr Vasile, Father moves for me. “Where have you been?”
Dray answers for me, “I was showing Olivia the plans for the pool.”
I school my face, despite my mind thrumming with one question,what pool?
Amelia flicks her gaze over her son, head-to-toe. “You are still a mess, Dray.”
He is.
Covered in mud.
A panic rushes through me.
Do I have mud on me? Or did he sneakily makut it away when we left the library, and I was too bottled in my shame to realise?
I hope for the latter. And no one mentions any mud on me, so I think it true.
“I thought it best to escort Olivia back to the party before I went to shower.” Dray’s grin is a flash. “Olivia agrees,” he says with a pointed look at his mother, “an indoor pool is best. Wouldn’t want to ruin the sanctity of the gardens.”
Amelia tuts, annoyed, then snubs us entirely.
She leads the way through the creamy, pastel foyer to the drawing room.
Mother keeps to her side, but the look she spares me is brimmed with suspicion… or curiosity.
Father doesn’t follow the party.
He hangs back.
I watch the throngs of aristos leave, flicking my gaze to the coat I left draped over the loveseat, and feeling the book burning at my spine.
Wish Father would leave me, like the rest of the party. But he doesn’t, and once the others are out of sight, he turns his focused stare on Dray.
I frown.
Whatever question is in that look, Dray answers it with a silent gesture, a slight shake of the head.
It’s enough.
Father hums a curt sound, then stalks off. “Come play for us, Olivia.”
His order.
The piano.
The entertainment.
Truly, I don’t mind. The piano in the drawing room of Thornbury Park is exquisite.
It’s just not the right time for me, you know?
I’m a bit hot, bit flustered, a lot ashamed, and I think I’m barely managing to hold off the crushing realisation of what just happened from coming down on me.
Cry later, right?
That can wait for home.
I move for my coat.
