Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Noémi Jourdain]

  

The way Dmitri looked at her was painful, and in a blink the years closed tight; he seemed bewitched under a spell she had not cast. His dark eyes devoured. The wrap of his palm at the curve of her waist made her his again. Even the smell of him was overpoweringly familiar, drowning out the scent of Nikolai’s perfume on her skin. It was spice and heat and tempestuousness, and it made her heart skitter in fear. 

Yet to look too uncomfortable in their dance would be to risk inviting unwanted attention. She was not sure what Dima would do if someone intervened. Family was paramount to a Vaisiliev, and this event was the pride of his mother’s calendar. But the man had a temper. Upon unexpectedly finding what was lost, she was not sure how easily he would let go. If she could just survive the dance, she could find respite. Slip away without creating a scene.

For now she daren’t look to see if Nikolai had returned. Understanding the reasons for his sojourn from the party sank her heavy heart, but even knowing where rumour had placed him, she did not want him to witness this. The lay of her hands on Dima’s arms was light, her manner demure. Noémi twisted and moved to his guidance like she was air. The gold mask protected her expression at least, and she tried not to meet his eyes. A flash of scarlet in her peripheral did nothing to soothe her unease. Sofia, with Moscow’s Patron.

Dima twirled her out, and when he recaptured her he pulled her effortlessly close. The fingers of his other hand splayed through hers, coaxing intimacy she did not want to give. He leaned close, lips by her ear. “You’re quiet tonight,” he said. His tone was seductive soft, posed somewhere between a question and an accusation.

---

Alina Marveet

Maksim made an effort to usher in their introduction discreetly, but the moment Alina saw him every motivation she had to be careful fizzled to nothing. There was no one here to witness what transpired. Iason had wandered far from the party, as though perhaps he sought solitude. No one knew who he was, of course, but his loneliness broke her heart. He looked so sad, staring up at that mural.

She glanced at Maksim with wide, emotion-filled eyes. Gratitude overflowed that he allowed her this moment with the man who saved his life. But with that thankfulness bloomed the awful memories of how close she may have come to losing him. She squeezed Maksim’s hand before she stepped forward.

How many had Iason saved? And yet he stood here alone. Jensen. The man behind the mask. Alina reached softly for his hands. She daren’t speak his name, knowing the risk she and Maksim took to reveal what they knew. Her smile was gentle, as – wanting to share something meaningful, more than just her gratitude – she pressed his palm to the curve of her stomach. Though the cut of the dress was looser than it might have been there was little yet to feel or see, but the gesture was universal. Jensen had not just saved a son and a husband, but a father.

“Our family does not know yet. It’s our second,” she said to him. “How do I ever thank you?”