But I don’t move, even as he allows me the chance to leave the restroom first. I stare past him for what feels like hours, unseeing and barely hearing, and only turn my head as he pulls open the door and starts to slip outside.
A glimmer catches my eye as he moves, a gold, heart-shaped pendant drawing my attention to his neck. It peeks out just above his collar, caught on an undone button, and I blink in disbelief.No fucking way.
“Hey, wait. Is that—”
But he doesn’t wait for the rest of my question, slipping out of the bathroom and into the throng of people crowding the hallway before I can finish my sentence.
* * *
Chasing the man out into the street isn’t my best idea, but it’s the only thing flashing through my mind at the moment. I leave the bathroom, the unconscious girl, and my vomit, heels protesting as I sprint through the hall and out the front doors to the wraparound driveway.
My head swings left and right, frantic in its search for the mystery man. I reach up and scratch at my throat, the absence of my necklace raw and suffocating.
The March air is sharp on my skin as I stand outside the Montalto Arts Center, my dress providing almost no extra warmth. Rubbing my arms, I scan the front lawn, studying the figures spread out in social clusters, some drinking from champagne flutes and giggling, others engaged in hushed conversation or leaving the party entirely.
No one looks at me, though. I may as well not even be standing here, shivering.
Holding my chin up, I approach a middle-aged couple; the woman has a stole wrapped around her biceps, a bright elephant brooch stapled to one side, while the man dangles an unlit cigar from one corner of his mouth.
Tapping on his shoulder, I give him my best Juliet Harrison smile. “Long shot, but is there any chance you saw a man in a gold mask come outside? He has something that belongs to me, and I’d love to get it back.”
The man squints as if trying to place my face in the dim lighting provided by the party inside. “No, ma’am, I can’t say I did.”
Nodding, I start to turn away, when the woman clears her throat, reaching out and gripping my forearm. Her French manicure bites into my skin, urgent and unyielding. “Agoldmask?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re absolutely sure that’s the color?”
“Yes.”Jesus, what is with this lady?Her eyes grow wide and she yanks her hand away as if I’ve burned her. I rub at the marks she left; the pair takes a collective step back, and I’m starting to feel like a leper. “Okay, well. Thanks for the information.”
“Young lady,” the woman says, drawing me away from my retreat, “the Ivers are the only family in there with gold masks tonight.”
“TheIvers? Ivers International, Ivers?” She nods, and I pinch my eyes closed, an unsettling feeling taking root in the pit of my stomach.
“If your masked man is that Kieran, you’re much better off without it, dear.” She gives me a sympathetic smile, looping her arm through her companion’s and tugging him away, like they’re setting themselves in Kieran’s sights just by talking to me.
Grumbling to myself, I drift toward the side of the building, away from the bustling crowd and the intruding light.
Darkness feels so much better on my skin, a shroud I don’t have to pretend in.
I pull my phone from my bra, unlocking the screen and scrolling through messages. They’re mostly an unread conversation in a group chat between me and my three best friends. Selma, Carter, and Avery were engaged in an argument hours ago about what bar they should celebrate at, since Selma’s officially passed her CPA license exam, despite the fact that it’s taboo for her. She always comes out with us anyway, designating herself our babysitter, trying to keep us out of trouble.
Swiping left, I clear the screen and tuck the phone back inside my dress, leaning against the side of the building and dropping onto my ass. The ground is cold even through the fabric of my dress, the air keeping a steady crop of goose bumps on my skin, but I don’t make a move to go inside.
Propping my head against the wall, I let out a soft exhale, watching my breath puff out above my face. Part of me wants to text the group chat, see if the girls found somewhere to go, but the other part knows Caroline will send a search party out for my ass if she catches wind that I even sniffed in the direction of a bar.
Like I don’t have a handle on my drinking.
Please.It’s been days since I stole a swig of scotch from Elia’s home office. Even longer since I smuggled vodka upstairs to the spare bedroom I’ve been occupying, hiding it in my backpack to avoid my sister’s watchful gaze.
Right now, I’m wishing I’d at least downed some Russian liquid confidence before coming tonight.
I stare up at the moon, contemplating the likelihood of ever getting my locket back, and a thick fog of misery begins to settle in my bones, pulling at the haphazard thread holding my soul together. My chest tightens, my legs shake, as a sharp pang flashes through my chest, the events of the past two years running a marathon in my head.
Caroline’s whirlwind wedding to a man with others’ blood on his hands, our father being outed on accounts of abuse toward her, his supposed suicide, my mother’s subsequent disappearance, and the birth of my niece, Poppy. It’s all been so much, I’m not surprised Caroline just got around to changing her surname last month.
Now, she’s officially a Montalto, and the only Harrison left in King’s Trace is me.