Page 87 of Red Masquerade

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Séra smiled a harmless smile as she opened the wardrobe doors. “Eventually. Probably.”

“How…?”

“How am Ihere? Two people in one?”

My silence spurred her on.

“Because he asked me to.”

Vince asked her to become my maid.

He had a set of eyes on me for months now. Someone who observed, who often never spoke, who had access to every part of the house. She had made me feel comfortable, like I had someone to talk to. She knew how I butt heads with Mother, how I snuck out,whereI went.

And then Sinclair—our meeting as though it were an accident, a stranger’s suggestion to return to the party. Tofindthe vampires.

Was anything as it seemed?

“He told me your story, about your brother, and I wanted to help.”

I said nothing, feeling the weight of it, wondering what else there was for me to uncover. She continued on, reaching for dresses, rifling through, pulling a few and laying them out. Dresses of every color, fabric, and length stuffed the closet full. What splendor she’d really had this whole time, while she was playing at being a maid.

“When he came back, really, I wanted to kill him,” she said so casually, and I wasn’t sure if she meant the words literally or not. “He’s quite terrible. AndLord Highsmith—ugh.”

“Is he still there?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Highsmith?” She popped her head out for a moment.

I nodded.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. He and Lucas are figuring out some sort of plan. Your mother is quite emotional, but Lucas is refusing to let her call anyone.”

No wonder the cops hadn’t shown up.

“Does he know—”

“He doesn’t know where you are,” she said, a bit softer, giving me a placating smile. It warmed her entire face, and I suddenly wanted to hug her, to feel someone other than Vince against me. A friend.

She darted back into the closet, continuing her search. “I’m thinking something daring tonight. A statement piece.”

Daring.

Ten minutes later, she had me dressed in a blood-red gown, shorter than anything I’d worn before. It barely covered me, its beaded trim falling just below my behind, the black beading brushing against the sensitive skin of my thighs. Little more than a slip. It was silky and smooth and cool to the touch, and exposed the near entirety of my back, criss-crossed with more beads. Mother would have fallen over if she ever saw me dressed like this. I was truly the harlot she feared—one wrong move, and I’d expose my breasts through the fabric at my sides.

But I didn’t feel exposed. Inspecting myself in the mirror, I peeked over my shoulder at the way the dress fell across my back, how it fluttered out when I turned, how it glinted in the dim electric lights of Séra’s room.

Flora would love it. And in that moment I missed her. I hadn’t called her—so caught up in everything, I hadn’t told her I was alright.

She was the one part of my old life—if I could call it that—that I didn’t want to leave behind. My dearest friend, mysister. She would want to be here.

I ran my hand over the beading on my stomach.

“You should wear that every day,” Séra said, watching from the vanity, a hand on her hip. “I’ve never worn it. You can have it.”

Our eyes met in the mirror. “I love it.”

She patted the vanity. “You need some rouge. You’re gorgeous as is, of course,” she said, while I sat. Running her fingers through my hair, still messy from my evening with Vince, she brushed the waves out and applied gels and a golden headband that sat just across my forehead, like a crown.