Curse of the Wolf King - Tessonja Odette Page 0,97

and the bad. It’s the story as a whole that matters.

But if that were true, then why have I been running from love ever since the scandal with Oswald? Why have I been pushing everyone away? Why have I been dreaming of an isolated life in Isola?

Elliot squeezes my hand, his brow furrowed. “What is it?”

I realize my gaze has dropped, and my lips have pulled into a frown. With a quick shake of my head, I return my eyes to his and force a convincing smile. “It’s—” I want to say it’s nothing, but can’t summon the words. Because it isn’t nothing. It’s everything. Something has changed inside me, and I can’t ignore it any longer. The truth is, I’ve grown to like Elliot in a way he’ll never be able to like me back. All he wants is to be rid of his seelie form and become a wolf again. How many times has he reminded me of this fact? When the curse is broken, he’ll flee this place, return to the caves he was once so fond of.

And I…I’ll lose him.

Like the boy and his dog.

But if I’m the boy in this story, and Elliot is the dog, then perhaps I can accept that my life has become better from him being in it. Maybe it’s even true that he’s saved me in a way. Reminded me what it’s like to open up to someone, trust someone with the pains of my past. Maybe I’m starting to believe in…I can’t even think the word. But I know it’s there. That tender connection between two people. Maybe it doesn’t have to last forever to be real.

The song draws near its end, and with it comes an urge to speak my truth—the answer to his question that still hangs between us. We slow to a stop with the music and pause in place, my hand still clasped in his, his palm still firm against my back.

I take a deep breath. “It’s just…I think I’m going to miss you, wolf man.”

The crease deepens between his brows. He opens his mouth to speak, but this is where the dancers must part and offer curtsies and bows. I dip low, and he folds into a bow a moment too late. As we rise, his expression remains flustered, but again any potential response from him is cut off as the floor erupts with polite applause. The sound acts as a wall in my mind, one that seals off this moment from the last, between now and the magic of our dance. On this side lies logic, duty, and a scheme that must be brought to completion. On the other is a beautiful memory I’ll keep with me always. But in the past it must stay.

The applause dies down, and the couples separate to find new partners. Elliot advances toward me. “Gemma—”

“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Rochester,” I say with calm and poise, my false persona wrapped tight around me. My smile, however, is genuine, and my heart is at peace. Or as peaceful as it can be with such a bittersweet ache at its core. “I have much work to do, and I will get on with it now.”

Before he can argue, I turn to leave. A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down, vaguely aware of the feel of his eyes burning into me with every step I take away from him. Their heat lingers long after I’m lost in the crowd.

32

The night wears on, and I stay far from the dance floor, keeping to tasks that take me to the perimeter of the ballroom or other rooms altogether. I visit the footman, the servants, confirming all is going well for the evening. Then I make my rounds to the refreshments table, the parlor, finding everything in neat working order. Next, I check on Bertha and the cooks, ensuring supper is coming along in the kitchen, then oversee the final preparations for the dinner table. Since the dining room has been requisitioned for dancing, the break for supper will take place in a smaller, adjoining room.

I return to the ballroom only on occasion, to keep tabs on Elliot from afar. Although I’d rather keep my distance for the remainder of the evening, I’m prepared to intervene if needed. Thankfully, he appears perfectly capable of performing his duties without my assistance. I catch him in several conversations throughout the night, but most importantly, he dances with Imogen as planned.