can’t know I’m here or the Benedetti family will rain down its wrath.
And so, I pick up my mask, adjust it to cover my face and am about to walk back out into the hallway when I see another door, this one built into the wall so unless you look at exactly the right angle, you’d miss the cut-out altogether.
I go to it and study the wallpaper closely. It’s beautiful. I’ve seen a painting similar to the scene but can’t remember the name of the artist. The nuns would frown upon that. So would Franco Benedetti. He’s paying a fortune to educate me, I guess so I don’t bore his son. Not that conversation will be the sort of entertainment he’ll be expecting, I’m sure.
The Swan Maiden. That’s what the painting is called. Inspired by the fairy tale.
The thought sends a chill through me and, without thinking, I reach out to caress the feathers of the beautiful painted swan. Presto. There’s a bounce like a spring, and the door opens.
I smile at the surprise. It’s meant to be, I think.
And I’m not shocked the Constantine house would have a secret passageway or two. The opposite.
I peer into the short corridor that leads to a staircase where I can feel a slight breeze. There’s no light switch, but I can see light around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. I look behind me, thinking I should go back. I should close the door to this secret passage and walk out into the hallway and do the safe thing.
But then I see the clock again. Twenty-five minutes.
I don’t let myself think about it. I take hold of the metal railing and make my way down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible by walking on the balls of my feet, which isn’t easy in these heels.
The staircase curves and twists, and I follow it, growing a little anxious when I have to feel my way through a long, dark corridor. Before I can panic, I’m at the end of it, and I see where the light is coming in around the door. This one has a doorknob, no spring.
I put my hand on it, part of me hoping it’s locked so I can run back upstairs and be the good girl I’m expected to be, but another part, the part I like more, turns the doorknob. I’m elated when it opens onto an unlit patio beyond which is a beautiful, small lake surrounded by trees.
The best part? It’s deserted. And apart from a hum of noise of the guests in the main garden, it’s quiet.
A secret garden.
I cross the patio, reach down to slip off my heels, and hold onto them by their straps before stepping onto soft, cool grass that tickles my feet. I walk toward the lake, hurrying as I take in the lights in the trees around me, realizing they’re fireflies.
I laugh out loud at this. It’s been years since I’ve seen them. My sister, Isabella, and I would chase them when we were little, trying to capture them in jars with holes we punched into the lids. I turn a circle and look up at the sky and the beauty of it all. It looks magical, so perfect I want to cry.
But when, in the next moment I crash into someone smelling too strongly of alcohol and something even less pleasant, all the beauty of the moment vanishes. I turn to find a man in an animal costume so exaggerated, so frightening, I scream.
The man laughs and pushes the mask on top of his head while I clutch my chest.
“Well, hello sweet angel,” he drawls, openly looking me over and still holding onto me with one hand while a bottle of whiskey dangles from the other.
“You scared me half to death!”
He grins, and I look at his hand around my arm, feel how it tightens a little.
Shit.
“What are you doing out here?” His eyes openly drop to my chest where the gown has lifted my breasts so high that if I reach up, I’ll pop out of it.
Someone whistles from the trees, and I look over to find another man walk out of the shadows while doing up the zipper of his pants. He also has one of those masks on top of his head. It’s a sort of wolf or something.
“Well, lookey here. What’d you find?” he calls out to his friend.