Page 32 of When Hearts Unravel (The Orchid #6)

I miss her.

After tasting her, touching her, it doesn’t matter whether I deserve Olivia or catharsis. Whether I’m ruining her by involving her with me, a man whose blackouts are occurring more frequently, a man who can’t function without his pills.

I need her. My mind calls out to her. My body craves her.

I’ve convinced myself I can protect her reputation, that she needs this connection as much as I do. That as long as I behave in public, we can have our moments in private. We’ll heal each other. We’ll get this out of our systems.

No one else has to know.

But for the past four days since our kiss in the closet, she’s been avoiding me like a vampire to sunlight.

I don’t see her in the restaurants, on the decks, and when I go to her office, either she’s in an appointment with a patient, or she’ll tell me she’s busy…

Through the closed door.

My chest tightens as I walk toward the elevator bay, not wanting to go to the masquerade ball this evening.

Casey holds open the elevator door and I step in. He’s dressed in a sleek black tux, a demi mask in his hand.

It isn’t an Orchid cruise without an over-the-top, glamorous ball, which is happening off-site at Casa Rocca Piccola, a 16th century palace in our current stop, Malta.

“What are you supposed to be?” he asks, scanning my outfit—a navy velvet coat with gold buttons, a black waistcoat underneath, a white linen shirt with an old-fashioned cravat fastened at the neck. The attire is finished with fitted black breeches and leather boots.

“An aristocrat. Haven’t decided whether I want to be a duke or an earl… Duke of Your Orgasms has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” I smirk.

He rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. “Why did I even ask?”

“I didn’t think you’d be attending,” I murmur as the elevator moves.

“Since when do I not go to your parties?”

My lips hitch up. “Drag you to my parties is more like it. I don’t need a babysitter anymore. I’m thirty-seven.”

Casey dusts the invisible lint off his sleeves. “Trust me, I don’t want to babysit you. But until I can trust you enough or pass that job to someone who can manage you, my conscience won’t let me leave you alone. And you know I’ve saved you from making bad choices over the years.”

Silence falls in the small space again and I think back to our past decades—the good, the bad, the ugly—he’s been by my side through it all.

He’d whispered in my ear at high school graduation, telling me to give my keys to someone else because I had three shots and shouldn’t be driving.

He made me call Lana when I stared into the ocean after Raya’s death, wondering if taking a brisk dive in December after ingesting Velowake and vodka would be enough to shock the senses and make me feel something other than grief.

He knew I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I was talking to my sister because, as reckless as I was, I’d never do anything to traumatize Lana.

And so, that night, as I was sitting on the railing, my body swaying and head dizzy, Lana and I bickered over the phone, her rambling about the douchebags who’d mysteriously ghost her after two dates and I’d make fun of her hopeless romantic self.

To this day, she doesn’t know how close I was to jumping into the ocean that night, how if I did, I probably wouldn’t have survived.

So yes, Casey has saved my ass a few times.

More than a few. And in a world where I’m often alone, I’m grateful. And I guess that’s progress.

“Thank you,” I shift on my feet, “for everything. I’ve been shit to you and you’ve stuck by me. It means a lot.”

He stiffens, his eyes widening at my words. I give him grief and he dishes it right back, but I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked him for not leaving me, for being the one person I can talk to.

Until Olivia.

The woman whose lips I can’t forget, whose kiss reigns supreme as the best sexual encounter I’ve ever had.

Clearing his throat, he nods. “You should tell the doc the truth. All of it. Maybe I was wrong before…but I think she’s good for you.”

The truth. She knows more about the events of Mom’s death than anyone else in my family. While I still haven’t told her everything—how, as I relive that day over the years, I recall the arguments I heard and realize I should’ve known all along who was behind her and the other deaths in the family.

How I could’ve stopped Mom from dying that day if I’d stuck around…if I wasn’t so afraid of monsters.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty, or so they say. But with HSAM, it’s ten times worse.

But I know that’s not what Casey’s referring to.

Olivia wouldn’t judge me for what happened to Mom. I know that now.

But the other truth…the one no one knows?

She’ll judge me for it. No one in their right mind will stick around, and I’ll lose her for good.

“She won’t. Have some faith,” he murmurs and my head snaps up. Did I speak my thoughts out loud?

The elevator doors open, and we step out. Patrons, dressed to the nines in glittering costumes, gather in the main atrium to wait for the limos to take us to Casa Rocca Piccola. A bright flash blinds my eyes, and when my vision returns, I spot Greg Masters slinking away, checking his camera.

When I look back for Casey, he’s already gone.

I swallow a gasp as I gape at the surroundings—vaulted ceilings and arched doorways, exposed stonework and iron accents. There’s a surprise around every corner.

I’ve stepped into a piece of history, and now the outfit Lana chose for me makes perfect sense.

Shifting on my feet, I tug at the low neckline of my Renaissance-inspired burgundy gown.

It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn.

The gold brocade shimmers under the dim lighting, and the flowy slashed sleeves drape over my arms.

But while it’s beautiful, half my boobs along with my shoulders are showing. I’ve never been in anything so revealing before.

“Stop yanking at it.” Lana swats my hand away from my dress.

“I feel like I’m one accident away from a wardrobe malfunction. Imagine the headlines, ‘Fleur psychiatrist seen flashing her boobs at the masquerade ball.’”

She snorts. “You’re wearing a mask…no one will know it’s you! And flaunt those girls. They’ve been stifled for too long. And your hair, woman! I didn’t know you had such gorgeous, thick hair because you always have it in a bun!”

Heat crawls up my skin as I touch the thick braids hanging down to my mid-back, encrusted with glittering gems.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

Definitely not the woman hiding in the shadows.

It’s terrifying and yet, despite my rickety pulse, there’s a breathlessness, an exhilaration pumping through me.

I’m reminded of the way Rex’s eyes smolder when he sees me and how he calls me bewitching.

How he kisses me like he needs me to breathe.

Bewitching.

Nope. Not thinking about him. Can’t think about him.

I’ve failed far too many times since our tryst in the closet. It was a miracle I stopped us before we took it too far.

If he hadn’t called me a good girl, the term triggering my latent resentment over literally being the good girl, I would’ve continued. I would’ve let him have his way with me.

Of course, when the lust dissipated, I knew his good girl carried a different meaning.

But still, I have a choice to make.

I can end our doctor-patient relationship and be together. Tongues will wag because people aren’t stupid. They can put two and two together. My reputation will be ruined. And then what? Rex fucks me until he’s tired of me? He’s never had a long-term girlfriend before. What makes me so special?

Or I stay the course. Try harder to stay away. Even if my heart is telling me to run toward him because no one has ever made me feel this way before.

Treasured. Loved. Seen.

“Ooh, incoming, Olivia!” Lana whispers excitedly. She nudges me.

“What?” Sweeping my eyes around the room, I take in the crowd in gorgeous costumes before spotting a dark-haired man without a mask heading our way.

Shit. It’s Rhys. He asked me yesterday if I had a date to the ball.

I groan and dart into another room, the girls following me.

“What’s the rush?” Bree asks.

“I see someone I want to avoid.”

“Who? The hottie walking toward us?” Lana grins. “Is he your vacation fling?”

“He’s a coworker. And no. Definitely not him. I don’t date coworkers.” And yet, you’re thinking about dating your patient, you hypocrite!

“But there’s someone, isn’t there? Your ears are red.”

I ignore her as I come to a stop in another room, which looks completely different from the one we came from.

“Decadent, isn’t it?” Lana says as she brushes her hand over her blue sequined gown, which molds to her body like a second skin. She’s supposed to be a mermaid tonight.

“You need to give your events director a raise.” I marvel at the furnishings in this room, which is nicknamed “The Inferno Hall.”

The walls are swathed in crimson silks, the room dark except for flickering candelabras and free-standing candles dripping with red wax. Reverent chants rise and fall from the speakers like I’m at a monastery. Guests dance and mingle, their laughter adding to the ambiance.

We walk to another room. This one is cloistered in black silk with iron lanterns hanging from the ceilings. A ghostly mist hovers above the floor, courtesy of a fog machine. Soft gasps and moans pipe from hidden speakers.

“This is the Purgatory Passage,” Lana whispers, glee in her voice. “Spooky and sexy, right? I can’t wait to explore them all. There are heaven and hell-themed rooms here.” She turns toward Bree. “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to come?”

“I was supposed to stay on the cruise ship,” Bree grumbles and stares at her feet.

“Why?” Lana cocks her brow. I’m equally curious because Bree is definitely hiding something.

Bree snaps her head up, her voice pitchy. “Uh. No reason. Just a headache. I don’t like people and going out. I’m an introvert.”

“You need alcohol. That’s what you need.” Lana grabs her hand and motions at me. “Let’s go get a drink, then party it up.”

I shake my head. Alcohol and me don’t mix. My Asian genes will turn me into a tomato if I so much as take a sip, and I really don’t want my face to match the color of my dress. “You guys go, I’ll just hang out—”

“Ladies,” a gravelly voice murmurs from behind me.

A dark shadow strides up to us.

Black hair, black mask, black tux, startling green eyes, and a menacing air all around.

I think I know who this is.

Lana purses her lips and narrows her eyes.

“You aren’t welcome here. Go be a Shadow King to someone who wants your overbearing, pompous ass—” She snaps her mouth shut, clearly aware we’re gaping at her.

Lana Anderson is the poised PR queen of the family, and it’s rare to see her in a fit of… well, anything. “Shoo. Go away.”

Shadow King. The nickname she mentioned the other day in Dubrovnik finally registers.

Elias Kent. Everyone in New York City and beyond knows who he is. Rumor has it even the mafia is afraid of him. I don’t want to find out why that’s the case.

Low chuckles rumble from his chest, the mobster clearly unfazed. “Can’t. Promised your brother I’d watch over you and your…friend.”

He glances at Bree, who blanches and shrinks behind Lana.

I frown. They seem to know each other. But why would Rex’s companion know the mobster I’ve heard so much about? And why would Rex ask Elias to keep an eye out on Bree?

Nothing makes sense.

“Which brother? This is what I get for having four ridiculous, overprotective brothers. It better not be Rex, because if anything, I look out for him. Is it Maxwell? I swear to God—” Lana tosses her hands up in the air then drags a bewildered Bree with her, probably to escape Elias and to grab drinks.

Elias tsks under his breath, his hands knotted behind his back. He takes a step in their direction but suddenly swivels back to me. “Dr. Lin, we haven’t officially met before. I’m Elias Kent.”

My breath lodges in my throat, the hairs standing on the back of my neck. He really doesn’t need to introduce himself.

But how does he know who I am? And how did he even recognize me in costume?

I swallow and give him a curt smile.

He smirks, as if enjoying seeing me squirm.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” he murmurs. “If you need anything, I’m at your service.”

Then he nods and disappears after my friends.

What the hell? Who is he referring to? And why would I ever need his services?

Questions pinball inside my mind. Why is everyone speaking in code? Bree, Rex, and now, Elias.

But as I stand there, surrounded by dancers and partygoers, I feel it.

A charged current threading the air, heavy and electric.

My breath quickens, my pulse roars in my ears. I turn around, trying to locate the source of my unease.

The shapes of the crowd blur together, dark shadows shifting sinuously, made even more eerie by the white mist swirling in the air.

The hairs stand on my forearms.

And that’s when I spot him.

A tall, imposing dark-haired man draped in shadows in the corner, his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His thick hair, which I know is as soft as it looks, is effortlessly tousled, giving off a debonair air of sex and charm.

Muscles ripple under his dark coat as he slowly unfurls himself.

The heat in his eyes ratchets up as he catches me staring at him. His face, half hidden in a black mask with gold veins, sparks awareness in me.

I’d recognize him anywhere.

My chest heaves, the corset on my dress feeling too tight, and I inch backward.

Devil. Predator. Monster.

His lips slowly hitch up, then he prowls toward me.