Page 70 of Wicked Ends

The question catches me completely off guard, derailing my confession. “What?”

Rose is suddenly shy. “The Winter Ball. It’s coming up soon. I know it’s stupid with everything happening, but I want to go. With you.”

“Uh, Rose. I have to talk to you.”

“Sure, ok. But right now, I need to know if you’ll be my date to this ridiculous dance, because I’ve already endured enough anxiety working up the nerve to ask you.”

I stare at her, bewildered by this turn in the conversation. “Why would you be anxious?”

“I’ve never asked anyone out before,” she admits. “And I don’t know if you like dancing, and maybe you don’t want to do something so silly, you are a hundred years old after all, and?—”

“Yes,” I interrupt. “Of course I’ll go with you.” I take her hand and press a kiss to her palm.

The smile that breaks across her face is like the sunrise.

“Really?” She sounds so excited, so genuinely happy, that I can’t bring myself to drag us back to my confession and ruin it for her.

“Really.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “I’d be honored to escort you to the Winter Ball.”

She throws her arms around my neck, and kisses me. “Thank you! Oh my God, I need to figure out what to wear. Do you think Lucien would help? He definitely knows about formal stuff, right? Or maybe Soren, though he’d probably suggest something completely inappropriate...”

As she chatters excitedly in a completely un-Rose like way about dresses and shoes and whether Hank could wear a little bow tie, I hold her close.

I’m a coward. But she looks so happy, so carefree in this moment, and I can’t bear to be the one who dims that light.

My confession can wait. Just a little longer. Until after the ball.

I ignore the voice in my head that says I’m only delaying the inevitable. That once she has time to process what I’ve done, she’ll hate me. That this reprieve is temporary at best.

For now, I’ll hold her, and love her, and be grateful for each moment I get to feel her in my arms. The reckoning will come soon enough.

Thirty-Three

Lucien

I hear her heartbeat before she even reaches my door, slightly elevated, betraying her nerves. Rose. I’ve been expecting her since Drake mentioned her excitement about the Winter Ball. The corner of my mouth twitches as I move to open the door before she can knock.

She jumps back, hand clutched to her chest. “We’ve talked about this, Lucien.”

“My apologies.” I’m not sorry in the slightest. “I heard you coming.”

“Of course you did.”

I step aside, gesturing for her to enter. A fire crackles in the hearth, unnecessary for my comfort, but I enjoy it still.

Rose hesitates at the threshold.

“I, um.” She shifts her weight, uncharacteristically uncertain. “I need your help with something.”

“The Winter Ball,” I supply, enjoying the surprise that flashes across her face. “You need something to wear.”

“How did you?” She shakes her head. “Drake told you.”

“He mentioned that you were excited about it.”

Rose sighs, and looks down at herself, gesturing to her current outfit. “This is pretty much the extent of my fashion knowledge. I have no idea what I should wear to a black tie ball.”

She would look ravishing in a burlap sack, but her humility and earnestness are adorable. “I took the liberty of making some arrangements.”