Page 77 of Taken By Sin
“No.” He shakes his head. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you that, but the retribution has happened, and they won’t be coming after us again unless we go back.”
“How did you know?” I ask.
He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, handing it to me. It’s ripped in half, burned on the edges.
Donati family,
You’ve crossed the line—literally and figuratively. The treaty exists for a reason, and your blatant disregard for itdemanded a response. Let this serve as a warning: step over the boundary again, and next time, it won’t just be a warning shot.
A guilty gasp escapes me. “Sin, I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Still…”
“Life moves on. So long as we stay on our sides, we will be fine.”
“How do you know they won’t come here, tonight?”
He laughs. “They’re not that stupid. Besides, we have facial recognition software throughout; masks can’t hide bone structure. In the very slight event that someone gets through, Maxwell will be monitoring the software. Nothing for you to worry about.” He brushes a stray piece of hair from my eyes. “Aside from having an amazing time.”
He dips down, leaning his forehead against mine.
“I love you,” I tell him, butterflies flying through my stomach at the mere thought that this is something we say to each other now.
“I love you too, Bella.”
Bria’s room is a flurry of silk, sequins, and laughter as we get ready. The oversized vanity is cluttered with brushes, powders, and delicate jewelry, the light from its mirror casting a warmglow over the scene. Bria is perched on the edge of a velvet stool, her fingers deftly fastening the clasps of her diamond-studded necklace. She looks radiant, her gold gown shimmering like molten sunlight with every movement.
“Hold still,” she says, her tone teasing as she reaches out to adjust a stray curl that’s fallen from my updo. “You’re fidgeting like you’ve never done this before.”
“I haven’t,” I remind her, smiling nervously. My emerald gown feels like a second skin, hugging me in all the right places before flaring into a cascade of soft, flowing fabric. The color is rich and deep, setting off my fair skin and the raven waves Bria has painstakingly pinned up, leaving a few loose tendrils to frame my face.
Bria grins, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Well, you’re doing a damn good job of looking like you have. That dress is a showstopper, Magnolia. I did a remarkable job picking it out.”
“Yes, you did.” I glance at the full-length mirror, taking in the gown.
The neckline dips just enough to be elegant, the fitted bodice embroidered with delicate rose gold thread that catches the light with every movement. The skirt flows like water, soft and weightless, pooling slightly at my feet.
Bria turns back to the vanity, slipping on a pair of golden earrings that match her dress. “And that mask—let’s see it.”
I pick up the rose gold mask from the vanity, the diamonds embedded in the delicate filigree glinting under the lights. I slide it into place, the cool metal settling against my skin. The design is intricate, with the color perfectly complementing theemerald of my gown. The diamonds catch the light like tiny stars, adding a touch of mystery to my reflection.
Bria claps her hands together, her grin widening as she ties the pink ribbon. “You’re going to be the most stunning woman at this ball. Sin won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
Her words make my cheeks flush, and I shake my head, laughing softly. “That’s not the goal, Bria.”
“Oh, please,” she says, rolling her eyes as she adjusts her own mask, a shimmering gold piece that frames her eyes like liquid sunshine. “It should be. He needs to know just how lucky he is to have you on his arm.”
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands over the fabric of my dress. The masquerade ball feels like the culmination of so much—too much. And yet, standing here with Bria, I feel a flicker of excitement beneath the nerves. People have been pouring in, but she told me we didn’t need to rush downstairs, that it’s fashionable to be late.
“Ready?” she asks, extending her hand to me with a playful wink.
I nod, slipping my hand into hers. “As I’ll ever be.”
Together, we make our way to the grand staircase, the sound of the ball already drifting up from below—a symphony of music, laughter, and the low hum of conversation. As we descend, I can’t help but feel like I’m stepping into a dream: one where everything sparkles, and every shadow hides a secret waiting to be uncovered.
The soft melody of a waltz drifts up the grand staircase, wafting from the ballroom below. Bria and I pause at the top, the ornate banister gleaming under the warm glow of chandeliersthat stretch like golden constellations overhead. The ball is alive with movement—twirling gowns and masked faces—but all of it feels like background noise compared to the weight of the moment.