Chapter 8
Claire
In a lucky turn of events, no cardio was required for Claire to reach the top of the palace steps. The building had an elevator—operated entirely by pulley systems and manpower.
And, boy oh boy, did those men-in-black have some power.
When the elevator doors opened at the top, views of mountain ranges were replaced with ornate, arched ceilings lined with gold filigree. Classical music filled the open space, making it seem welcoming, rather than ominous.
Off to their right, light glowed out from a doorway that must have been thirty feet tall. Above the door, a juniper green banner hung with a silver diamond sewn into it.
Two men dressed in green suits intercepted them as she and Malachi moved into the space, the guards’ body language both blocking and greeting at the same time.
“My Lord,” they both said, bowing deeply to Malachi before straightening and offering Claire a more modest tip of their heads.
“Invitations, if you please,” said the guard closer to Malachi, holding out his white-gloved hand expectantly.
Malachi pulled a large envelope and handed it to the guard. The man took it, breaking its green, wax seal and reading the invitation before casting a wary glance at Claire and stepping to the side.
“May we take your cloaks?” the man closest to Claire asked, and Malachi answered for them with an elegant nod. The men made quick work of gathering their coats.
Malachi’s suit jacket caught her eye as the men draped the cloaks on hooks to the side of the elevator. It was different than what she’d seen on the jet. This one had large, pale flowers patterned against ivory tones. The floral theme should have looked girly on him.
It didn’t.
Somehow pastels in the print highlighted the green in his eyes like a neon sign. That was a neat trick.
Part of Claire was really glad her heart was already spoken for because, wherever they were going, her escort had to be the resident heartbreaker. There was just no way around it. Women had to be falling at his feet—not her, obviously.
He totally wasn’t her type.
Claire’s type was a lot less terrifying, and a lot more Jack. But that didn’t mean she was blind to another man’s allure. And when it came to that, Claire’s feminine intuition told her more than one woman’s eyes would be tracking her, trying to figure out what their relationship was.
Nonexistent. That’s what it was. But that didn’t make Malachi any less meticulous, refined, effortless, fashionable, or handsome.
Jack was all those things, as well, but about six inches shorter with eyes that erred on the side of kind. Malachi came across as calculated, and Claire had no doubt there was truth in that advertising…reminding her that her presence served him somehow.
Her escort was a man with a plan. And she was part of that plan.
She couldn’t let herself forget that.
“The herald will announce you shortly,” the first guard said, interrupting her thoughts just in time to watch both men step to the side and salute.
Malachi smiled down at Claire. “Shall we?”
Time to get her head back into the game.
Claire bobbed her head in agreement, even as anxieties fired up in her mind.
Why had the guard given her that odd look after looking at the invitation? And, holy cow, now that she was walking into the main entry, their steps echoing off the walls, how did everything seem bigger?
Also, there seemed to be a lot of layers of security for this event … and it seemed an intentional choice that none of the bionic men in black had checked for invites. They’d just let everyone past and moved jets off the runway.
The security check came once all the men in black stood between guests and their parked jets. That made Claire acutely aware of the fact that she had no way to get home unless someone at the party wanted to get her there.
Don’t think about it, she coached herself. Just don’t think about it. Live in the now. Breathe in … breathe out … in … out. In. Out.
Taking multiple steps under her massive skirt for everyone one of Malachi’s long strides, Claire followed his lead toward colossal doors that seemed like speakers for a lively sonata. Music from another room bounced through the entry hall, mixing with the click of Claire’s heels as she kept pace with the much more silent Malachi.
“Remember,” he said as they approached their next threshold. “You are not expected to understand anything you see. I know it is in your nature to deduce, but try to remember that nature will not serve you here. You will get more information by asking questions.”
Claire nodded, distracted from answering when a man emerged from the doorway, wearing the same green uniform as the men outside the elevator.
Claire was sensing a theme.
All the men outside wore black and were built like oxen, while the men inside wore suits matching the juniper green banner with the diamond. And while the men outside were all stoic muscle, the men inside had much more typical builds and keen eyes. They kind of reminded her of Jack in that way … subdued body language and eyes that gave the impression they saw everything.
Stepping up to the massive doorway, Claire expected to catch a glimpse at the festivities inside. Instead, she found herself atop a platform facing a massive mirror.
“Last chance to primp,” Malachi teased as the doorman approached and reached for the invitation. Claire could only assume Malachi handed it to him, however, because that’s when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
She didn’t recognize herself. At all. The gown made her underweight body look full, and her mouse-brown hair had never looked more elegant than it did in its current up-do.
Her face … her make-up … her silk gloves.
She would leave it all exactly as it was, thank you very much! Claire might not be able to fix broke, but she could sure break what was already fixed by messing with perfect.
So a big, fat no on last-minute primping for her.
Malachi didn’t primp either. He stood like a gentleman, a picture of ivory and pastel providing stark contrast to the short, dark beard and sharp green eyes that looked ready to do battle.
The sharp look disappeared almost as quickly as Claire noticed it, instantly replaced with an effortless smile as he looked her way in the reflection. “Any questions?”
Oh. Yeah. He wanted her to ask about things, rather than deducing.
Claire looked back at her own reflection and asked the obvious. “Where are the stairs? Does the mirror move to reveal them?”
Music swirled from somewhere in front of them—somewhere beyond the mirror—as the orchestra swelled into a finale.
“It’s actually not a giant mirror,” he said. “But hundreds of smaller ones positioned to appear as one.”
What?
Claire looked closer, trying to find seams in the image. She saw none.
“You will see mirrors everywhere in the main space,” he continued. “They serve two purposes. The first is to amplify the light and make the room bright with relatively few light sources.”
Cool, Claire thought. “And the second?”
“Visibility.” He nodded toward their reflections. “In a moment, this mirror will disperse into its parts to form a tunnel we’ll walk through. It will reflect our descent to every guest in attendance. No matter where they are in the main space, they will have the option to view our arrival.”
Wow. So there was something in the world worse than a spotlight: Mirrors designed to broadcast your presence to an unseen many.
How was that not everyone’s version of the most nightmarish way to enter a party?
Shoulders back, a self-conscious part of her urged before being joined by a choir.
Don’t trip.
Is your nose clean? Check for danglers!
Don’t trip!
We already covered that one.
It bears mentioning twice.
While her inner voices argued about all the highly probable ways she could fail, Claire took a slow, calming breath.
It’ll be fine, she willed herself to think. You won’t trip. Malachi will make sure of that.
Malachi.
That’s what Claire was really worried about, to be honest.
Jack was about to see her walk into the room on Malachi’s arm, and she was going to have to wait until they reached the bottom of the stairs to acknowledge how misleading that was.
She had to be elegant first. Then she could wade into the minefield of finding Jack and explaining Malachi.
But how, exactly? What could she say? That he was just some guy who showed up at work, gave her a dress, and brought her to the ball as his date? That it was totally business between perfect strangers?
There’s gotta be a better way to say it.
If so, she had about thirty seconds to think of it.
On the other side of the mirror, the sonata came to a close, unseen gloved hands pattering a polite applause.
Malachi looked down her way. “That’s our cue. You ready?”
For everyone to see her walk in on his arm? “Never.”
“Then now is as good a time as any,” he teased like a big brother, making her feel like there might be two seconds of fun in all this.
“Any tips?” she asked.
He smiled. “If someone can see you in their mirror, you can see them as well. This allows you to see everyone in attendance when we walk in.”
She perked up at that.
“You’ll be able to find Jack or anyone else you may be looking for. Wherever they are, you can watch them right back.”
Intrigue replaced horror as she looked back at the mirror. “Really?”
Malachi nodded. “They see you, you see them.”
That was…egalitarian of them.
“Please step to your marks,” the doorman said, indicating two marks on the ground ahead of them. The four steps it took Malachi to reach them were ten steps for Claire, but the moment they were firmly in position, the mirrors separated like fireflies against a dark sky before forming a tunnel around carpeted stairs.
“Eyes forward,” he whispered. “Resist the urge to look up. Everything above you is a replica of what’s on your horizon line.”
Translation: If she looked up, she’d look like an idiot walking down the stairs with her mouth gaping.
Claire was still open to the idea that Malachi might be a bad guy in all this, but the man gave out good pro tips. She had to grant him that.
Overhead, the sound of trumpets sang out a short, bright tune, followed by a man’s voice speaking clearly into the silence that followed.
“His Majesty proudly receives Malachi of the North, and his date, Miss Claire Ramsey.”
Things stayed really quiet after the announcement, and Claire could feel the eyes waiting for them to walk down the stairs.
“There are fifty-four steps,” he said. “Ready?”
For anyone else, the mention of the number of steps might have been random, but it filled her with a small sense of control. Fifty-four was a multiple of three, which meant all she had to do was count to three eighteen times before the mortifying parade was over.
She could do that.
Glancing up at her escort, she nodded and off they went.
Reflections flashed, creating a sense of walking into a flare as they took their first step into the mirrored tunnel. If Claire saw something like this at a haunted house, she’d run the other way, but the lure of finally seeing Jack had her pressing forward.
After blinking against the initial brightness of several hundred reflections, Claire searched the sea of images for the one face that would make everything she’d done up until this point okay.
Her first thought was that she was far from being the youngest in attendance. There were several teenagers present.
Her second thought was how pleasant the sea of costume perfection was to look at. Extravagant beauty everywhere she looked.
Where are you, Jack? she thought as she was met with a kaleidoscope of faces clothed in creams and golds.
Gold. Not silver. She was the only person wearing silver.
That worry fizzled when she realized that exactly two men in the images staring back wore colored suits. One wore a highly decorated military uniform; the other wore a cobalt blue suit from the same fashion era as the sea of ivories.
Jack.
He was the only man wearing blue and she was the only woman wearing silver. In fact, they kind of matched.
Jack was looking at her—mouth parted in shock and eyes panicked. His initial, unfiltered response didn’t seem to be happy to see her.
Unsettled by his response, Claire looked to another mirror—any mirror—while she got up the nerve to look Jack in the eye again and—
Bear! Claire’s mind screamed in alarm, fixating on one of the reflections.
Her eyes hadn’t lied. She was indeed looking at a bear lounging next to an aristocratic-looking woman as she lounged on a chaise sofa, holding the end of the bear’s leash like a proper teacup.
A living, breathing bear…a teacup’s grip away from changing the color scheme of the entire party.
How was everyone okay with that?
When Claire felt herself starting to freak out, her eyes instinctively found Jack again.
He was looking at her dress this time, eyes wide. He loved it. He wasn’t even breathing as his eyes moved over her before finding hers again. The moment their eyes locked, he exhaled, his lips mouthing the word: Beautiful.
How did he do that? With one word—one smile—she felt herself come back into balance. She was just a few steps away from not being alone anymore.
Claire smiled in relief, not needing to see her cheeks to know they were turning pink. Hopefully, some of the makeup she was wearing would cover that up. But there wasn’t enough makeup in the world to cover up a goofy grin, and she had that going, too.
Next thing she knew, the tunnel pulled away, revealing a parliament-sized room with a twelve-stepped pedestal throne in the center. The vast marbled halls around the throne were filled with dancing, eating, and conversations.
Claire kept her eyes on the pedestal, however, because the only man in a blue suit in the room sat at the top of it … with a redhead whispering into his ear.
The spiky-haired woman looked like she’d plucked her dress off the ballroom-toddler rack and squeezed in. She was shorter than Claire—unusual—with hair the color of coals in a fire pit. And there was something unsettling about the look in her eyes. She seemed to be studying Claire as if trying to figure out which Pinterest Fail category she best fit into.
Well, certainly not the Ballroom Toddler category, Claire thought, raising her chin up competitively as she sized the other woman up.
Who was she?
What was she doing so close to Jack?
And, when the little fire-head spoke, why did Jack frown at Claire?
And what did he just say back to her?
The need to know who the other woman was to Jack filled Claire’s chest like a righteous rage.
Exactly one woman got to whisper in Jack Cavanaugh’s ear, and that woman was Claire Ramsey.
Claire didn’t realize her expression was moving into a scowl until a woman stepped into their path, blocking Claire while focusing only on Malachi.
“You’re late, and she’s not on the list,” the woman said with such elegance and authority that Claire couldn’t imagine arguing with her.
“Good evening, Mother,” Malachi said, pressing a kiss to each of the woman’s cheeks. “I’m glad you went with the pearls.”
His mother returned his air kisses—eyes suspicious, lips unsmiling as they moved through the courtesies. “What are you about, my boy?”
Malachi elegantly gestured in Claire’s direction. “I’m introducing Cinderella to her official fairy godmother.” His hand swept the woman’s direction. “You.”
When Claire offered a shy smile up at the woman, the woman did not look back. It was like she didn’t exist—like Claire was a fly she was pretending not to notice on the wall. A fly in a fancy silver dress.
Claire’s smile faltered.
“Best case scenario,” his mother mused, “she’s here as a decoy for Abed; worst case scenario, she’s not.”
Malachi shrugged as if to say You’re welcome. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re the most boring mother in the room.”
The corner of his mother’s mouth ticked up, before snapping back to monarchal indifference. It happened so fast that Claire almost missed it. But it happened. The woman had a sense of humor under that intimidating visage. Somewhere.
The mother’s eyes were steady as she looked at her son. “How far would I have to go back in time to pick up when you set this little bauble into motion?”
Little bauble? Claire puffed her chest up to announce that she was a person, not a fly on the wall, but the impulse passed quickly. The woman was intimidating in profile, and Claire wasn’t sure if she could survive full eye contact.
Best not to risk it.
Little bauble was just fine.
“Well, Mother,” Malachi said on a sigh. “This all started that one night my dad got lucky—”
A white flash of silk slapped Malachi on the arm before returning to a prim handclasp posture with cat-like speed. It was like his mother never moved and he’d just decided to stop talking mid-sentence.
“I’ll figure this out,” she warned, a little play in her competitive eyes.
Malachi pulled his watch from his pocket, glancing at it. “I’ll time you.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed competitively and she started away.
Malachi called after her. “Any advice for your Cinderella, Fairy Godmother?”
Her head tilted, considering the question, before looking back at Malachi. “Tell her: Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.”
Then she walked away without a backward glance.
Malachi turned to Claire with an apologetic grin. “She says—”
“I heard,” Claire said, smiling back for some reason.
“Sorry she was a little rude,” he said.
“It’s fine,” Claire replied, her eyes finding Jack again. This time the woman in the toddler ball gown was nowhere in sight. “You can meet my mom someday, and we’ll call it even.”
Malachi laughed just as Jack sent her a smile from across the room.
“That said, she offers wise counsel.” Malachi peered around the room like he was taking a mental tally of something. He hadn’t looked at Jack once, Claire noticed.
So who—or what—was he looking for?
Claire started searching the areas that seemed to hold Malachi’s interest only to realize that a lot of people were eyeing her with equal interest.
She and Malachi were the current focus of the room.
Claire felt her smile go plastic in terror just as a waiter appeared out of nowhere. “May I offer drinks?”
Yes, Claire thought, relieved to have something to do with her hands. Drinking would be unwise under the circumstances, but she definitely needed a prop to handle so she didn’t start nervously primping or something.
Just hold the glass and act like no one is looking at you, she thought, searching out Jack again.
The fire-head was back talking to him, and Claire glared over the rim of her glass as she took a sip and wondered what the other woman was whispering into her man’s ear.