At us.
Atme.
The expressions on their faces silently say I’m not supposed to be there, that I don’t fit in. My first instinct is to shrink, to make myself smaller, and apologize for existing.
But Gabriel’s hand presses more firmly against my back, keeping me upright.
“Eyes forward,” he says quietly. Then, as if he can read my thoughts, he says, “Chin up. You belong here.”
I don’t. I can tell right away that I don’t.
All the same, I tilt my chin up and square my shoulders.
We move through the ballroom, the crowd parting like we’re royalty. Conversations pause. Heads turn. I catch fragments and whispers.
“That’s Moretti.”
“Yeah, but who isshe?”
“He’s barely been in public lately, let alone with a woman.”
My heart is pounding so hard that I’m sure everyone can hear it.
Then I spot Maria, one of the housekeepers I used to work with.
She’s carrying a tray of champagne flutes, her uniform identical to the one I used to wear. For a moment, I debate trying to hide so she doesn’t see me, but I don’t get the chance. She turns, her eyes locking onto me. I can tell that she’s confused at first, trying to figure out if this woman who looks like Thea is actually Thea.
Then it clicks. Her mouth drops open.
I give her a tiny, helpless shrug, and she nearly drops the tray.
“Thea?” she mouths from across the room.
Before I can respond, Gabriel is guiding me farther into the ballroom while Maria disappears behind a cluster of guests.
A thought occurs to me as Gabriel leads me through the crowd.
I could escape from here. I could say I need to use the restroom, find Maria, and tell her what’s going on.
But would she even believe me?
What about just slipping out? I could make a run for it, rush out onto the street and scream until someone comes to help. But could I even make it a few feet without Gabriel noticing?
Right in the middle of my scheming, another thought occurs to me—what if I don’twantto leave? What if I want to stay right here by Gabriel’s side?
“Are you alright, Thea?” He turns to look at me, leaning over just a bit, his hand still on my back.
Despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through me, his touch calms me down.
“Yeah. I’m okay. Just a lot to process.”
He regards me for a moment, giving me that look, the one that makes me think he can see straight into me. But if he suspects something, he doesn’t say it.
“You’ll be fine,” he says, “once you get used to the over-the-top nature of these events.”
I can’t run. Not now. I imagine myself rushing through the crowd, making it outdoors, and screaming my head off while wearing this magnificent gown. I’d look like a crazy person.
And another thought—what if he’s not lying about keeping me safe? What if I really am in danger?