A Match in the Dark

The lights came on.

For a moment, nobody moved. The music faded, and the room slowly filled with voices as couples turned to face each other, finally seeing the people they had been dancing with.

A few laughed in surprise. Others exchanged curious glances, while some seemed pleased with the partners fate had chosen for them.

I had kept my eyes shut since his whisper, as if the dark could keep the truth from being real.

Now I slowly lifted my head.

The man holding my hand loosened his grip, but he did not let go completely.

I turned to face him.

And then I forgot how to breathe.

Raphael Sinclair stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint shadow along his jaw and the question in his gray eyes. I had known the voice. I had not let myself believe it.

I stepped back so fast I nearly tripped over my own dress.

"No." My voice came out thin. "I cannot. You are Juliette's husband."

He opened his mouth. I did not wait to hear it. I turned and pushed through the crowd, past strangers laughing, past a woman crying with relief, past a man kissing his own wife's hand as though he had won something.

I needed Christian. I needed my husband's face, his arm, anything familiar.

I found him near the tall windows, half hidden by a curtain.

His hands were on Juliette's waist. Her face was tilted up to his. And his head was bending down, slowly, the way a man leans toward something he has wanted for a long time.

“I would recognize you even in the dark.”

he murmured.

"Christian?" My voice cracked across the hall. "What are you doing?"

They sprang apart.

"Rosie!" Juliette pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes wide. "It was dark. I did not know it was him, I swear. It was just part of the game.”

"It is just a game, Rosalie." Christian straightened his jacket, calm and irritated, as though I had spilled something on him. "Do not make a scene. People are watching."

And they were. Heads had turned all across the hall. A whisper slid through the crowd like cold water.

"Look at her. She cannot even play a game."

"Jealous wives always make a scene."

"Poor thing. Her husband looks so bored."

Heat climbed my neck. I had done nothing wrong, and still I was the one who felt ashamed. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me up. 

"I heard you," I said, my voice shaking. "Before. You said you would recognize her even in the dark.”

Christian's eyes went cold. "You heard wrong."

I had heard right. And the worst part was that I wanted to believe him.

Before I could answer, the crowd parted. Raphael was walking toward us, slow and steady, like water moving around stone, his eyes on me and no one else.

Juliette saw him first. She hurried to meet him, catching his sleeve. "Raphael, listen. I am not choosing you. I want someone new tonight. Someone who is not you."

Raphael looked down at her hand until she let go. Then he walked past her as if she were not there.

He stopped in front of me and took my hand. His palm was warm and steady, the only steady thing in the room.

"I chose her," he said, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "She whispered, and I answered. She is my match."

Christian's jaw went tight. His eyes burned with fury, but his mouth stayed shut. He could not object. He had just called it only a game, and a man who says that cannot complain when someone else plays. For half a second, I thought I saw something else behind his anger. Fear.

"No way," I whispered, pulling at my hand. "Raphael, no. I cannot do this to Juliette."

"Do this to me?" Juliette's voice rose, trembling with offense. She stared at her husband as if he had stabbed her. "I never knew you had feelings for my best friend. That is a betrayal, Raphael!”

She said the word as if she had never tasted it.

Raphael did not even look at her. "It is just a game, Juliette," he said calmly. "Do not make a scene. People are watching."

I watched my husband hear his own words thrown back at him.

A bell rang softly, and the hall settled. Madame Cole walked among us with a thin black book in hand, reading names like verdicts.

“Mr. Whitmore and Mrs. Sinclair,” she announced. “Moon and Sun. A match.”

Christian smiled for the first time in minutes. Juliette slid her arm through his as if it had always belonged there.

"Mr. Sinclair and Mrs. Whitmore. Ash and Ember. A match." She handed Raphael a brass key. "Room 09, at the end of the north corridor. The match is final. No one may change partners before morning." Her eyes rested on me, gentle and unreadable. "The game ends at sunrise, Mrs. Whitmore. What happens before it is up to you."

Everyone watched as I took one step, then another, because the only other choice was to stay and be pitied. Raphael's hand never let go of mine.

Behind us, Juliette's laughter rose too bright. Christian's voice was low and warm in her ear. They were the only two people in the room who looked happy.

The north corridor was dark and silent. A single lamp burned at the far end, and our shadows stretched long on the wall. Raphael unlocked the door and held it open.

I stood on the threshold, my heart pounding. "I am not going in there with you."

"Then stay in the hall," he said quietly. "But listen first."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You should not. Not yet. Watch what your husband does with his hands tonight, not what he says." He stepped closer, and his voice dropped. "Your card was numbered. Did you notice?"

My blood went cold. 0417. The number on my card. Someone had known exactly which word I was holding.

“Christian paid a man to match your card,” Raphael said. “But I found you before he did. The man who was meant to find you in the dark is still searching the hall for you.”

"Somewhere behind us, in the empty corridor, a pair of footsteps stopped.