MILLYThe mask itched behind my ear, but I didn’t care.Gold and black lace, curling up past my temple, hiding half my face from a room full of people who’d spent months dissecting every inch of it. There was something freeing about that. Nobody could read my expression tonight. Not even me, half the time, looking in the mirror before we left.The ballroom glittered like something out of a different century. Chandeliers dripping light onto marble. Masked faces everywhere, silk and velvet, the low hum of an orchestra somewhere beyond the crowd. Washington’s most powerful people, all pretending for one night that they weren’t exactly who they were.Declan stood beside me in black, mask simple, sharp along the jaw. He hadn’t said much since we arrived. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the way he kept glancing at me like he was trying to memorize something.“You’re staring,” I said.“I’m observing.”“That’s not different.”The corner of his mouth moved. Almost a smile. I was
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