Read Online Midnight at the Masquerade by M.M. Brennan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M.M. Brennan
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said.
“So could you,” Randi said. The conviction in his voice was strong, sincere, heartfelt.
“Nah. Not my pick.”
Not that she thought she was ugly or anything. In fact, she wasn’t even plain. Passively pretty was how her mother had put it, and though the term had been painful in her youth, it fit her well. Her heart-shaped face and deep widow’s peak combined with her pale skin and dark hair made her appearance more odd than exotic. That coupled with her too large eyes and kewpie mouth insured she wouldn’t look old enough to drink until wrinkles set in, though she’d passed that threshold years ago.
“I’m serious.” He brushed a long curl from her face.
“You really are beautiful, Krista.”
“You’re gay.”
“I can still appreciate the loveliness of the female body.” His eyes darkened and something like loathing moved over his angular face. “Obviously more than that retched Britain Bentley.”
“Randi, don’t,” Krista said lightly, but her eyes held resolve that her tone didn’t.
“He doesn’t deserve your admiration. You know he doesn’t.”
“You’re right,” Krista said, gathering up the train of her dress, inadequacy an unmistakable pain in her chest. “He deserves so much more.” She managed a mirthless smile. “Enjoy your party.”
“You’re leaving?”
Krista shrugged. Pain lodged in her throat like a rock and she didn’t dare speak for fear of crying.
“Suit yourself,” Randi said, bowing gallantly at the waist. He took her hand in his and kissed it gently as his mischievous eyes cut across the room. “But I’m afraid our mysterious guest in the corner will be very disappointed.”
Despite her better judgment, Krista followed Randi’s gaze. An unexplained excitement swirled in her stomach, warm, intoxicating like whisky. She couldn’t decipher the expression on the man’s face behind the smiling Venetian mask. Not ornate like the others, it was plain and porcelain with expressive eyes and a delicately carved mouth.
She sighed, her heart fracturing slightly as she thought of Britain. Randi might be content with a single night of wild passion. Call her old fashioned, but she wanted more. She wanted Britain Bentley. Had from the first moment she locked eyes on him.
He was probably here somewhere dancing with another girl. He’d never given Krista so much as a sideways glance. Randi was right. She should just forget about him and enjoy the party.
Yeah, like that was going to happen .
She watched as the dancers swirled around her, feeling more alone with each passing moment. A feeling she thought she should be used to by now, but it stung with new potency. Krista swallowed hard, trying to push back the pain and put on a brave face for Randi, though he’d disappeared somewhere among the costumed dancers.
The four string quartette shifted seamlessly from a waltz to something softer. Bitterness rippled through her as jovial masqueraders swapped partners, pulling masked strangers intimately close and twirling off across the marble floor.
Her eyes burned with the promise of tears. She took a glass of Champaign from a tray carried by a waiter dressed as a jester and took a sip. Bittersweet, kind of like her outlook on life. She caught Randi eyeing her from across the room, his thick lips a razor thin line of disapproval. She tried to smiled, failed miserably, then took another long drink.
She would not ruin this for Randi, damn it. She was going to put on her pretty porcelain mask and pretend to enjoy herself. She made her way through the sea of false grinning faces, hoping to find the mysterious guest who’d been eyeballing her from the corner. Though deep down, she didn’t know why. She wanted only one man. Curiosity, she told herself as she walked around the dancers.
She made her way to the center of the room and scanned the flock of hidden faces. The guests
“So could you,” Randi said. The conviction in his voice was strong, sincere, heartfelt.
“Nah. Not my pick.”
Not that she thought she was ugly or anything. In fact, she wasn’t even plain. Passively pretty was how her mother had put it, and though the term had been painful in her youth, it fit her well. Her heart-shaped face and deep widow’s peak combined with her pale skin and dark hair made her appearance more odd than exotic. That coupled with her too large eyes and kewpie mouth insured she wouldn’t look old enough to drink until wrinkles set in, though she’d passed that threshold years ago.
“I’m serious.” He brushed a long curl from her face.
“You really are beautiful, Krista.”
“You’re gay.”
“I can still appreciate the loveliness of the female body.” His eyes darkened and something like loathing moved over his angular face. “Obviously more than that retched Britain Bentley.”
“Randi, don’t,” Krista said lightly, but her eyes held resolve that her tone didn’t.
“He doesn’t deserve your admiration. You know he doesn’t.”
“You’re right,” Krista said, gathering up the train of her dress, inadequacy an unmistakable pain in her chest. “He deserves so much more.” She managed a mirthless smile. “Enjoy your party.”
“You’re leaving?”
Krista shrugged. Pain lodged in her throat like a rock and she didn’t dare speak for fear of crying.
“Suit yourself,” Randi said, bowing gallantly at the waist. He took her hand in his and kissed it gently as his mischievous eyes cut across the room. “But I’m afraid our mysterious guest in the corner will be very disappointed.”
Despite her better judgment, Krista followed Randi’s gaze. An unexplained excitement swirled in her stomach, warm, intoxicating like whisky. She couldn’t decipher the expression on the man’s face behind the smiling Venetian mask. Not ornate like the others, it was plain and porcelain with expressive eyes and a delicately carved mouth.
She sighed, her heart fracturing slightly as she thought of Britain. Randi might be content with a single night of wild passion. Call her old fashioned, but she wanted more. She wanted Britain Bentley. Had from the first moment she locked eyes on him.
He was probably here somewhere dancing with another girl. He’d never given Krista so much as a sideways glance. Randi was right. She should just forget about him and enjoy the party.
Yeah, like that was going to happen .
She watched as the dancers swirled around her, feeling more alone with each passing moment. A feeling she thought she should be used to by now, but it stung with new potency. Krista swallowed hard, trying to push back the pain and put on a brave face for Randi, though he’d disappeared somewhere among the costumed dancers.
The four string quartette shifted seamlessly from a waltz to something softer. Bitterness rippled through her as jovial masqueraders swapped partners, pulling masked strangers intimately close and twirling off across the marble floor.
Her eyes burned with the promise of tears. She took a glass of Champaign from a tray carried by a waiter dressed as a jester and took a sip. Bittersweet, kind of like her outlook on life. She caught Randi eyeing her from across the room, his thick lips a razor thin line of disapproval. She tried to smiled, failed miserably, then took another long drink.
She would not ruin this for Randi, damn it. She was going to put on her pretty porcelain mask and pretend to enjoy herself. She made her way through the sea of false grinning faces, hoping to find the mysterious guest who’d been eyeballing her from the corner. Though deep down, she didn’t know why. She wanted only one man. Curiosity, she told herself as she walked around the dancers.
She made her way to the center of the room and scanned the flock of hidden faces. The guests
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