31

Ophelia

Standing in front of the mirror in Cas's bedroom, staring with wide, disbelieving eyes, I try to bring myself back down to earth with a few deep breaths and firm reality checks.

I'm going to another party with Cas.

Just a party, that's it.

Like last night, I shouldn't read anything more into it.

Tonight, however, feels like it's going to be a much bigger deal than Martin's little gathering. Not only because Cas has been keeping it a secret since he told me about it last night, but because he insisted we both dress to the nines. He'll be in a tux, and I'll be in, well… I look in the mirror again, stomach swooping as I try to rein in my racing thoughts.

Despite my best efforts, my mind wanders briefly down a path it absolutely shouldn't.

Is this what it would be like, being with Casimir? Really being with him? Fancy gowns and mysterious parties? Being ravished by him, cared for by him, living in this impossible world of his?

It's probably too much, accepting all of this.

No, scratch that, it's definitely too much.

I still don't have any idea where we're going, but I know it feels very, very much like a date, and way too extravagant for… whatever we are.

Cas even paid for the dress I'm wearing tonight.

Despite what must have been an hour of protesting, I eventually gave into his logic that since he invited me and insisted on the surprise, it made sense for him to provide the attire as well.

I'm not sure if I really believe that, but I'm only human, after all. When he handed over a black Amex and let me know he'd contacted a friend at one of Boston's most exclusive, upscale boutiques for a last-minute appointment, I'd been powerless to refuse.

Midway through my appointment at the boutique, he texted me the details for another appointment, this one at a salon to get my hair and nails and makeup done. Again, I shot back an immediate denial, but by whatever powers of charm and persuasion he possesses—powers I'm not altogether certain aren't actual magick—I agreed to that as well.

My dress was waiting for me here when I got back from the salon, tailored to perfection and no doubt racking up an enormous bill for the rush order. All of it is so excessive, but looking at myself now, I also can't deny two simple truths.

First, I look fucking incredible.

And second, Cas is going to lose his damn mind when he sees me.

Not that he knows how much all his string-pulling has paid off yet. I shooed him out of the bedroom while I got dressed, some stupid, sentimental part of me committed to the idea of not letting him see until everything was perfect.

And now—knowing I look about as perfect as I'm ever going to—I leave the bedroom with breathless, anticipatory energy pulsing along every nerve-ending, radiating through my whole body.

Again, I don't know why.

This isn't a date and the two of us aren't… anything. There's no reason I should be walking so slowly down the second-floor hallway, pausing just out of sight of the top of the stairs, listening to the soft cadence of Cas's voice as he speaks on the phone where he's waiting in the foyer.

With all of that in mind, I need to snap the fuck out of it. I give my head a shake and step forward to the top of the stairs.

Cas has his back to me but, like he can sense my presence, he turns immediately. He murmurs some last comment into the phone before hanging up and tucking it into the inner chest pocket of his jacket. As he does, his hand lingers there, pressed lightly to his heart.

He doesn't take his eyes off me for a moment as I start down the stairs.

And… god. God .

I really shouldn't be enjoying this so much.

I shouldn't be enjoying the way his eyes go wide as they take me in. It shouldn't send a pulse of wicked satisfaction all the way to the tips of my toes as I stop on the last step and hold out my hand to him.

"Have I told you that you're exquisite?" he asks before taking my hand in his and pressing a kiss to the backs of my fingers.

"You might have mentioned it a time or two." My voice comes out a little breathless, and my stomach flutters with fizzy, buoyant happiness as he helps me down to the foyer floor and spins me in a slow circle.

The dress I'm wearing is black and daring. It drapes open to the small of my back, and the neckline dips deep down my sternum. The straps holding it up are delicate, and the slit that runs to the center of my thigh almost gives the illusion that the dress bares more than it covers. It's not exactly practical for this time of year, but I know Cas will offer me his jacket later tonight if I'm too cold.

The cut of the dress and the way I had my hair styled also have one more very deliberate effect.

And Cas takes note of it immediately.

His gaze fixes on the vivid scarlet mark at the side of my throat that's on proud, shameless display tonight. The instant he sees it, his crimson eyes darken with hunger, though he manages to keep himself in check as he meets my eye with a warm, approving glint in his.

"Shall we?" he asks, nodding toward the door.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"And ruin the surprise?" His lips turn up in a devastatingly handsome smirk, and I am so, so screwed.

My heart and stomach and entire freaking body do that strange swooping thing again, and a single thought flashes through my mind—all-encompassing and absolute.

I've fallen for Cas.

Whether my brain wants to use the L word or not, I'm self-aware enough to know I'm completely and utterly fucked.

I've fallen for his natural charm and easy humor, with the way he insists on taking care of me and the glimpses he's given me of the soft, tender core of his being, a core I'd be willing to bet everything I have he doesn't let many others see.

I'm head over heels for Casimir, and I have no idea if he feels anywhere near the same, or if all of this is as doomed as it was seven years ago.

But tonight's not the night to ask the question that needs asking.

Tonight is enchanted; I can feel it in the air. Between the way he's still looking at me and the sparkling promise of the evening ahead, magick or alchemy or whatever the hell else it might be pulses shimmering and incandescent between us. I'm not going to ruin it by asking a question whose answer I might not like.

No, I'm going to live in this one enchanted moment as long as I can.

"Alright," I say, letting Cas lead me toward the door. "But whatever it is, it better be good."

"I promise it will be."

He's hired a driver for the evening, and a sleek, black town car is waiting just outside his front gate. Cas helps me in before shutting the door and circling around to climb in the other side. He reaches over to take my hand in his, squeezing gently as we drive away into the night.

Our destination isn't too far away, and I recognize it immediately as we pull up, though I've never taken the time to visit before.

The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is lit up bright against the Boston night, though it's well after hours it would usually be open to the public. On the street out front, a long line of similarly expensive-looking vehicles wait to let their passengers out, and as we inch forward in that line, I turn to Cas.

"This is it?"

"This is it," he confirms. "The event was planned very last minute, but promises to be the gala of the year."

I peer out the window, glancing ahead at the crowd of well-dressed attendees, the trees strung with lights all up and down the boulevard, the ushers in their sharp suits welcoming everyone inside.

"The museum is famous for an art heist, right?" I ask. "One they never solved?"

Cas nods. "That's right."

He pulls out his phone and types a brief message, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips. As he tucks it away, we reach the front of the line, and he exits the vehicle first to get my door for me.

Another extravagance, but one I'm absolutely going to allow in the spirit of embracing the magick of tonight. He helps me out of the car and gives me a hand straightening my dress so it falls just right, stepping back for a moment to admire me once more.

My cheeks warm. "Do I look alright?"

Cas hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my face up to meet his gaze. "You're perfect, Ophelia."

It's another one of those moments suspended somewhere out of time. Breathless, infinite, I'm lost in a spell of crimson and tenderness, a wonderful, painful ache springing to life in the center of my chest.

But the spell is broken when the next car in line pulls forward to deposit more gala guests on the sidewalk, and Cas smoothly tucks my arm into his and leads me toward the front door.

He gives our names to the ushers at the entrance and we're nodded through, past the lobby and gift shop and restaurant, then down a short, glass-walled corridor into the main body of the museum.

Outside the glass, the museum's landscaping is lit up just like the trees on the boulevard. Hundreds of bulbs sparkle like stars in the trees and shrubbery, casting us both in their golden light as we make our way inside.

As we approach the museum's indoor, central courtyard, my eyes widen to take in even more splendor. Ornamental trees and flowers fill the space, along with more lights adding to the delicate, ethereal effect. The walls of the courtyard rise all the way to a glass ceiling three stories above, ringed with carved stone arches and balconies—palatial, like something from another time.

I never would have imagined a place like this existed in the heart of Boston, and as we make our way around the first floor, stopping to admire some of the artwork, Cas keeps up a soft, steady stream of conversation about the museum and its history, sprinkling in facts about the works we pause to study.

I float along beside him, more than content to let him play tour guide, though my curiosity peaks as we reach the stairs and the steady stream of guests heading toward the upper levels of the museum.

"What's going on up there?" I ask as he leads me up the stairs.

"That's the surprise," he says, still committed to the bit of keeping me in the dark, but I don't bother pressing him this time.

Instead, I let myself enjoy.

Enjoy Cas, enjoy the glittering magick of the evening, enjoy being here with him and no expectation of what's to come as he leads me toward whatever surprise is waiting for us above.