Sinfully His

The Man Behind the Mask

She did not have time for this.

That was the thing Amara kept telling herself as she straightened up, tucked her clipboard under her arm, and started walking toward the east wing with the kind of purpose that was meant to communicate — clearly, to anyone paying attention — that she was busy and unavailable and absolutely not interested in whatever this was.

He fell into step beside her.

She stopped walking.

"I'm working," she said.

"Okay, then," he said. "I'll be quiet."

"I don't need company."

"Everyone needs company."

She turned and looked at him fully, which was a mistake because up close he was even more — whatever he was. The mask was still on, green eyes catching the candlelight, mouth doing that thing where it wasn't quite smiling but looked like it was thinking about it.

"Do you do this often?" she asked. "Follow women you don't know around their place of work?"

"Only when they walk into me first."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Turned around and kept walking.

When she glanced back two seconds later he was still standing where she'd left him, watching her go with that same unhurried expression, like a man who had nowhere to be and was perfectly fine with that.

She faced forward and kept moving.

Good, she thought. Sorted.

~

It was not sorted.

For the next hour she was everywhere she needed to be — the champagne display fixed, the extra guests managed, a small disagreement between two caterers resolved before it became anything Mrs. Udie could witness — and somehow in every corner of that room she kept finding him.

Leaning against one of the marble pillars near the bar, glass of whiskey in hand, talking to an older couple with the easy body language of someone who genuinely enjoyed people. Standing near the string quartet for a moment, head slightly tilted, actually listening. Moving through the crowd without urgency, like the evening was something to be enjoyed rather than performed.

And every so often, looking at her.

Not in a way that felt uncomfortable. That was the strange part. It felt like, she didn't have a good word for it. Like being kept track of. Like someone making sure she was still there.

She looked away every time.

Every time it took her a little longer to do it.

Jade appeared at her elbow somewhere around ten thirty, silent for approximately one and a half seconds before she said directly into Amara's ear — "That man has been watching you for forty minutes."

"Jade—"

"Either he's extremely interested or he is a very well-dressed stalker and honestly at this point I'm not sure which one I'm rooting for."

"Can you please go check on the kitchen."

"The kitchen is fine, I checked twenty minutes ago. He's watching you right now, by the way. Don't look."

Amara did not look.

"He's still doing it."

"Jade."

"I'm just saying he is very tall and those are very good shoulders and you have not taken an actual break in fourteen hours and maybe the universe is trying to tell you something—"

Amara's earpiece crackled. Microphone issue with the string quartet, needed her on the terrace now.

She walked away from Jade, who called after her in a whisper that carried entirely too far — "That's not a no!"

~

The terrace was cold and quiet after the heat of the ballroom.

Amara stood near the railing with her earpiece pressed in, talking to her sound technician about a feedback issue that turned out to be a loose connection and was fixed within four minutes. She let out a slow breath and stayed where she was for a moment, just long enough to feel the cool air do something useful for her nervous system.

The terrace door opened behind her.

She did not need to turn around to know who it was. She wasn't sure what that said about her exactly, but she filed it away for later.

"Terrace problems?" he asked.

"Handled," she said.

He came to stand near the railing a few feet away from her, looking out at the city rather than at her, which somehow made it easier to breathe. He had his glass with him still. He didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at the lights below like he was genuinely thinking about something.

"Are you always this busy?" he asked.

"Are you always following strangers onto terraces?"

"Only the interesting ones."

She looked at him sideways. He was still watching the city. She looked back at the city too.

The silence between them was not uncomfortable. That bothered her a little, how unawkward it was.

"Why event planning?" he asked.

She considered giving him the professional answer: the one about logistics and creativity and building a business from the ground up. The one that was true but was also a kind of armor.

Instead she said, "I like making spaces feel like somewhere that matters. You know, somewhere people will remember." She paused. "Ordinary rooms that become something else for one night."

He was quiet for a moment after that. A real quiet, not the kind where someone was just waiting for their turn to talk.

"That's a generous way to spend your life," he said.

She kept her eyes on the city and didn't say anything.

"What do you do?" she asked eventually.

He turned and looked at her then, and there was something in his expression she couldn't read — some private amusement, or maybe something older than that.

"Tonight?" he said. "I'm talking to you."

She rolled her eyes. She could not help it.

He laughed. Genuine, low, unself-conscious. It was a good laugh, the kind that came from somewhere real, and she almost — almost — laughed back.

~

She did not go inside after that. She meant to. She had a checklist and a timeline and forty things that needed her between now and midnight. But somehow the conversation had a kind of gravity to it and the next time she checked her watch twenty minutes had gone by.

He asked real questions and actually listened to the answers, which was more unusual than it should have been. She found herself talking about building the business, the early years when she was doing everything herself and running on four hours of sleep and sheer stubbornness. He listened the way people listened when they were actually interested, not when they were just being polite.

Back inside, around eleven, she was moving through the crowd checking table arrangements when a glass of water appeared in her peripheral vision.

She looked up.

He was holding it out with the same easy expression he seemed to keep for everything.

"You haven't had anything to drink in an hour," he said.

"That's presumptuous."

"You're going to get a headache."

"I'm fine."

"You're being stubborn about staying hydrated."

She took the glass. She was, in fact, very thirsty. She took a long drink and didn't thank him and he looked like that was exactly the response he expected and was somehow fine with it.

Across the room Jade caught her eye and mouthed something enthusiastic and wide. Amara turned away.

~

Midnight arrived the way it always did at Mrs. Udie's events — announced, theatrical, perfectly timed.

"Unmask," Mrs. Udie said into the microphone at the front of the room, and the crowd laughed and complied, and the room shifted as people became themselves again.

He reached up and removed his mask.

Amara had thought she was prepared for that. She was not fully prepared for that.

Strong jaw. Green eyes, even more startling without the frame of the mask around them. A mouth that she was now looking at for slightly too long.

He watched her look at him and did not seem bothered by it at all.

"Your turn," he said, quiet enough that it was only for her.

She reached up and removed hers. He looked at her the way she had looked at him — openly, like he wasn't trying to hide that he was looking. Like he had decided to not pretend.

The string quartet shifted into something slower. Around them the room softened.

"Dance with me," he said.

"I'm working," she said.

He held out his hand.

She looked at it. She looked at him. She thought about her clipboard and Mrs. Udie and the fourteen things left on her checklist.

She took his hand.

~

One song became three.

His name was William. Hers was Amara. They offered nothing else and neither of them asked. It felt like a rule they had both agreed to without discussing it, which was strange because she was not usually the type of person who agreed to things she hadn't thought through.

He was in town for a family thing he didn't want to talk about. She had built her company from nothing and she was proud of it. His hand shifted on her waist at some point during the second song and she lost her train of thought mid-sentence.

He noticed. Said nothing. The corner of his mouth moved.

She was going to have words with herself about this later.

~

The ball began wrapping up a little after one. Amara stepped back and told him she needed to get back to work because it was true and because she needed to be somewhere that was not directly next to him while that song was still playing.

He did not argue. He just looked at her with those green eyes and said —

"Come up for a drink when you're done. Penthouse suite. No strings, no complications." He paused. "Just — don't disappear."

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Her earpiece crackled. Mrs. Udie. Other side of the building. Now.

Amara walked away.

She did not say yes.

She also did not say no, and she was very aware of that fact the entire way across the ballroom.