I have never felt so torn. Being trapped on this island with Cordelia has been like something out of a dream. I had given up hope of finding that person who I connect with on so many levels. She breezed into my life like a twister, uprooting everything. Yet, she is the spring winds laced with jasmine and fresh strawberries. She is perfect for me in every way, and someone is determined to take her from me.

So much remains unsaid between us, life-changing declarations that I'm sure would put her in more danger. After tonight when the spell no longer binds us to this island, I'll come clean. She will know the truth about who I am and the bond that ties me to her. She will be able to return to the safe life her parents built for her or return with me to live an extraordinary existence. Either way, the choice will be hers. Until that moment, I plan to enjoy what could be my final night with Cordelia Ashling.

I take a final look at the mask that will hide me from her during the masquerade ball. The full-face covering is simple in its molding. A genderless face made to look like marble with silver and gold filigree meticulously placed along the jaw and curving over the brow. The spell cast on the mask will allow me to see out but will disguise my eyes as endless dark pits. I place it over my face and pull the hood of my black cloak over my head.

The masquerade ball is the final test of the Wicked Encounters event. If true matches were made over the summer, they must find each other, and rumor has it that the task isn't easy. Everyone must either wear a cloak and mask or a veil, depending on the attire they are most comfortable in. Many have found themselves in the arms of someone else by the end of the night. I don't fear that being the case for Cordelia and me.

It might take her a moment to locate me in the crowd. She will expect me to be wearing a suit, but it is a cookie-cutter replica of the others—a black thigh-length jacket trimmed in the same filigree that lines our masks and white shirt and tie. Even with the matching attire, I have no doubt that she will find me.

She was meant to find me.

With one final glance at my eerie attire, I step out of our room. My cape billows behind me as I take long strides toward the ballroom, and the heels of my leather shoes tap against the floor. Others descend the grand staircase along with me, remaining silent as we were directed.

I pass several women who wear elaborate gowns that sweep across the floor and matching magical veils that distort their features. I don't need to hear their voices to know that none of them are Cordelia. They lack the sexy sway of her full hips.

The music of an orchestra flows down the corridor, leading us all to the ballroom. The double doors are held open by members of the house staff who bow their heads in greeting as we pass through. Several people have already paired up on the dance floor, twirling under the golden glow of the candlelit chandeliers. Others huddle in groups, leaning in close to speak over the music and masks that muffle their voices.

I tried to convince her to give me a hint about what her dress looked like, but she wouldn't even tell me what color it was. I don't blame her; we are supposed to be utterly clueless about the other's attire for the "test" to be truly valid.

I wander through the ballroom, glancing around between the people who aren't yet paired up. A woman stands alone across the dance floor near the window, in a lush, breathtaking ballgown made with pink, green, and ivory satin. Ribbon that sparkles like moonbeams is woven into the fabric, and it is the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. On the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. And her face isn't even visible.

I cross the room to her and approach her from behind, placing my hand on her hip. Leaning down, I breathe in the aroma that is Cordelia—all the fabric and magic in the world cannot hide that scent from me. Gripping her waist, I whisper, "Hello, dolce tentazione. You look ravishing tonight."

I can barely hear her breath catch through the veil and she spins around, immediately placing her palms on my chest, like we're magnetized. "Elias. You found me."

"Always. Your soul calls to me, Cordelia. No matter where I am, I will always be drawn to you."

She takes my hands in hers and runs her thumbs over my knuckles. What I would give to see her face in this moment. Thankfully, her honeyed voice tells me everything I know is written on her face. "Why is that the perfect way to describe what I feel toward you? It is like something deep inside of me is always tethered to a part of you."

It doesn't matter that I've never spoken the truth about our connection out loud. She feels it. The constant need to be close, and the knowledge that space and time can never keep us truly apart. She may not know the name of it, but she understands how real it is. And in the morning, I will tell her what we are to one another.

I hold my hand out to her and bend at the waist. "May I have this dance?"

She places her gloved hand in mine and gives me a dainty little curtsy. "I thought you'd never ask."

I sweep her out to the dance floor, place my palm on her lower back, and pull her in flush against me. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she rests her cheek on my chest, and I hear a happy little whimper escape her throat.

"What is it?" I ask, flexing my fingers against her back.

"Nothing, I'm just—I'm so happy I came here. To this island."

Happiness. It's the last thing I thought I'd find here. I was prepared for ridiculous outings and perhaps a round of random sex. But I never thought I would find someone who brought light into my darkness. I never imagined discovering joy in the form of Cordelia.

"Me too."

I despise the veil and mask that separate us. We shared a kiss just this afternoon before we went our separate ways, and I already miss the soft brush of her lips and the taste of her. I'll never get enough of my belle rêveur.

We twirl around the dance floor until we are dizzy with laughter and aching to feel more of each other. Our fingertips dip into sleeves and under veils for the tiniest of skin-to-skin contact. When the music slows, I pull her into my arms and throw formal decorum out the window. My hands move to her lower back, and she snakes her arms inside of my jacket while resting her cheek to my chest.

"I want you to know that tomorrow is not the end for me," I say, rubbing my cheek against her silky veil.

She sighs, the sound washing over me like a warm blanket on a lonely, winter night. "I do. It isn't for me, either. No way in hell. Now that I know you, and what it's like to be yours, I don't know how I could ever be anything else. Like right now...not being able to really touch you, to hold you...it's too much. It's making me physically, I don't know...jittery. I'm a fucking fiend for you, Elias."

I chuckle and hold her tighter. "It's good to know I'm not the only one addicted. I'm hungry for you, Cordelia. All the fucking time. You are coursing through my blood and have captivated every corner of my mind. You are so ingrained in me that I forget what it felt like to exist without you. And then I catch the scent of you in the air I breathe, and I'm reminded that I need you with every breath."

Cordelia groans and drags her fingertips down my arms underneath my suit coat. I can feel her nails even through her gloves. "Godsdamn these face coverings. When can we take them off? It is not fair that you just said all of those beautiful words to me and I can't kiss your face."

I laugh and squeeze her once before putting an inch of space between us. "I'm going to run to the restroom. And when I come back, we'll see about sneaking out of here early."

"Okay, hurry," she says, swatting my ass as I walk away. I glance over my shoulder as I approach the restroom and I see her making her way to the wall where heavy drapery hangs next to the floor to ceiling windows. There's magnificent art on the walls, but I barely notice it. Not when she's around.

I'm getting out of this party early, no matter what I have to do. I need her underneath me. Right now.