I looked at him and suddenly realized his tone no longer had any power over me.
"I know," I replied.
He seemed to sense something—a flicker of uncertainty crossing his handsome face—and stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, expensive and familiar, a scent I had once found comforting.
"You look tired lately."
"It's nothing," I said.
He suggested we go together, his hand reaching for my elbow in that possessive way he had perfected. I refused without hesitation.
"I'll go on my own."
He stayed where he was and did not follow. Something shifted in his eyes—confusion, perhaps, or the first stirring of suspicion. But he made no comment. Then he turned away, leaving the entire preparation for receiving the guests to me alone, as he always had.
I left through a side door, the night wind hitting my face, carrying the smell of seawater and rust from the distant harbor. Somewhere out there, a ship was waiting. Somewhere beyond the reach of the Families, a different life existed.
Five days.