He looks at me, clearly disturbed by my words. “I thought that was a given. Am I wrong?”

I swallow hard and reach for his hand, watching as the slim veil of energy dances between his palm and mine, holding back the words until I can trust my voice again. “You’re not wrong,” I whisper. “You’re the best thing in my life—the only thing that truly matters.” Repeating the words that I know for sure to be true, just wishing I could feel them in the same way that I used to.

But Damen’s not buying it, he knows me too well—having witnessed a million different mood swings, a gazillion different voice inflections and avoidance techniques over the last four hundred years—and that’s just counting mine.

“Ever, is something wrong? You’ve been acting strange ever since—”

I look at him, my voice sharp, edgy, cutting in when I say, “Ever since I made you drink the elixir that turned our touch lethal?”

He shakes his head.

“Ever since I turned Haven into an immortal?”

He shakes his head again, this time pressing his finger to my lips, quieting me when he says, “I wasn’t referring to any of those things. You made the best decisions you could under the circumstances you found yourself in. I’ve no right to fault you for that. What I was going to say is you’ve been acting strange ever since you started delving into magick. You seem preoccupied, distracted, like you’re never fully present anymore. And I’m worried about you, wondering if you’ve gotten in over your head, and if so, how I might help.”

I look into his eyes, and there’s so much hope and tenderness there that I can’t bring myself to confess what I’ve been feeling for Roman. The thought alone is too gruesome. “I admit, I got into a little bind. And while I’d rather not go into all the details, it’s better now. Romy and Rayne showed me how to undo it, and it’s all—good. You just have to trust me.”

He looks at me, his concern deepening, but still he just nods and says, “If you tell me to trust you, then I’ll trust you. But let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

I reach toward him—my boyfriend—my soul mate—my partner for life. Knowing this is how it’s meant to be—that everything I’m going through now is just a rude interruption—a technical difficulty—a brief blip on the screen of our infinite lives. Aware of that horrible insistent hum, thrumming in the background, threatening to take over again, I look him right in the eyes and say, “What do you say we get out of here?”

He looks at me, face softening, eyes lightening, always game for a good adventure. “Any place in particular?” he asks, having no idea what I have in mind but clearly complicit in his gaze.

I nod, squeezing his hand and quietly urging him to close his eyes, as I whisper, “Follow me.”

nine

The second we land, the two of us toppling side by side on the grass, I feel better. Like a million, trillion, gazillion times better. Jumping to my feet and skipping through the field, freed from that horrible trespassing energy—that strange foreign pulse and the thoughts of Roman it brings. All of it reduced to nothing more than a vague and distant memory, as the buoyant grass springs under my feet, and the perfumed flowers shiver beneath the tips of my fingers. Glancing over my shoulder, beckoning for Damen to join me, as a genuine grin lights up my face for the first time in days.

I am regenerated, renewed, able to begin all over again.

He comes toward me, stopping just shy of my reach as he closes his eyes and instantly transforms the vast fragrant fields of Summerland into an exact replica of the Château de Versailles. Placing us in the middle of a hall so grand and opulent it takes my breath away.

The floors are made of the smoothest polished parquet, while the cream-colored walls gleam with a liberal use of gold leaf. And the ceilings—those insanely high, elaborately frescoed ceilings—are punctuated by a succession of glistening chandeliers, their finely cut crystals shining and glinting from the flames of burning candles, filling the room with a kaleidoscope of soft, glowing light. And just when I think it can’t possibly get any better, the majestic sounds of a symphony begin and Damen bows before me and offers his hand.

I lower my gaze, bending into a brisk curtsey, taking the opportunity to glance down at my dress—its bodice tight and low, spilling into soft loose folds of the shiniest blue silk that swirls all the way to the floor. Lifting my gaze to find him retrieving a slim velvet box from his coat, and gasping in excitement when he opens it to reveal an exquisite sapphire-and-diamond-encrusted necklace he clasps around my neck.

I turn, glancing into the long line of mirrors that punctuate each side of the hall, gazing upon the two of us together, he in his breeches, blazer, and boots, me in my opulent finery, hair twisted and curled into the world’s most complicated updo—and I know exactly what he’s doing—exactly what he’s up to—he’s giving me the happily ever after Drina stole from me.

I gaze around the ballroom in awe, hardly believing I could’ve had this, could’ve been part of this world—his world. If my Cinderella ending hadn’t been ripped right out from under me, robbing me of my chance to even try the glass slipper.

If I’d only been allowed to live, he would’ve given me the elixir and instantly transformed me from the lowly French servant named Evaline into this—this radiant being staring back from the mirror. And a hundred and some-odd years later, we could’ve danced here together, shared this beautiful night, dressed in our finest and glinting with jewels, right alongside Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI.