The house was quiet when I returned from the café, the kind of quiet that felt rehearsed. Clare met me at the door, her hands folded neatly in front of her apron.
"Your mother asked if you'd join her in the drawing room," she said.
I nodded. "I'll be up shortly."
Instead, I slipped into the music room. The grand piano sat untouched, its keys gathering dust. I ran my fingers along the lid, remembering how I used to play for them — soft melodies, background noise to their conversations. I used to think it made me part of the family. Now I knew better.
I sat on the bench, not to play, but to think. The café had cleared my head. Seeing Kane again had reminded me that not everyone had forgotten who I was. Or maybe he just hadn't figured out who I'd become.
The door creaked open behind me.
"Isa?"
Fiona.
I turned slowly, schooling my face into something soft. "Hey."
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I was hoping we could talk. Just us."
I nodded, gesturing to the seat beside me. She sat, smoothing her skirt, her expression carefully composed.
I crossed the room and sat across from her, folding my hands neatly in my lap. "Of course."
"I've been thinking about you. About everything that's happened."
I tilted my head. "What about it?"
"You've been through so much," she said, her voice soft. "And I know things between us haven't always been… perfect. But I want to fix that."
I smiled. "That's kind of you."
She leaned forward slightly. "I've also been thinking about Ethan."
I kept my expression neutral. "What about him?"
"You two were always so close," she said. "I know you never officially dated, but everyone could see how much you cared. And I think… maybe he cared too. In his own way."
I let out a soft laugh. "You think so?"
She nodded eagerly. "I do. And now, after everything, maybe this is your second chance."
I looked down, letting my lashes lower. "I don't know…"
She reached across the table and took my hand. "Isa, listen to me. I know Ethan. He's not perfect, but he's… familiar. He's safe. And he's always been there for you."
I met her eyes. "You think I should try again?" I said making sure to sound as hopefully as possible
"I think you should follow your heart," she said. "And if your heart still wants him, don't be afraid."
I squeezed her hand gently. "Thank you, Fiona. That means a lot."
She smiled, triumphant. "Just don't tell Mother. You know how she is about Ethan."
I nodded. "Of course. This stays between us."
She left soon after, satisfied. I sat there a moment longer, staring at the empty doorway.
That evening, I joined the family for dinner. My mother was in high spirits, discussing the upcoming gala with her usual flair. My father nodded along, occasionally adding a comment about the guest list or the wine selection.
"Isa," my mother said, "have you decided what you'll wear to the gala?"
"I was thinking the green gown," I said. "The one with the lace sleeves."
She smiled. "Lovely choice."
Fiona chimed in. "You should wear the lavender one. Ethan always liked that on you."
My mother's smile faltered. "Let's not bring Ethan into this."
Fiona laughed lightly. "I'm just saying. It's a flattering color."
My father cleared his throat. "Let's focus on the event, not the guests."
I said nothing, just kept eating, my expression serene.
The gala was two days away. It would be the perfect place to start shifting the narrative. Not with a grand gesture. Not yet. Just a whisper. A look. A seed.
The next morning, I woke early and went for a walk in the garden. The roses were in bloom, their scent sharp and sweet. I paused by the magnolia tree, running my fingers along the bark.
This tree had seen everything. The first time Kane held my hand. The day I cried after Ethan ignored me at a party. The moment I realized I was alone in a house full of people who only loved the version of me they could control.
I leaned against the trunk, letting the cool breeze brush against my skin. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the estate. It was peaceful here deceptively so. But even the prettiest gardens could hide thorns.
I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel behind me. I didn't turn.
"Madam," Clare said gently. "Your mother asked if you'd like to review the seating chart for the gala."
I smiled. "Of course. I'll be in shortly."
She hesitated. "You've been spending a lot of time alone."
"I like the quiet."
She nodded, then left me to my thoughts.
I stayed a while longer, watching the petals flutter in the breeze. The gala was tomorrow. The first time I'd be seen in public since the lake. Since the lie. Everyone would be watching — waiting to see if I'd fall apart or cling to Ethan like I used to.
Let them wait.
I returned to the house and found my mother in the study, poring over a long scroll of names and table placements. She looked up as I entered, her expression softening.
"There you are," she said. "Come help me with this. I can't decide whether to seat the Beauforts near the front or tuck them by the orchestra."
I smiled and took the seat beside her. "They'll complain either way."
She laughed. "True."
We worked in companionable silence for a while, adjusting names, shifting cards. It felt almost normal like the mother I remembered from childhood, before everything became about appearances and alliances.
"Isa," she said after a while, "I wanted to ask you something."
I looked up. "Yes?"
"Fiona mentioned Ethan might be attending tomorrow."
I kept my face neutral. "She did?"
"She said you two had been talking again."
I tilted my head. "Is that a problem?"
She sighed. "You know how your father and I feel about him."
"I do."
"He's not… good for you."
"I'm not a child anymore."
"I know," she said. "But I also know how much you used to care for him. And I don't want to see you hurt again."
I reached across the table and took her hand. "I appreciate that. Really. But I'm not chasing anyone."
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright. I trust you."
I smiled. "Thank you."
___
That night, I sat at my vanity, brushing my hair in long, slow strokes. My reflection stared back at me calm, composed, unreadable. I practiced my smile. The one that said, I'm still the same. The one that made people underestimate me.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," I said.
Fiona peeked in, already in her silk robe. "Can I borrow your silver earrings? The ones with the teardrop crystals?"
"Of course," I said, opening the drawer and handing them to her.
She beamed. "You're the best."
I smiled. "Anything for you."
She lingered in the doorway. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"
"A little."
"You'll be fine," she said. "Everyone's going to be so happy to see you."
"I hope so."
She stepped inside, lowering her voice. "And Ethan… he's definitely coming. I confirmed it with him myself."
I widened my eyes slightly. "You did?"
She nodded. "He's excited to see you."
I let my voice tremble. "What if he doesn't feel the same?"
"He does," she said quickly. "He's just… guarded. But he cares. I know he does."
I nodded. "I'll talk to him."
She smiled. "Good. Just be yourself."
She left, humming as she went.
I closed the door behind her and leaned against it, the smile slipping from my face.
Be myself?
She had no idea who I was anymore.
The next day passed in a blur of preparations. The house was filled with florists, decorators, and caterers. My mother oversaw everything with military precision, while my father retreated to his study, muttering about budgets and guest lists.
I stayed out of the way, watching from the shadows. I didn't need to be in the spotlight yet. That would come soon enough.
That evening, I stood by the window in my room, watching the staff string fairy lights across the garden. The sky was streaked with pink and gold, the air thick with anticipation.
Tomorrow, the masks would go on.
And mine would be the most convincing of all.