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When what you want is what you cannot have
Behind every mask at the Count's annual ball hides a secret. When Vivienne is swept onto the floor by a stranger whose touch she already recognizes, one stolen night threatens to change everything.
The envelope had no return address. Inside: a single room number, a hotel name, and a time. She told herself she was going only to say no in person.
They had agreed it was nothing. Nine months and six cities later, they were still agreeing that it was nothing — while booking Room 417 in advance.
It was a six-hour journey and the compartment was empty except for the two of them. By the time the train reached the first tunnel, they had already broken every rule either of them had ever made.
Every Thursday at eight. The booking was always under her husband's name. Her husband had never been. She had come alone for six years, and the hotel had never asked why.
A wedding guest who should never have come. A bride who notices anyway. The night before the vows, a corridor that was supposed to stay locked.
The curator always locked up alone. On the last Friday of every month, someone slipped a key under the back door. The private collection in the basement was never shown to the public.
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