Year 2
A whole goddamn year, and no sign of my angel. Was she even real? I've scoured the whole city, searched the whole east coast, but found no sign of her. I'm starting to wonder if she was ever there at all.
Maybe I hallucinated her. Conjured her up out of sheer longing—the woman of my dreams. Sweet and sexy, doe eyes sparkling with humor, her body arching against mine like she felt it too.
The sense of relief at finding one another; the sensation of coming home. Maybe I invented it all.
"Champagne, sir?"
I nod and pluck a flute from the server's tray, muttering my thanks. Lord knows I'll need it. The masquerade ball always tests my patience, always drives me into the rose garden to get away from the crush of bodies and wandering hands, but this year...
If I don't find her again
