Ryan had been sitting alone in the furthest gazebo, half-hidden under a tangle of ivy and hanging blossoms, savoring a few minutes of stolen peace. The party chatter was muffled here, the air thick with the perfume of gardenias, and for a brief, fragile moment he could pretend nothing was wrong. No charades, no masks—just the cool wood beneath his palms and the distant trill of birdsong.
Then he saw them.
Luna and Luka, cutting across the emerald lawn in matching waistcoats like a pair of conspirators straight out of a period drama. Between them, moving with that airy, practiced grace, was Rachel. Or rather—Rebecca.
Ryan's pulse lurched. He pushed off the bench, forcing his expression into something casual, something easy, but his palms were already slick. He hated the way the sight of Luna—sharp in his dark suit, eyes bright with that familiar suspicion—made him want to both run toward and away from him at the same time.
AS Ryan was about to approach them everything happened so fast. Rachel suddenly lerched forward and Ryan rushed towards her, catching her in his arms. Rachel clung to Ryan as she tried to recover herself, her eyes shooting an evil glare up at Ryan, which made him sigh and mouth sorry ReRe, to which she rolled her eyes and straightened up agian,, returning to be practised and poised noce more.
"Ah, sorry I…seem to be pretty clumsy today" Luka says, awkwardly running a hand through his hair while Luna's gaze flicked from "Rachel" to Ryan like he was cataloguing details for evidence.
Rebecca, for her part, didn't falter. She had spent the last week shadowing Ryan's every gesture as "Rachel"—her walk, her cadence, the exact tilt of her head when she laughed. Dressed in Anna's white frock embroidered with blooms, the fabric swaying like petals around her calves, she was almost too perfect. The mask—a delicate embroidered covering over the lower half of her face—added just enough mystery to make their little trick seamless.
"Rachel" inclined Ryan his head. "Luna. Luka. I'm so glad you could come."
"I'm sure you are glad, you don't seem to get enough of my fiance" Rachel replies teasingly to Ryan, her voice was smooth and warm, pitched just right. Even Ryan had to admit, standing there, that the illusion held.
Luna hesitated a beat longer than was polite before returning the greeting. "Ryaml."
Then Luka stepped in, eager to play the social buffer. "We, uh, wanted to apologise. I think walking about here has made me a little dizzy." His glance slid to Luna, then back to "Rachel." "Things got messy."
Rebecca waved it off with a little laugh, the exact one Ryan had coached her on. "Hardly worth worrying about. These things happen."
Luna's jaw twitched, and Ryan knew that look—he was weighing, measuring, wondering if that voice was real or a perfect imitation. But then Luna turned toward him.
"And you, Ryan," Luna said, tone clipped but civil. "I suppose I owe you an apology too."
Ryan felt the hairs on his arms rise. "For what?"
"For assuming something… that clearly wasn't the case." Luna's mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile—it was the thin, tight expression of someone retreating strategically rather than conceding defeat.
Ryan forced himself to mirror it, even though every muscle wanted to tighten in defense. "Water under the bridge," he said lightly.
The tension was cut—almost theatrically—by Anna appearing from the side, skirts brushing the trimmed grass. "Oh dear," she said, eyes darting to the torn hem of Rebecca's gown. "Rachel, darling, come with me. We'll have that fixed before anyone else notices."
Rebecca cast Ryan a fleeting look that said stay alive until I get back and allowed herself to be swept away.
That left Ryan, Luna, and Luka standing in a strange little triangle. Ryan took the opening before Luka could fill it with chatter. "Luka—mind if I borrow Luna for a moment?"
Luka looked mildly surprised, but shrugged. "Sure. I should probably make the rounds anyway. Don't get too deep into politics without me."
As Luka walked away, Ryan and Luna were left in the quiet hum of the garden path. Ryan could hear his own pulse over the muffled laughter of guests.
"You look…" Ryan started, then stopped himself. Too personal. "You're settling in, I hope?"
Luna's eyes stayed fixed on him, unblinking. "I'm trying."
There was something in his voice—soft, deliberate—that made Ryan's chest tighten. It was too easy to imagine Luna could see straight through him, the way the sunlight pierced the sheer curtains in his room, laying everything bare.
Ryan smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. That's… good."
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable. It was a taut wire, humming between them. And Ryan had the sinking feeling that no matter how perfect Rebecca's impersonation, no matter how careful they were, Luna wasn't done pulling at threads.
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