If I Fall (13 page)

15
CHOOSING

From the top of the stairs, the ball appears just as I had always dreamed: girls in beautiful dresses spinning around handsome men to the push and pull of the musicians’ bows; music so sweet and powerful implanting a fire in their hearts, making them move across the floor in one ebbing sea of dancers. Only one thing is missing and that is—

“Adam?”

I lean further over the rail for a better look and sure enough, there he is, and he’s not alone. In the middle of the dance floor, he leads a young woman in a Hesitation Waltz. Even from this distance, I can tell she is beautiful. He leans closer to whisper in her ear. She tilts her head back and laughs. My stomach churns. My face grows hot. My heart hammers inside my chest.

Holding my head up high, I ignore the feeling in my gut and begin to make my way down the stairs. As much as I try to avoid looking at him, my eyes continue to find a way back. Halfway down the stairs, I pause and sneak a glance. Adam’s eyes pass over me, but instantly draw back as he comes to a full stop in the middle of the floor. Wide green eyes stare in my direction; I peer over my shoulder, sure he cannot be staring at me, but there is no one there.

Blushing, I continue my descent down the stairs, never taking my eyes off him. The girl stares at him as though he is crazy, befuddled as to why they stopped. Angry couples glare in his direction. They mumble nasty comments under their breath as they dance around the rude man still standing in the middle of the floor. Adam murmurs something to the girl beside him before he makes his way through the dancers. He heads in my direction and I watch from the third step, my heart picking up tempo.

At last, he reaches the staircase. His fiery green eyes stare up at me, his lips slightly parted. He wears expensive black tails and a waistcoat of a lighter color. His trousers are streamlined and fitted. A pristine, white bow tie brushes against the hollow of his neck. Unlike the rest of the men, his dark brown hair is tousled, not smoothed back. He reaches out a hand, never taking his eyes off of me, and I take it.

“I was right,” he says, pressing his lips to my hand. My cheeks flare pink and I suddenly wish my glove was not there to separate his lips from my skin.

I smile. “Right about what?”

“You are beautiful.” He coughs awkwardly, and then shrugs. “Without the scowl, I mean.”

Descending the last three steps, I make sure to scowl at him and stick out my tongue. He laughs.

“Where were you earlier? You never met us back at the cabin. I was afraid you would not show.”

“I—”

“There you are! I cannot believe you left me stranded in the middle of the dance floor!” Coming up behind him is the girl he was dancing with only a few minutes ago. She wraps an arm around his waist and smiles at me. “Oh, hello. And who might you be?”

Before I can respond, Adam clears his throat. “Miss Clara Lindel, may I present Miss Elvira Hamilton,” he says, sweeping a hand behind my back. One look into the hidden depths of her baby blues and my decision is clear: I do not like her. I do not like her one bit.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” I say, and dip into a slight curtsy.

“No, the pleasure is all mine,” she says and turns to Adam. “Is she why you left me during our dance, Adam? Though I can obviously see why—” she smiles at me and I smile tightly in turn “—you do owe me a dance.”

And though I try to ignore her wandering hands and the casual way in which she touches him, a green fury burrows in my chest.
She
called him Adam,
I think.
She called him Adam!

“Yes, of course. Save me a place on your dance card. I will find you shortly,” he answers.

She nods and turns away, but instantly turns back and whispers in his ear, just loud enough for me to hear, “I hope you do not put me off like this when we are married.” She grins at me. “Pleasure meeting you,” she says, and strolls away. Her hips sway as she moves, blonde waves bouncing atop her head. As much as I want to deny it, she is gorgeous.

Dumbfounded, I stare at Adam. He closes his eyes and bows his head, and I am sure he knows I heard.

“Excuse me,” I whisper and push past him towards the double doors that lead out onto the deck. I shove my way through groups of men and women engaged in boisterous conversations until I am finally at the doors. I hear him calling my name, but do not stop.

Tasting of salt, the cool night air hits me in one immense wave. Everything grows suddenly hushed. The voices and music of the ball are only a quiet murmur behind the roar of the ocean and the sigh of the wind.

I run to the rail, a silver streak in the night, and lean over. The metal is cold against my skin. It clears my mind for a short moment, before I hear his voice and everything floods back.

“Elvira, wait! Vi!”

He stops calling. Without turning, I know he stands behind me. I do not move.

We stand there, neither talking, allowing the breeze to rush over our faces and sting our cheeks in silence. He steps forward, hesitantly, until he is at the rail.

“You are engaged,” I whisper. It is more a statement than a question.

He grabs my wrist, making me turn around. I do so reluctantly. His eyes burn into my own, pleading and apologizing all at once. However, I do not wish for his sympathy. I wish to be alone. I wish for him to leave so that I may cry in peace. Neither wish comes true. He stays, holding onto me with nothing but his eyes.

“I am not engaged,” he says at last.

“Oh?” I choke out.

He moves closer. “Clara’s family and my family have been close friends for years. Our marriage was determined before either of us was even born.”

I look him in the eye. “So you
are
to be married to her?”

He nods. “I am supposed to propose.”

“But you haven’t,” I whisper.

“No. No, I have not.”

A dim light of hope appears before my rationale instantly blacks it out. “But you will propose, won’t you?”

He shrugs, turning back to the ocean. The moonlight and stars dance across the water. The sky surrounds us. It has no end. No reason. No secrets. It has only the dance.

“My life has always been mapped out for me. I was always like this ship, never wandering from the planned course. And then, one day, I took a step away from the intended path to help a girl.” He turns his head. His eyes lock with mine in a meaningful glance. “I never questioned my intended marriage to Clara. It was my future. My only future. And I never questioned it.”

“But you are questioning it now?” My chest tightens. Every molecule of air halts within my body, waiting for his answer, needing to know if all hope is truly lost.

Another shrug. “Things have changed.
I
have changed.”

“Things could not have changed so much as to make you question your proposal, though,” I say. I scold myself, unsure as to why I am defending his marriage to another woman.

“The smallest causes often sprout the largest effects,” he responds.

The truth of his words resonates inside my heart. After all, a Marked man started a war with a single murder. A tiny Mark became the difference between predator and prey. And one terrible night changed two lives forever.

There is no denying it. It is a testament stamped in years of history, and history does not lie. Adam’s path was all before him, clear and smooth, with no other choices branching out. But circumstances change. Small causes lead to large effects. New paths are added.

And all anyone can do … is choose.

I peer out into the distance. A never-ending ocean. A never-ending sky. Any direction is a possibility for the ship, but there is only one path for me. Forward. And whether forward moves me closer or further away from
him
does not matter. All that matters is that I go.

Adam turns to me. Blazing green eyes yell out, trying to tell me something, but the message is lost to their fiery depths. “Elvira, I—”

I’ll never know what he was about to say; a high scream pierces the air before he can finish. Our attention snaps back to the ball. Another cry, then another and another. People stampede back and forth before the ballroom’s French doors. The doors fly open. A rush of women and men charge out onto the deck. They push and shove, not caring who lies at the other end of their panicky hands. There is only one goal: to escape.

My first thought is of Dela. I search the faces that spill out of the doors, but my sister is absent. I scan over the deck, wondering if she already got out and knowing in my gut that she didn’t. No. She is still inside. My head fills with thoughts of the Radicals and I wonder if that is what this is all about. Did they find her? Was Dela discovered?

Blood rushes to my brain, making me dizzy as my heart thumps, faster and faster, against my chest. I suck in air with shallow breaths as the sudden events unfold. I look to Adam as though he might know what is happening, as though this is something that happens at balls often. But his expression instantly shuts down any daft hope I might have possessed.

He stares in shock. His mouth agape and his eyes wide, not believing anything like this could happen in his perfect little world. As for me, I am all too familiar with the frightened faces and deafening screams. It is the very essence of war. The Marked’s war.
My
war.

His light eyes find mine, his pupils so small they are almost lost to the green. Too much white frames his irises. He is scared, I realize. Cocky, composed Adam is
scared.
I step forward, but he catches my arm. He shakes his head, his face wild. I look down at his hand wrapped around my wrist. In the back of my mind, I register its pale coloring. It does not stop me, however. I gaze up at him and offer a weak smile before wrenching my arm out of his grasp and racing towards the ballroom.

I push my way against the endless flow of people streaming from the doors. A man falls against me, knocking me down. He lies on top of me, and I push at him until finally he crawls away with the rest of the crowd. I try to get to my feet, but people rush over me, kicking me back down with every attempt I make at standing.

A hand reaches down, plucking me out of the stampede. Suddenly, my feet are under me. I turn around, and Adam stares at me with a little smile and shrugs. I smile back, relieved in knowing I am not alone. A woman knocks against me, and I fall back into his arms. A cacophony of panicked voices mixes with the beat of his heart. He pulls me up onto my feet again. With Adam at my back, I push forward through the throng until at last we drop onto the marble floor of the ballroom, the horde of people at our backs.

On all fours, I fight to regain oxygen. Raising my gaze, I throw my head back to keep the black curls that had escaped their pins from obscuring my eyesight. Another rush of people runs towards me, accompanied by a storm of shrieks and hollers. I freeze. My mind tells me to move, but I am locked in the path of the door. I watch as over twenty pair of feet barrel down towards me. I squeeze my eyes shut, readying for the pain, when Adam’s iron grip surrounds my waist.

He pulls me to the side just as the first person slams down on the exact spot where I had been kneeling. I release a sigh and lean back into him. His breathing is loud in my ear. I peel my gaze away from the people charging for the doors and redirect it towards the mayhem unfolding in the ballroom.

With the number of people who ran out onto the deck, I expect the room to be nearly empty. But I am wrong. People are everywhere. Men. Women. Children. First-class passengers mix with butlers and waiters. In the chaos, the world’s classes have melded together to form a new class that can only be described as crazed.

I peer over their heads in search of the cause. Adam squeezes my shoulder, nodding towards the doors where Gertrude and Mrs. Laurence have appeared. They wave at us, trying earnestly to draw us outside. I nod for him to leave. He hesitates for a moment, grabbing my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, before jogging over to his mother. I do not move.
Not until I find Dela.

Five men rush past in pursuit of a mother and her three children. The little ones grip her hands, tiny fingers clinging desperately to their solace, to the one person who might save them. As the woman readjusts her grip on the smallest child, I catch a glimpse of her arm. I gasp, not believing it to be true in my heart, but knowing in my head that what I see is real. A green diamond consumes the inside of her left wrist.

This woman, these children—they are Marked.

They are Marked and they are hunted.

I shiver, watching helplessly as the men chase the Marked family towards the kitchens. Hiking the smallest child up onto her back, the mother continues forward. I move closer, needing to know what happens next, needing to know if perchance death is not the Marked’s only option. If this family can escape then maybe there is hope for Dela and me yet!

Pushing my way through the crowd, I follow the Radicals across the ballroom as everyone else flees in the opposite direction. A man steps in my path, obscuring my vision and knocking me down. He steps over me and continues his escape, thinking nothing of the girl still lying on the floor.

Feet smack down around me. I begin to crawl, weaving in and out of the crowd towards an upturned table. The tablecloth drapes over one of the legs that jut out in midair. Hidden beneath its cover, I look out over the floor in search of the Radicals. At last, I spot them, standing just outside the kitchen doors.

The Marked woman and her children are nowhere in sight.

I smile, thinking they have gotten away before I hear, “They locked themselves inside. What do you want us to do?”

The man addressed strokes his chin, glancing back and forth between the small window that sees into the kitchen and his men. “Let’s—”

“Sir!” A younger man yells. His wide gaze fixates on the window, his nose pressing against the glass. “The woman is starting a fire!”

I cover my mouth to keep from making a sound as this new information seeps in. Why would she do such a thing? It was suicide!

Suicide.
I stare in horror.