14 Years Later - Present Time 1990

I had no idea whether I'd been born a thief.

All the memories of my earlier years had been stolen from me, yet, with the way I'd taken to thieving at such a young age, I often wondered if I had.

Either way, I considered this more like borrowing than actual theft.

The office chair wobbled beneath me as I stretched up on my tippy-toes and reached with the end of my wooden spoon for a hook protruding from the wall.

I kept a long-handled stirring spoon, tucked under the belt of my uniform, on me at all times. Sometimes I twirled the spoon like a baton. Letting it spin between my fingers—faster, faster, faster. Often I wielded it like a weapon, and it felt glorious to hold and imagine it was a blade. It was good for pointing at someone to punctuate an order, or used as a cattle prod—poking someone to move faster—or to rap across knuckles if someone thought they could steal a butter cookie from the tin in the pantry.

Right now I was using it to put back the master set of keys to all the guest bedrooms at the mansion before the Head Housekeeper discovered they were gone from his office. I'd borrowed the keys last night and secretly had a copy made to aid me in tomorrow night's heist.

It was a risk coming in here during the day to attempt this, but with my colleagues busy at work, I'd hoped I could slink in and out without anyone catching me.

I had to be quick and silent, but their home on the wall was positioned in a high, awkward spot. The heavy set of keys kept swaying and jingling, chink, chink, chink, threatening to slip off the end of my spoon as I tried to maneuver the metal ring over the hook.

Behind the closed office door came a sound of low masculine voices engaged in conversation, drawing nearer down the corridor. Beads of clammy sweat broke out along my flushed temple, and my heart began to patter faster, erupting into a racing tempo when a shrill sound exploded in the office.

Ring-ring...

Ring-ring...

Whipping my head sideways, my ponytail slashed through the air. Strands of hair brushed across my shoulder and caught around my neck. My wide-eye gaze landed on the phone screaming for attention.

Ring-ring...

Ring-ring...

The Head Housekeeper was going to come in here and catch me out! As the phone droned on, ringing and ringing and ringing, I heard hurried footsteps moving toward the office.

My efforts became frantic as I tried to put the keys back in their spot. The tip of my tongue poked out as I concentrated hard. The cluster of keys rocked precariously back and forth, and the metal ring wouldn't quite catch the hook in the wall.

It wasn't working. I couldn't get the right angle!

I tried again—and failed.

The office door handle jiggled as it was grasped from the other side.

Oh my freaking gods!

Sending a prayer to the gods, I thrust my wooden spoon at the hook, and just went for it.

There came a raining sound of metal on metal as the master set of keys slipped into place.

The office door began to swing open. I jumped down from the chair, landing as silently as a cat, and kicked the chair back in front of the large desk, just as the Head Housekeeper stormed into the office.

He was a dour man whose expression appeared permanently pickled, with stern features in a heavily freckled face. He was a hard taskmaster, and worse, he didn't particularly like me very much. Despite how diligently I'd worked, it had taken an age to rise through the ranks to get to my current position as a Between Maid. And I was the best silverware polisher amongst the servants.

I stood at attention in front of his desk and covertly hid my wooden spoon behind my back. The Head Housekeeper's gaze narrowed with displeasure on mine, but for the time being he ignored me, scooped up the handset, and seated himself behind his neat, orderly desk. He drummed his slender fingers in irritation on the mahogany surface while he answered the phone. "Hello... What is it?"

Curiously, his demeanor changed straight away. His spine snapped ramrod straight. Pride and eagerness gleamed in his deep brown eyes. "Right now? Ah, I see..." He smoothed his hair back off his forehead, before quickly adjusting his tie as he replied, "And she's not answering her phone... Leave it with me."

He slammed the handset down and eyed me shrewdly.

For a moment silence reigned, filled only by the low hum emanating from his computer.

"Great House Wychthorn has arrived early," he informed me.

A different kind of anxiety spiked my pulse. We were expecting the heir to the Great House to arrive much later. I wasn't even dressed in my formal House uniform.

The Head Housekeeper carried on speaking. "Marissa isn't answering her phone so we need someone to go up to her bedroom and bring her downstairs immediately."

That would be me. "Yes, sir. I'll go up there, right this minute." I was about to spin around on my heel and march out the door when he stopped me.

He turned a cold, inquisitive look upon me. "What were you doing here, Miss Catt?"

"I was just,"—freaking hells, what was I doing here again?—"coming to report to you on the status of the room we're getting ready for tonight's guests, Mr. Volkov."

He raised an eyebrow, silently waiting.

I beamed a smile. "It's going splendidly, sir." A complete and utter lie. Right now the transformation of the casual drawing room into an elegant winter theme was a shambles and I was screwed.

"Good," he murmured, but it sounded thorny as if I'd displeased him. His thin lips curled downward. "Because if the Matriarch of the house is disappointed, then I will be too."

I gulped.

The last time I'd disappointed him, I'd been stuck for the entire week cleaning out all the hearths in the mansion. Something I'd rather not experience again. It was a brutal, thankless task, and every night I'd trudged wearily back to my bedroom covered in soot.

"Well, get to it," he snapped, with a vexed gesture of his hand toward the door.

"Yes, sir." I pivoted on my heel and scarpered from his office.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, I sagged against it, blowing out a pent-up breath. Thankfully, it seemed he hadn't noticed the temporary disappearance of the master set of bedroom keys.

The rest of the household was in a flurry of motion. Servants hustled to and fro like churning water, while the family members of House Deniaud drifted like leaves carried on a gentle stream as they made their way toward the front entrance of their home to greet the heir of Great House Wychthorn. Normally running was a big no-no, but right now everyone could kiss my sweet behind.

Tucking my wooden spoon under the white belt at my waist, I bounded up the grand staircase two steps at a time; wove past servants as I ran the length of the inner balcony with its intricate wrought-iron ivy balustrade, and down long stretches of hallways with buttery-gold damask wallpaper. By the time I climbed a further set of stairs and reached Marissa's quarters at the end of the western wing, I was huffing and puffing and wishing I could just fall flat-faced on my bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.

Only bothering with a brief cursory knock on the rich oak door to Marissa's rooms, I didn't wait to be invited in; I shoved the door inward and made my way through her sitting room with its walls papered in a tangled raspberry pattern. Marissa was the eldest daughter of the family I served, and also one of my best friends.

A chemical-floral smell permeated the air, growing stronger the closer I got to her bedroom. The twin doors were wide open, and I found Marissa sitting in front of her dresser on a stool. Her eyes were closed to protect herself against the clouds of stickiness drifting downward to settle on her tawny hair, which had been teased into a gigantic puff off her forehead and into a loose chignon.

Catching my breath, I leaned against the wall beside the open doors to Marissa's Juliette balcony, relishing the breeze sweeping inward and ruffling the taffeta curtains. With one hand I tugged at the collar of my uniform while fanning air down the front to cool my heated skin with the other. I glanced over at the rosewood console near her dresser and I saw that she'd separated the pink princess handset from the base so no one could call through. I mentally groaned. Typical.

Marissa opened her eyes, a startling blue, and popped the can of hairspray onto the dresser. I pushed off the wall, and in a few strides reached my friend.

"What do you think?" she asked me as she turned her face this way and that, examining her hair in the mirror.

"It's set like concrete," I said, carefully touching the updo.

"Perfect." Marissa twisted around on the stool and gave me a dazzling smile. "Just the person I wanted to see."

At twenty-three she was a few years older than me, and according to her, she was in love. She'd invited a few of her friends to this weekend's entertainment of the Servants' Dance, a ruse her father was only happy to agree to as long as he extended invites to a few more eligible bachelors. This year I'd seen little of my friend. She'd toured Europe with her mother and aunts, and on her return she'd attended dances and social gatherings, her parents introducing her to possible suitors. But I suspected her father was biding his time—probably like most Heads of Houses—hoping his daughter would ensnare the heir to Great House Wychthorn. Unfortunately for her father, Marissa had other ideas. She planned to twist him into giving her his blessing for a union with another man: the heir to an Upper House that resided in a mountain range far from here and manufactured illicit drugs laced with magic.

I adjusted her hairbrush and hair combs on the dresser, making sure everything lined up perfectly. "Whatever it is will have to wait. We have to make a move downstairs."

Excitement shimmered in her gaze and practically hummed in the room. "Is he here?"

"They're—" But before I could answer fully, she jumped to her feet and ran to the Juliette balcony. Her hands gripped the metal railing as she peered over.

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped as she stepped back into the room. "There's no one here."

"Yet," I amended. "You've got less than five minutes to get downstairs to greet the Wychthorns."

Marissa huffed, waving a dismissive hand. "It's just the Wychthorns."

My hand snapped to my chest as I barked a laugh, my shoulders shuddering—Just the Wychthorns.

"You know what I mean," she said. "It's not him." Her exquisite features took on a hopeful look. "And...?"

I shook my head. "He's not arrived yet."

Her expression fell into disappointment.

Gesturing with a curl of my fingers, I sidled backward toward her bedroom door. "Come on, time to greet the Great House."

"Not yet," she replied, flashing a devious grin that halted my movement and had the smile sliding off my face with suspicion. She hurried to her walk-in closet and disappeared inside. While the sound of clattering clothes hooks and metal scraping against metal carried on, and her muttering—it's in here somewhere—I took to her dresser.

Digging out a handful of bobby pins from my skirt pocket, I clenched them between my teeth and pulled my hair free from the elastic band.

Long locks fell down my back in golden waves. It was long—perhaps too long. I hadn't had it trimmed in years. I ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing the flyaways, and quickly looped the length into a neat bun at the nape of my neck, pinning it as I went. It was too late to do anything about changing into my formal uniform, and I'd probably get chewed out by the Head Housekeeper later for it, but it was more important to get Marissa downstairs on time.

"Hurry up," I grumbled around the last bobby pin pressed between my lips.

"Ah-ha!" I heard her exclaim.

Sliding the last pin into place, I braced my hands on the dresser to peer closer at my workmanship in the mirror. Decent enough, I figured. Pushing upright, I hesitated a moment; I really needed to hustle Marissa along. I could hear more clattering going on inside her walk-in closet. Not coat hangers—this time it sounded like she was rifling through her shoes, tossing them aside as she hunted for something. I stared at myself in the mirror, inspecting my features, wondering what everyone else saw—thick eyelashes framed by bright green eyes ringed with blue. Like the Mediterranean sea, my aunt would say. Sometimes the color of my eyes changed with what I was feeling—grassy green when I was happy, and more of a bluish hue when my mood turned stormy. My teeth—straight, white, big...maybe too big; sun-kissed freckles scattered on warm golden skin; a heart-shaped face with full lips and a straight nose. And when I smiled, really smiled, a dimple appeared on my left cheek.

I had a big toothy grin just like my mother, my aunt would say. And she did too. Though I liked hearing those kinds of things about my mother, it was also strange and unsettling. I had no recollection of her at all. It was an odd place to be in—not to remember one's mother. I was always left with a sense of loss, of being adrift with nothing to latch onto, and there was a feeling of guilt too when my aunt talked about her, sharing stories about their childhood together, special moments when I was a baby, and then a young child. To me, they were just detached impressions.

Marissa suddenly reappeared, jarring me out of my thoughts. She twirled around. Pale rose-gold material swirled with her, sweeping in an arc. "I have this for you," she said, stretching her hand toward me. A gorgeous dress draped from her fingers. I started to shake my head, drawing away. "I insist," she said, stepping closer. "I haven't worn it before and I thought it would be perfect for you to wear tomorrow night at the Servants' Dance."

I chewed on my bottom lip, staring at the dress, wishing I could. But to be singled out by one of the family members wouldn't go down well with the rest of the servants.

"I can't," I replied, shaking my head again.

"Tabitha..." she sing-songed.

"Marissa..." I said, dragging her name out with a note in my tone that said I really couldn't.

"You're my friend."

"I'm also your servant," I reminded her.

"But my friend."

I sighed wistfully, drawing close enough to touch the dress. The silky fabric whispered across my work-roughened fingers as I ran my hand down the skirt. "It's beautiful."

"The color will make your eyes pop. You'll steal someone's heart wearing this... Please..." she simpered, batting her eyelashes.

It was a beautiful Grecian-style evening gown with a pleated silk bodice and belt, and the long skirt flowed out in gentle ripples. The rose-gold color would indeed bring out the green of my eyes.

I hadn't realized she had hooked her fingers through the flimsy straps of a pair of matching shoes until she dangled them before me. "Just your size," she said with a wink.

I poked a foot out, wiggling my sensible but downright ugly shoes. "What's wrong with these?"

"What's right about them?" she asked flatly. After a moment of pause, she softened. "I get it, I do. But take the dress and shoes, and make your mind up on the night. Even if you don't wear them, they're still yours."

Yet, I didn't take the dress or the shoes from her. Instead, feeling awkward, I rubbed the backs of my curled fingers over my lower arm, and lied. "I'll collect them later. First, let's get you downstairs."

She squinted at me as if she didn't believe me, and she was right. I couldn't accept such a gift. Reluctantly she moved to her bed with its ruffled duvet and placed the dress on the mattress, the shoes too. "If you don't, I'll only bring them to your room." She perked up. "I'm so excited for you. Maybe you'll meet the one tomorrow night."

I scrunched my nose. "Maybe." Highly unlikely. I didn't bother telling her that, no, I was pretty sure I wouldn't. The last dance I'd been so nervous I'd grabbed hold of a silver ladle and scooped punch from the bowl, just to do something with my hands, pouring the fruity drink into a tumbler for someone who was about to fill their own glass. Like the tragic and socially inept person I was, I ended up serving drinks at the affair all night, instead of putting myself out there and meeting someone.

Someone like Tomas.