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Chapter Twelve
Elena revolved slowly before the full-length mirror in Aunt Judith's bedroom. Margaret sat at the
foot of the big four-poster bed, her blue eyes large and solemn with admiration.
"I wish I had a dress like that for trick-or-treat," she said.
"I like you best as a little white cat," said Elena, dropping a kiss between the white velvet ears
attached to Margaret's headband. Then she turned to her aunt, who stood by the door with needle and
thread ready. "It's perfect," she said warmly. "We don't have to change a thing."
The girl in the mirror could have stepped out of one of Elena's books on the Italian Renaissance.
Her throat and shoulders were bare, and the tight bodice of the ice-blue dress showed off her tiny
waist. The long, full sleeves were slashed so that the white silk of the chemise underneath showed
through, and the wide, sweeping skirt just brushed the floor all around her. It was a beautiful dress,
and the pale clear blue seemed to heighten the darker blue of Elena's eyes.
As she turned away, Elena's gaze fell on the old-fashioned pendulum clock above the dresser. "Oh,
no – it's almost seven. Stefan will be here any minute."
"That's his car now," said Aunt Judith, glancing out the window. "I'll go down and let him in."
"That's all right," said Elena briefly. "I'll meet him myself. Good-bye, have a good time trick-ortreating!"
She hurried down the stairs.
Here goes, she thought. As she reached for the doorknob, she was reminded of that day, nearly two
months ago now, when she'd stepped directly into Stefan's path in European History class. She'd had
this same feeling of anticipation, of excitement and tension.
I just hope this turns out better than that plan did, she thought. For the last week and a half, she'd
pinned her hopes to this moment, to this night. If she and Stefan didn't come together tonight, they
never would.
The door swung open, and she stepped back with her eyes down, feeling almost shy, afraid to see
Stefan's face. But when she heard his sharp indrawn breath, she looked up quickly – and felt her heart
go cold.
He was staring at her in wonder, yes. But it was not the wondering joy she'd seen in his eyes that
first night in his room. This was something closer to shock.
"You don't like it," she whispered, horrified at the stinging in her eyes.
He recovered swiftly, as always, blinking and shaking his head. "No, no, it's beautiful. You're
beautiful."
Then why are you standing there looking as if you'd seen a ghost? she thought. Why don't you hold
me, kiss me – something!
"You look wonderful," she said quietly. And it was true; he was sleek and handsome in the tux and
cape he'd donned for his part. She was surprised he'd agreed to it, but when she'd made the suggestion
he'd seemed more amused than anything else. Just now, he looked elegant and comfortable, as if such