~Grace pov~
My palms are slick with sweat. I sink into the seat beside Mila and smooth the skirt of my dress—mostly just an excuse to wipe my hands against the silk.
Nathalie sits directly opposite us. Her eyes drift innocently around the ballroom, feigning interest in the dancers, while Emily sits at her side. They are so identical they are frequently mistaken for twins; they share the same sharp eyes and the same hauntingly familiar expressions. I can't find the words for the rest, but it doesn't matter—my heart is hammering against my ribs so hard I'm afraid it might break through.
No one notices. Not Mila, not anyone. I watch Nathalie whisper to Vivian and Emily, feeling utterly helpless. I can't exactly march over and demand to know what she's saying; we are expected to be on our best behavior tonight.
