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She’d heard about them in passing before, but she didn’t really know much about their lifestyle or culture. She’d hoped to change that over the course of a conversation with an interesting gentleman, but that was looking less likely by the minute.

Maybe there was something wrong with her, she wondered. Maybe she was dressed inappropriately in their eyes. She wasn’t showing any cleavage and barely any thigh, but maybe that didn’t matter to them. She seemed to recall hearing something about the Sandlords having an ultra conservative culture, so maybe the Rainlords were the same way?

Dammit. She hadn’t been prepared to take the initiative here, and seeing some of the disapproving looks she was getting, now she was no longer sure that she even wanted to.

Maybe it was a bad idea to go off on her own. Maybe it was just the artificial “uneasiness” getting to her. Whatever it was, she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. And undesirable. And depressed.

It wasn’t like she was perfect. Maybe they could just see right through her. Maybe they could tell what a phony she was, how insecure she was.

Ugh, and now she was starting to think about her ex, about all those terrible things he’d said about her, about how much truth had been in them.

She’d been trying to quit drinking, but now she really wished this place had some damn alcohol. Why didn’t it have any, anyway? Did the Rainlords have something against that, too? Or was it the local lord’s fault? Whoever was to blame, she would’ve liked to give them a piece of her mind, right about now.

“Excuse me,” came a distinctly masculine voice from behind her.

That alone was enough to make her perk up and turn. Her breath caught at the sight of the chiseled jawline on the incredibly tall man standing there. She tried to say something, but her words couldn’t find her mouth--or even her mind, for that matter.

“What are you doing here?” the towering man said. His expression was noticeably flat and not at all welcoming, but Madison was still too stunned to be bothered by such things.

He was exactly her type. It was like he’d walked right out of her imagination and into reality in order to sweep her off her feet. That was what he was here to do, right? Oh, dear sweet Cocora, please let that be the case.

The man seemed to become mildly impatient, however. “Do you have some business here? Are you a guest?”

“Oh!” she said, finally regaining herself. “Yes! I’m a guest!”

“Of whom?” he asked.

“Ah... G-Gina and Roman? My name is, er--” She caught herself. She was supposed to be in hiding, after all. A part of her wanted this prime specimen of a man to recognize her--maybe even tell her that he was a fan--but it was probably for the best if that didn’t happen. There was still a chance that he would recognize her name, though, so she should take steps to avoid that, she felt.