“You must not like the seaweed salad,” he said, gesturing with his pointy chopsticks at her pile of seaweed, edamame, carrot, and mountain yam salad.
“Actually, it’s delicious, and very healthy. A little bite of spiciness, but it’s great,” she said. “We should bring some food back for Maeve and Sorcha.”
“Good idea,” he said. “We can drop by your apartment and pack.”
“Why would we need to pack?” Clare’s pulse skittered on high alert. “Where would we go that needed packing?”
She was definitely chickening out. They’d already had a memorable day. The burning sensation of the fresh tattoo was proof. She’d also seen the inside of a Victorian jail and taken many pictures she wantedto put on her social media.
Besides, Griffin’s Green Notebook was burning a hole in her purse, and she needed a minute to herself to toss it in the trash, never to be referenced again.
“You seem distracted,” Griffin said, stirring his chopsticks among the ramen noodles. “Tell you what. Let me take over the planning for our memorable evening. You can relax. Let’s drive to a fantasylocation. In fact, you can wear all of the fairy gear you want.”
“You want me to dress up and draw attention to us?” Clare’s stomach dropped and butterfly wings of confusion swirled in her chest. What was Griffin up to? Was he trying to lure the bad guys who were after the Heart of Brigid? Flush them out in the open?
“Yes, you should be yourself.” He swept his eyes over her conservativeclothes. “Choose whichever goddess you want to be tonight and make it real. Don’t tell me which one. It’ll be my honor to escort you.”
“Uh, we’ve had a long day already,” Clare said. “Aren’t you exhausted from your doctor appointment and all the touring? Have you thought about the treatment options?”
“Treatment, schweetment.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Tonight is our last hurrah,wouldn’t you say?”
He was up to something. Possibly dangerous. Was he already in cahoots with someone to try and kidnap her? Or force her to reveal the location of the diamond?
“Why don’t we go to the abbey and fetch your family treasure first?” she offered, now that warning bells clanged in her mind and the color of blood washed over her visual field. Once he had it, she could puther guilt feelings away. She could also escape before he remembered what dire things he was supposed to do to the changeling.
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Griffin said. “Bronagh Abbey isn’t far from where we’ll spend the night.”
“Why don’t we call it an early night, stay at the apartment, and start fresh tomorrow morning?”
“Don’t tell me my fun and high-energy fairy maidenis tapped out.” Griffin tilted his head back and smirked. “Can’t keep up with an old man?”
“You’re not old,” she countered. “I bet you’re not yet thirty.”
“You forget, I’m over a thousand years old, but tonight, I’m going to make a big decision.” He clasped her hand and bumped shoulders with her. “My dear beloved Brigid, I would like you by my side when I embark on a completely newlife. Will you be my bride tonight?”
“Buh-bride?” Clare’s tongue refused to work. He had to be joking. She hadn’t known him long enough for him to fall in love with her. They hadn’t even been dating or courting or whatever thousand-year-old epileptics did.
“I apologize if I shocked you,” he said, lowering his voice. “Rest assured, we would be acting out the final step of my old life.No danger would come to you. I promise. Once I’ve married my fairy queen and spent one magical night with her, I will go back to the Poddle Neurological Institute and sign up for surgery.”
“You promise?”
“Swear on my grandfather’s life.” He feathered his lips over the shell of her ear. “Think of the love story you could write from your own experiences. Think of the movie we couldproduce.”
“Okay.” The word was barely out of Clare’s mouth when she wanted to take it back.
What had she agreed to? There was no way she could trust him. What if everything written in the Green Notebook was coming true?
What if she was the sacrificial victim and not Brigid the Bride?
“Promise I won’t get hurt.”
“I promise you won’t get hurt.” He patted the bandageover her tattoo. “We’re in this together. Do you trust me?”
“Sure,” she said. “I trust you.”
Not at all. She was going to have to give him the slip as soon as she could burn the Green Notebook. She wasn’t one of her too-stupid-to-live heroines. She was, after all, a diabolical romance author, and she could spot tricks as far up a man’s sleeve as his armpit.
Humpf.
