A lump forms in my throat. “Iwasyour friend, and you were mine. Best friends back then, although I suppose you’d never admit it now.”
“I admit it. Even my father would. We were together all the time.”
“That’s right.” An early memory of his house in Elderberry Hills comes back to me. His father was indifferent then, and his mother was cool but friendly enough. “The problem didn’t start until later, when we became more than friends, did it? That’s when you chickened out and pushed me away.” I swallow down the lump.
“He’ll never be what you need,” Seven murmurs, his gaze drifting toward the door I’ve just come through. “River is too mundane for you. You’ve always been a thrill seeker. You want the excitement of the big win. It’s why you love poker. You’ve never wanted anything that came easy.”
I sneer at him, angry that his words hit a little too close to home. “You don’t know shit about me.”
He shakes his head. “Then give me a chance to know you again…” His face is close to mine, and my inner Teenage Sophia, what’s left of her, thinks it would be a great idea to kiss him, maybe fool around a little in the shadowy grove of trees behind River’s. It would feel so good. All that luck would rush into me, a hot and effervescent jet stream. I remember how addictive it felt, being the center of Seven’s attention, the focus of all that power. It would be a heady thing. I step in closer until we are chest to chest and there’s a flare of heat in his emerald eyes. Teenage Sophia is reveling in the growing erection pressing into her hip.
Thank the gods Adult Sophia is in control and she knows better. I clutch my proverbial cards to my chest and snap my poker face back into place, shaking off his touch and backing out of reach.
“Go home, Seven. Use all that luck on something more important than following me around, like dealing with that erection.” I pantomime him tossing off, turn, and stride for home. He doesn’t follow me.
ChapterFourteen
I think we consider too much the luck of the early bird and not enough the bad luck of the early worm. — Franklin D. Roosevelt
“Mom? Are you still asleep?”
I prop one eyelid open to see Arden hovering over me. She’s grimacing and holding a very large box with a giant black silk bow tied around it. I roll my eyeball in its sandy socket toward the clock.
“Is that right?” I mumble.
“It’snoon! Are you sick? Why are you still in bed?” Arden sets the box on my desk and reaches for my forehead like she’s going to test my temperature. Instead, she stops about a foot from me and sniffs the air. “Oh my God, you’re drunk!”
“I’m not drunk.” I pop open both eyes and do a self-assessment. Am I still drunk? No. Definitely not. I hold up my hand, my thumb and forefinger a few centimeters apart. “I’m a teensy bit hungover. Totally different.”
“Mom!” Arden’s eyes widen.
I blink a few times and sit up with a groan. “Honestly, Arden. After all that’s happened the past few days and all you’ve learned, the thing that surprises you the most is that for the first time in sixteen years, I drank a little too much last night?”
She folds her arms and pops her hip out. “You’d never let me get away with this.”
“I’ll make you a deal. When you’re thirty-four like I am now, I will definitely let you get away with it. I’ll even watch your little rug rats while you do it, if you have any.”
A giggle bursts from her lips. “You are not a normal mom.”
“Never.” I stand and pull her into an obnoxious hug. “By the way, I’m still working on that school thing. I’m going to call the headmistress Monday, as soon as the school opens. I had to visit the bank yesterday.” I stop short of telling her there was nothing left in our accounts. I don’t want to worry her. “I doubt I’d catch anyone this afternoon, and there’s something I have to do for Godmother.”
“I’m not missing anything this weekend anyway,” she says, although I can see she’s disappointed.
“We’re going to get you back in school. I promise.” I have no idea how I’ll accomplish this promise, but for Arden, I’ll find a way. “Now what have you brought me?” I move to the box. My mouth feels lined with cotton, and I desperately need a coffee, but this gift looks important.
“It’s not from me!” she says. “A satyr delivered it for you this morning. Cutest guy I’ve seen since we arrived and my age too. Idefinitelywant to go to school here.”
Part of me wants to warn her off all fae men, but that’s not really fair. Arden’s always had a good head on her shoulders. No man will ever be good enough for her, but I hope someday she finds someone who’s worth her time, either fairy or human. Someone who thinks the sun rises because of her.
“We’ll work on it,” I say, then turn my attention to the box and tug at the ends of the ribbon. The bow unravels, the dark strip of silk falling away. Lifting the top off, at first all I see is elaborately patterned tissue paper. Intrigued, I unfold it.
“Wow,” Arden says. “Is that a dress?”
Pinching the plum fabric between my fingers, I lift it from the packaging. “Part of one,” I mumble. I hold it up to my body and turn toward the mirror. It’s off the shoulder and backless with a lace-covered bodice adorned in beads and sequins. Below the waist, plum silk flares out in flirty scallops that hit well above my knee.
“There’s jewelry in here too. And shoes!” Arden holds up a delicate necklace of ornately crafted diamonds and amethyst flowers, matching earrings, and a diamond cuff bracelet. In her other hand is a slinky stiletto. “I thought you had to wear Cinderella dresses. Is this allowed?”
“Any gown is allowed as long as it covers the important parts,” I say, although in practice there is only one place a pixie would wear a dress like this. I dig in the box and find a card at the bottom. In Seven’s even scrawl it reads,Look the part. I’ll pick you up at eight.
