Chapter one
Love at First Sight
Quin
Quin Duboi never believedin love at first sight. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she believed in love at all. Not that she doubted its actual existence, of course. She understood the concept, and she was even willing to acknowledge that for some—though they were, admittedly, few and far between—it could be very real.
But for the most part, she separated the idea of love into two more logical columns: lustful obsession, or biological imperative due to programming.
Take a parent, for instance. They were biologically coded to care for their child. If they didn’t, the child would be quickly abandoned the moment they became too difficult or annoying. So species evolved, as all species did, to flood parents’ bodies with hormones and chemicals geared to create the feelings ofbonding and love for their offspring. Survival of the species was, after all, one hell of a motivator.
As for the other column, she recognized her viewpoint was far more pessimistic. Obsession and lust were common enough occurrences, especially between people who had chemistry. But they were feelings, usually temporary ones, and when the dust settled and the hormones calmed, those feelings tended to fade. Life was hard, and contrary to popular opinion, love did not conquer all.
The whole notion of true love, soulmates, or deity-blessed unions was immature and, honestly, a little desperate.
So, no, Quin did not believe in love at first sight. That is, until Glyma Aryti crashed into her life like a hurricane, leaving nothing in her wake but yearning. And glitter. Lots of glitter.
It happened on a Tuesday afternoon. Which, all things considered, was a strange day for the course of one’s entire life to change. Nothing important should ever happen on a Tuesday. It was practically a law of nature.
But at 3:07 p.m. on a Tuesday—as Quin sat at her desk surrounded by paperwork and bombarded by event-planners and caterers pestering her with questions about her engagement party (as if she gave a damn. Honestly, she had better things to do than worry about whether roses communicated traditional class or were a boring cliché)—her life changed forever.
“But if we go with roses, we still have to choose which color. Red is classic, of course, but we don’t want to be gauche,” Hensi, her event coordinator—and cousin—prattled on in her ear as Quin scanned through a report. “I was thinking a soft cream? Maybe even so far as a warm yellow.”
“Okay,” Quin agreed, not really listening.
“Okay? To the soft cream or the yellow?”
“Either is fine,” Quin said.
A beat of tense silence, then, “But it’s your engagement party.”
“We aren’t engaged yet,” Quin said so hastily it could almost be likened to defensiveness.
An even longer silence, then, “Right. But it’s still… you know?”
“Yes, it’s still—you know what? Just choose whichever color is moreinright now. Better yet, let my mother decide. She’ll love that.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t care about this party at all,” Hensi whined, and Quin pinched the bridge of her nose.
“When in doubt, appeal to their ego,”her father had taught her a long time ago, so she utilized the advice now.
“I don’t have to care because I know you have everything under control. In your… qualified and talented hands, this party will go off without a hitch.” The light of Quin’s desk phone blinked, indicating her assistant was calling. Into her cellphone, she said, “Listen, Hensi, I have another call. Just do what feels right. I trust you.”
“Aw, Quin, that means a lot. I am going to make your day so special, and Waryn is going to love it!”
At the mention of her soon-to-be-fiancé, Quin nearly winced. “I’m sure he will. We both will. I gotta go.”
“Okay, I’ll send you a picture of the finalized centerpieces. Don’t worry your horns about a thing. I’ve got this covered. Kisses!”
Quin hung up before Hensi had finished smacking her kissy noises through the speaker. Picking up her desk phone, she tucked it between her ear and shoulder as she slipped her cell into her blazer pocket.
“Yes?”
“Your three o’clock is here,” Marci said, and Quin shuffled aside several papers to make room on her desk.
She glanced at the clock. 3:07. Miss Aryti was late.
“Of course,” Quin said. “Send her in.”
