Scripted. Rehearsed. Perfect. Exactly as expected.
But when a stranger touched her mother’s arm and said, “I bet you can’t wait for the patter of little feet in your halls. Being a grandparent is such a joy,” Quin froze.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, ignoring the glare her mother shot her.
“Your mother said you’re already trying. How exciting,” the woman who Quin had never met before this moment said with a wrinkly smile. “There is no higher calling than being a wife and mother.”
A fissure snaked through the facade as Quin rounded on her mother. Her mother stared back, eyes widening significantly, smile stretched obscenely.“Don’t make a scene,”the expression said, and the fissure spread into a crack.
“Oh, I—I didn’t…” Her throat was so dry, and she swallowed several times. She tasted bile. “Yes, well, I—you see, I…” Her voice failed her as her lungs constricted and the walls started to close in. Even Waryn’s hand at her waist wasn’t enough to ground her. Her mother was glaring at her as ifshewas the one out line, and the stranger frowned.
“Are you alright, dear? You’re looking a bit—oh.” The woman nodded in compassion as she took Quin’s hand and patted it. “I always had my morning sickness in the evening. It’ll pass, I promise.”
“Forgive me, but I need to use the restroom,” she said, nearly gagging on the lie as she ripped her hand free and practically sprinted out of the room.
“Quinastasia!” she heard her mother call, voice flinty, but Quin ignored her.
She blindly traversed the hallways of the grand mansion, gasping for air, even as her lungs rejected whatever oxygen she managed to inhale. Half-choking, she shoved through a pair of glass doors and stumbled onto the balcony, gulping in the night air. The cold sweat on her forehead sent shivers down herexposed arms as she gripped the stone railing and gazed out over the vast gardens.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on slowing her breathing. Her chest heaved like she’d just finished a triathlon, and her stomach sloshed like she really was about to be sick.
“Pull yourself together,” she hissed, shaking out her trembling hands. “Stop it, Quin. You’re being ridiculous. Stop it!”
As she gathered the pieces of herself and slotted them back into place, she coated each one in molten titanium and welded them together. It was cold and unyielding. It would turn her numb and hollow. But it would not bend, and it would not break. Just like her.
“Metal and steel,” she said on a heavy exhale. “You’re made of metal and steel, and you will not break.”
“Quin?” a familiar voice said from behind her, and she whirled around with a shrieked, “Fucking hell!”
Hand on her chest, she gasped through her fright as Glyma unfolded herself from the wrought-iron patio chair she’d been curled up in. The apron she’d been wearing earlier was draped over the armrest, the top buttons of her blouse undone, and she’d freed her hair from the stern bun, thick purple waves tumbling around her face and shoulders. The breeze sent several strands dancing, and they tangled around one of her vertical horns.
“What are you doing out here?” Quin demanded, though she could infer the answer, given the half-smoked cigarette dangling from between two lavender fingers.
The only reaction to Quin’s raised volume was the arch of a delicate purple brow. “I’m on a smoke break. What areyoudoing out here?”
“I…” Embarrassment flooded Quin’s cheeks with heat as she searched for an explanation that didn’t sound as pathetic as the truth. “I needed some air.”
“You look like you need a stiff drink,” Glyma said, but before Quin could bristle at that, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered Quin one. “I don’t have any alcohol, but I got this.”
Quin wasn’t a smoker, not really. She’d dabbled as a teenager, but her mother had hated the smell of it, so it never took. Now, she only smoked when she was stressed. Which meant, before she’d even consciously decided to, she found herself reaching out and withdrawing a cigarette from the box. She didn’t have a lighter, and Glyma seemed to realize that at the same moment Quin did.
Closing the distance between them, Glyma pulled a lighter from her other pocket and raised it high enough Quin only had to angle her chin slightly to position the cigarette. She didn’t extend her arm, though, forcing Quin to come closer. She hesitated, but when Glyma simply waited, hot pink eyes glittering in the moonlight, she stepped forward until they were sharing space.
The metal clicked, and the spark flicked, then caught. The flame illuminated Glyma’s face, reflecting in her eyes until they glowed hot as coals. Quin shivered again, but not from cold this time. Dipping the cigarette into the flame, she inhaled the smoke until her lungs burned. They were both on fire now.
As Quin’s cigarette smoldered, Glyma released the lever on the lighter, and the fire snuffed out. The echo danced in Quin’s vision for a moment, but she blinked it away as she shuffled back a step. Exhaling the smoke, she turned away from the Succubus and leaned her forearms on the railing. The stone was cold and gritty, digging into her skin, but she relished the discomfort.
“So,” Glyma said as she copied Quin’s stance, her arm nearly close enough to touch, “what was that all about?”
Another wave of shame rolled over her, so Quin took a drag and said, “What was what about?”
“Oh, so we’re gonna pretend that little anxiety attack never happened?” Glyma pinned her with a challenging stare, and Quin clenched her jaw, flicking ash off her cigarette. “Okay, cool.”
“You’re my client,” Quin said quietly. “And you’re here, working the event I’m a guest at.”
Glyma scoffed. “We’re not in your office, and right now, I’m off the clock. As far as I’m concerned, we’re just two strangers sharing a cigarette.”
It wasn’t that simple; nothing in Quin’s life was ever that simple. Yet, the sincerity in Glyma’s expression as she pursed her lips and blew out a stream of smoke into the night sky made Quin yearn for simplicity. Just once. Just tonight. In the shadows of a mansion that housed every complication keeping her cuffed.
