“Dale.”
“No, listen, look at you, sitting in this scarily large manor, drinking tea with candied ginger, wearing emeralds that belonged to someone’s dead mother. What am Isupposedto think?”
“I didn’t say you were wrong.”
She pauses, her voice softening, though I catch the flicker of worry in her eyes.
“Please tell me you don’t love him.”
I tense, reminded of exactly why I invited her over in the first place.
“You see,” I begin, choosing my words carefully, aware of how easily the wrong ones could make me sound cheap, “I know you were Hayden’s Chosen, Dale, but I feel like there may be more you’re not letting on.”
“We’ve been over this,” she says, giving me a strange look.
“Not in detail,” I counter, my voice sharper than intended. “I just find it a little strange that you’re so eager to be friends with me, given my relationship with Hayden.”
Jealousy, foreign and unwelcome, creeps into my tone.
She studies me for a moment. And then, to my complete disbelief, she bursts out laughing.
She doubles over, clutching her stomach, as if I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing imaginable. Her laughter spills out, wild and amused.
“Martine, don’t be daft,” she says, breathless, straightening up as she wipes at her eyes. “Yes, the man is attractive, obnoxiously so, but nothing ever happened between us. He wasn’t mine. He never even tried. Plus, I was seeing someone else anyway.”
I blink, hating the punch to the gut from her reminder, “Oh, right.”
Dale grins coyly.
I open my mouth, then close it again, exhaling. “I’m sorry. I just had to ask. Everything’s changed so quickly lately. Sometimes it feels like Hayden’s the only thing I have left to hold onto.”
She tilts her head, her expression softening. “Well, you’ve got me too, you know. Friendships count, Martine. Even the unexpected ones.”
I let out a quiet laugh, glancing down at the lukewarm tea between us. It suddenly feels too polite, too soft for the conversation we’re having.
“You know what?” I say, nudging the dainty cup away. “We should have martinis for a conversation like this.”
Dale perks up immediately. “Finally, something sensible.”
We both laugh, and then blink at each other in mild surprise.
“Gin with a lemon twist?” she guesses, a knowing tilt to her smile.
I pause. “That’s exactly how I take mine.”
She grins. “Of course it is.”
I lean toward the door and catch the attention of a footman passing in the hall. “Could you bring us a martini service? Gin with lemon twists, please.”
He nods and disappears down the corridor.
Dale leans back, watching me with a quieter kind of curiosity.
“You know,” she says gently, “you never did answer my question.”
A beat.
“Do you love him?”
