I grinned. “It is. Romance isn’t just love. It’s people finding each other and making a new life of their choosing. It’s optimism in a dark world that badly needs it.”
Quinn lowered her eyebrow and smiled softly. “It really is, isn’t it?” She studied me for an extra second. “Let the librarians know where I can find you. I’ll be back in a bit.”
She was protecting herself, and I wouldn’t begrudge anyone that.
I smiled. “See you soon.”
Despite her refusal to have breakfast, I booked it to Wicked Wich and picked up some anyway before returning and setting up a spot for us. Shelves full of tattered covers from BT were dotted with thick, bound scrawls. It was the perfect backdrop for her.
Quinn entered and sat in the empty, faded wingback chair, matching mine, across from me. A little table off to the left held two egg and bacon pasties and fresh-pressed apple juice. She shot me an accusing look, and her stomach growled.
I put my hands in the air. “It was here when I got here.”
She sighed, though her toe tapped the floor. She wasn’t using enough magic. Did she understand how much had built up inside her?
“It wasn’t. You’re a horrible liar,” she said.
I put my hands down. “You know that after one conversation?”
Quinn looked at the pasty again before reaching for it. “I guess not,” she said thoughtfully. “But you’re like Rowan, except a better dancer. Rowan bites his lips shut when he doesn’t want to say anything. You change the topic, and I don’t even notice it till three minutes later.”
I smiled. “Very observant. Do you always tell the truth?”
“Do you think I do?” Quinn froze.
The air around us felt heavy. I searched our tether and found it poised on an edge, though I didn’t know what kind.
“No one tells the truth all the time.” I steepled my fingers in front of me. “Sometimes, we even lie to ourselves. I know I do.” I leaned forward. “I often wish I were someone I’m not… and sometimes I want it so badly, I lie even to myself.”
A storm of emotions too thick to follow flooded our connection. Quinn’s chest rose and fell. She studied me as if I were an obscure painting.
“Not the answer you were expecting?” I asked.
Quinn nodded.
I kicked off my shoes and crossed my legs on the chair. My knees rested on the padded arms. “Ezra tells me you’re getting to know Rowan well, but not many families are like his. The Tates are unique. They were royal before the tremors, with tight bloodlines.”
Quinn wrinkled her nose. “Because they all married their cousins, right? I think I remember that from history. The royalty of Europe liked to keep it in the family.”
I chuckled. “A practice that’s returned. Try not to judge it too harshly.”
Quinn blushed, but I pushed on before the moment could settle. “The Tate lineage has progressed slowly; only three generations over the past century. Rowan’s grandfather chose love over power or alliance, as did his father. It has made them happy, but poor and forgotten.”
I held her gaze. “My family lived under the umbrella of another, in what was barely better than slavery. My father realized early that selling me would improve the situation for the rest of the family. True slavery became my existence, so the rest of my family could have a better life.”
Quinn stopped tapping her foot and wrapped her arms around her middle. Her heart bled for me, and I felt every drop in our connection.
“My story is the more common one,” I continued before I could comment on something she didn’t know I could feel. “And that’s why it doesn’t matter whether I think you lie or not.”
Quinn took a sharp breath, and her toes picked up their rhythm once more.
“Life isn’t about what other people think,” I reiterated. “Most people do what they believe is the right thing for them and justify it by creating their own truth.”
“But it matters.” Quinn stabbed her knee as if making a point. “Why else would you be so worried about Ezra?”
I jerked back. She was right. If it didn’t matter to me what Ezra thought, I would have already talked to him about her.
I steepled my fingers again. “Touché.”
