Small talk is essential groundwork before broaching important topics. Like accepting dates. Or asking men to model for you. And eventually getting married. Society has rules and a correct order of doing things. While I may struggle with some of the finer points of propriety, I’ve always been good at following rules.
Save for that time I bit my fellow debutante, but that was a special circumstance.
I stop before Mr. Folger’s table. He looks up from his broadsheets and gives me a polite smile. I wish I could say his grin makes my heart palpitate, the way it does in books when a character glimpses such an expression on their paramour’s face, but it does no such thing. Then again, fictional courtships never happen this way. Fictional courtships are full of big emotions—the good and the bad—and they unfold in dramatic ways in dramatic settings. A ballroom. A heist. Not a contrived meeting in the break room at work on a typical Friday.
But I don’t need a whirlwind romance. I only need easy and continuous access to a man’s body. Which means I need Brad Folger.
“Good morning, Mr. Folger,” I say, aiming for a light and feminine tone. Instead, my voice comes out flat. I’ve never been great at inflection. So I tack on a smile, unsure if showing my teeth would make it look more genuine. I alternate between the two before I settle on what I hope is a demure closed-lip grin.
“Good morning, Miss…Daphne.” I’m used to the pause he makes before saying my name. Unlike him, I don’t have a surname, which makes humans uncomfortable when we aren’t yet on a casual first-name basis. Surnames are a human tradition, so fae don’t naturally have them. Many fae choose surnames when they enter society, but I still haven’t.
“How is your day?” I ask, doing my best to maintain eye contact as is expected of someone engaging another in conversation. Locking eyes with another person is a sensation that makes my skin crawl when I’m not genuinely interested in assessing what I’m looking at. In the forest, prolonged eye contact is often a sign of threat. Why the hell do humans insist that staring deep into another’s eyes is polite?
From my periphery, I notice a bookworm inching across the long counter that spans the far wall and I can’t help but slide my gaze to it. They’re such cute fat little creatures, about the length of my foot and several times more rotund, with pearlescent white flesh and no visible eyes. Best of all, they don’t talk. I’d much rather snuggle its chunky silent body than chat with Mr. Folger, but he is the reason I’m here, not cuddly worms.
I pull my gaze back to him as he answers.
“It’s pleasant,” he says. “And yours?”
“Mine is…also pleasant.” Was that enough small talk? My fingertips flutter at my sides, drawing my awareness to my hands. What should my hands even be doing right now? Do I ball them into fists? Hold them straight and loose? Fold them at my waist? I opt for fiddling with the buttons on my waistcoat instead as I blurt out, “I’m ready to give you my answer.”
His eyes widen, then he tilts his head to the side. “About what?”
“Your inquiry.”
He shakes his head. “I’m…not sure I follow.”
Heat fills my cheeks. Did I take the small talk too far? Maybe I was being too subtle after all. “You asked me to join you for drinks. I said I’d think about it and I have. I would be honored to take you up on your offer. I like berry cordial and I’m free this weekend.”
A tittering laugh followed by a flash of movement snags my attention, but when I glance at the doorway, it’s only Araminta peering at me from around the corner. Thank the All of All she didn’t follow me inside.
I turn back to Mr. Folger with a hopeful smile, but the apology on his face crushes my expectations before he even says a word.
He folds his broadsheets upon his lap. His mouth opens to silence, as if he can’t find his words. Finally, he furrows his brow and speaks. “I asked you out for drinks two months ago.”
“So you do remember. What a relief. I thought you forgot.”
His expression turns apologetic again. “Two months may not seem like a long time to a fae with a lengthy lifespan like yours, but it can be for a human like me. I…I’m already courting someone else. No, to be fully transparent, I’m engaged.”
“Engaged.” I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Courtships progress quickly in seelie society, once two courting people set their minds on marriage. And Brad is right. Two months is too long to wait to answer a man’s offer for a date. I should have figured that out on my own. I flap my hands in a dismissive gesture, trying my best to maintain my smile. “That’s totally fine. But perhaps you could help me with something else. Would you, by any chance, model for me? Temporarily.”
“Model?”
“I need a male model for my illustration commission. If you haven’t heard, I’m illustrating the brand-new covers for Edwina Danforth’sGoverness in Loveseries.”
“The, uh, sexy covers?” His complexion turns slightly green as he asks this. At my nod, he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Miss…Daphne, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“No?”
“No, because it would be highly improper. My fiancée wouldn’t feel comfortable with that, and neither would I. You and I hardly know each other.”
“That’s why I figured we’d go on a date first, but if you’re already taken?—”
“If you wanted to go on a date with me, you should have said yes two months ago.”
“Well…I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” The truth is, even though I find Brad aesthetically pleasing, I’m not personally attracted to him. Maybe it’s because I don’t know him. But isn’t that what dating is for? Whatever the case, my stomach turns at the thought of going on dates with people I’m not yet comfortable with.
His expression hardens, and too late I realize I’ve offended him. “Just because pureblood fae are incapable of lying doesn’t mean you should speak so bluntly. Regardless, it’s clear neither of us have what the other is looking for.”
