Thorne and Briony chuckle, and another wave of sweet satisfaction washes over me. Just like that, Daphne has won over my best friend and his fiancée. I’m not sure why it’s so important to me that those I care about like Daphne…but it is.
Briony puts her arm around the fae child and hugs her close to her side. “I’d like to introduce our daughter, Tilly.”
Angela gives a delighted squeal. “I’m so happy to finally meet you, Tilly.”
Meanwhile, I feel like I’ve been punched in the heart. “Daughter?”
Thorne gives Tilly’s head an affectionate pet, eliciting a warm smile from the girl. “The adoption was made official last month. We’re thrilled we got to bring her home from the convent in time for the wedding.”
My heart volleys between pain and joy. Joy for obvious reasons. My best friend has a daughter now. They must have adopted her from the same convent Briony was raised in, the Celesta Convent School for Girls, located not too far from here. Yet the pain remains because…
Because my best friend has a daughter.
And I had no clue.
Did he not tell me because he thought I’d be uninterested? If that’s the case, I can hardly blame him. That’s part of the act I put on. The distance I create between us.
My sister was right when she told Daphne about themoody periodI had where I lost all my friends. Thorne was the hardest to lose, yet he was the hardest to keep, which was why I pushed him the farthest away. I simply couldn’t bear his company. Not because I disliked it but rather because I liked it too well. He was my best friend. And if anyone could understand what I was going through, could understand the weight of the secret I’d recently uncovered, it would be Thorne.
Thorne, who had a secret lineage. Raised by two humans, one of whom was unrelated to him by blood.
Thorne, whose secret I uncovered all on my own, but never spoke about.
While I had to remain silent about my own. Never confessing that I was just like him.
Son of an aristocratic father.
And a mother who claimed me as her own despite the lack of any blood relation.
Both he and I are bastard born.
But while Thorne’s lineage wasn’t a secret of infidelity, merely complicated family history, mine was. Mine was a secret that could shatter the Phillips name. My family’s reputation. My father’s place in government. My sister’s prospects.
I couldn’t tell Thorne.
And I still can’t tell him. Can’t tell anyone.
My throat constricts, my lungs tight?—
“Pleasure to meet you.” Tilly’s small voice snaps me out of my thoughts, as do the fingers that squeeze mine. It takes me a moment to realize the latter belong to Daphne. Just like I did with her, she’s stepped in close, hiding our hands to link our fingers together.
Some of the pressure eases from my chest. I manage to speak with only the faintest tremble in my voice. “An honor to meet you as well, Tilly.”
Briony and Thorne exchange a look of shock at my kind greeting. Or maybe it’s the sheen I can’t seem to blink from my eyes.
Oh…fucking hell. I’m going to cry. I never would have guessed meeting my best friend’s daughter for the first time would move me so, but I’m on the verge of tears. It’s not like I’m ashamed of emotion, but this is a side of me I can’t show Thorne. I…I’m just not ready, I?—
Before a single tear can fall, two palms frame my face. Daphne wrenches my gaze to hers, locks our eyes, and slaps my cheeks.
The force isn’t violent, but it’s just hard enough to distract me. I’m so shocked, so delighted by the momentary sting of her palms, that my eyes dry up. She holds my gaze a beat longer, then steps back, removing her hands.
I blink at her, unsure of what just happened. Though, come to think of it, I’ve caught her slapping her own cheeks a time or two, normally after I’ve flustered her. Did Daffy Dear just rescue me in her own strange way?
My heart, no longer strangled with pain, thuds with warmth.
But as she and I return our attention to our companions, we find only confused glances locked on us.
I open my mouth to utter some kind of explanation, but Daphne speaks first, taking another step away from me as she points an accusing thumb my way. “He touched my butt.”
