My curiosity caused shadows to gather in Jarod’s eyes. “If he did, it wasn’t on myorders.”
A weight lifted off mychest.
We crossed the road and cut across the leafy, manicured square, little clouds of dirt puffing around ourfeet.
“So, where is it you’re takingme?”
Giving the row of geometrically clipped linden trees his undivided attention, he said, “A restaurant called L’Ambroisie. It was my uncle’scantine. He ate there every lunch, even on Sundays and Mondays when it was closed to thepublic.”
“I like thename.”
“Knowing you, you’ll like more than thename.”
“Knowingme?”
“Knowing your appreciation for food.” He side-eyed me. “And just so we’re clear, last night at Layla’s, I wasn’t implying you had a problem withit.”
“Iknow.”
“Youdo?”
“I figured you learned about Delia from one of the feathers I lost in yourhouse.”
I had a passing thought for the girl, hoping she hadn’t relapsed into her bulimia. I hadn’t visited her in a few months because she’d moved to Florida, and we weren’t supposed to travel for any other reason than our currentmissions.
I should’ve carved out some time to go see her like I’d promised. I supposed I could head therenext.
Next. . .
I felt like I was standing on either side of a fault line and the ground was shifting. Until Asher gave his verdict, I would straddle both worlds, uncertain as to where I would land—in Elysium, on Earth, or in the chasmbetween.
“Where’s Tristan?” I asked, to stopper my drabthoughts.
“Either in someone’s bed, or on a flight back fromMarseille.”
I twisted a lock of hair around my finger, imagining Tristan’s trip had something to do with Jarod’s line ofwork.
“Why are you still here,Feather?”
His question made me come to a standstill. “I thought you wanted me to come to therestaurant.”
“I’m not talking about therestaurant.”
Tiny rocks had slid inside my open shoes, and I wriggled my toes to push them out. “I don’t give up on people,Jarod.”
He’d stopped walking too. “Feather, I’m a lost cause. When will you believe it?” Dust veiled the shine of his dress shoes. “You have to let my case go.” He sighed, and it smoothed the hard contours of his face. Even his bladed cheekbones seemed softer. “Letmego.”
I glowered a little. I wasn’t mad at him. I was madforhim. “What part of not giving up don’t youunderstand?”
His pupils swelled and shrank. “You’re just going to gethurt.”
“What do you care if I gethurt?”
He held my gaze for a blisteringly long minute. “I need to get my revenge in chess and won’t take any pleasure in winning, or playing for that matter, if you’re a whimperingmess.”
My lips bent, then straightened, then bent again. “A whimpering mess,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I don’twhimper.”
“You cry alot.”
