My blood turns to sleet in my veins, transforming my arms into unyielding branches like the ones Alma and I stick into the snowwomen we build every year on the university quad.
The wine almost overflows from the first glass. Would have if Slate hadn’t risen from the couch and lifted the bottle from my hands.
“Bet you’re thinking I should’ve puckered up and planted one on you last night,” he says.
I don’t know if he’s trying to alleviate my mood or his own. Unless he’s just trying to get under my skin and embarrass me in front of my father.
My cheeks flame. “Trust me, that’s not even remotely close to what’s going through my mind at the moment.”
Slate’s eyes curve with a touch of humor. “De Morel, I think that if the ring doesn’t murder me, your daughter might.”
Papa’s expression clears of some somberness.
I plant my hands on my hips. “How can you be making jokes right now? Your life’s hanging by a thread!”
Slate’s expression turns so serious it makes him look years older. How old is he again? I try to remember the date on the birth certificate he showed me mere hours ago. “That’s preciselywhyI’m making jokes. I don’t do sobbing and lamenting. Like I said last night, a person makes their own luck.”
“Or their own misfortune,” I mutter.
Hetsks. “Such a pessimist, Mademoiselle de Morel.”
The doorbell shrills.
I move my seething gaze off Slate and onto the foyer. Since the front door isn’t going to open itself, I stride toward it. I’m so angry slash annoyed slash perplexed by this entire situation that when I fling the door open, the butterflies that usually take off at the sight of Adrien don’t even flap their wings.
His head jerks back as though I’ve punched him. He must think I’m glowering at him.
I attempt to smooth out my expression, because Adrien doesn’t deserve my contempt. Only Slate deserves it. “I thought you’d be halfway across the Channel.”
“My flight was tomorrow morning.”
Was.Notis.I suppose he’s not planning on going.
I nod and am about to close the door when I spot another figure coming up our driveway. Gaëlle’s eyes find mine in the spreading dusk. “Did you know—”
“Shh,” Adrien says, and I understand he must be warning me not to speak about the Quatrefoil beyond the walls of this house.
He shuts the door behind Gaëlle, then offers to help her with her coat. That he can still be gallant at a time like this stuns me, but Adrien is like Papa, a gentleman to the very core. I precede the new arrivals into the living room. Slate’s now standing beside the mammoth peach fireplace, nursing a glass of wine and poking a fire he must’ve just kindled.
Adrien pauses in the doorway. “I’d almost forgotten about you.”
Slate smiles, but there’s acid in that smile. “Hi, Prof.”
Adrien’s gaze drops to the hand Slate’s wrapped around his glass, the one with the enormous red Bloodstone, then zips over to Papa. “Already? Rainier, this is ridiculous! We were supposed to wait until after the new moon.”
He knew?
Gaëlle unwinds her yellow scarf, then drapes it beside my jacket. “I thought we were waiting until Spring.”
Sheknew?
“Winter’s the worst time,” she adds. “The ground’s frozen solid. The lake in places, too. What if we have to dig? Or swim?”
“Swim?” And here I thought I’d reached the pinnacle of shock, but nope . . . I sense there are miles of steep and mysterious terrain ahead of me before I can get to the top and look down over all this new knowledge and make sense of it.
“I haven’t gotten to explaining the finer details of the Quatrefoil to Cadence and Slate yet. And, yes, weweregoing to wait. However, my hand has been forced.” Papa skewers Slate with a look. “Both of you, grab a glass and get comfortable.” He taps his cigar against the ashtray on the coffee table. The ashes collapse off in one big chunk before crumbling into small heaps.
Gaëlle pushes up the sleeves of her sweater and steals a glass from the middle of the table. “So glad I’m not breastfeeding anymore, because I need a drink. Or ten,” she says to no one in particular, or maybe she’s voicing this so we don’t judge her.
