“Hey. You’re supposed to make me feel better about my imperfections, not point them out.”
“Blisters aren’t flaws.”
Footfalls ring on the polished stone. “How may I . . .? Oh, Phoebus!” Gwyneth, the senior housekeeper who’s looked after two generations of Acoltis—all still living under this roof—gapes at Phoebus as though she hasn’t seen him in decades. “I didn’t know you were visiting.” She offers me a meager nod. Although a halfling like myself, Gwyneth is so loyal to the Acoltis that anypersona non gratato them becomes one to her. “Will you and your friend be staying for lunch?”
Yourfriend?I used to be Fallon. I must’ve risen on the Acoltis’persona non gratalist.
“No lunch. We’ll be in and out.” Phoebus grips my hand and pulls me up the wide marble staircase. Although his house is two stories high like the rest of Lucin residences, these stories are nothing like the ones in Tarelexo.
“To live here . . .” My awed whisper ascends to the domed skylight cinched by plaster carvings of grapes and cherubs, skips along the cream stone walls daubed in oil portraits of the family, and bounces against the coat of arms—gold vines twisted into an elegant A.
“Cold and soulless.” He drags me down a wide hallway, booking a right at the end of it. “You’d detest it.”
“You’re projecting.”
“No, I’m stating a fact.”
I decide to drop it since living here isn’t even an option. I peer out the enormous window at the end of the hall, at the sprawling gardens that dip right into the turquoise waters of Mareluce. “Will Flavia’s nuptials be held here or at Surros’s estate?”
“Here.”
“When?”
“I’ve heard talk of Yuletide, but since I’m not planning on attending—”
“What?” Shock stills my feet, which in turn stills his. “Youhaveto go. She’s your only sister, Phoebus.”
“Wrong. I have two more sisters.”
“That I don’t know about?”
He flicks my temple. “You and Syb, dumb-dumb. Your midnight swim has made you a little slow on the uptake this morning, huh?”
I smile. “Ass.”
Grinning, he pulls me into a room that’s so yellow, I feel like I’ve landed in a honey pot.
“Whose bedroom is this?”
“Flavia’s.”
“Why are we in your sister’s room?” I whisper.
“Because you need shoes. I know I said I’d buy you a pair, and I will, but it’d be criminal of me to allow you to put those boots back on, even if it’s only to walk to the cobbler’s. I wouldn’t want to ruin my chances of obtaining a dukedom.”
“Um, what do my boots have to do with you becoming a duke?”
“If you bag a prince, I expect a full ride to Isolacuori.”
I smirk. “Naturally.”
I trail him into a closet that’s as large as my entire house and bursting with multicolored satins and silks. Surrounded by so much luxury, I barely dare breathe, afraid the air in my lungs will wilt Flavia’s clothes.
Phoebus leaves my side to go root around her shoe shelves. “Wait till Sybille hears she’s going to be a duchess.”
I slow-twirl. “How about we postpone telling her untilaftermy first date with Dante? Like you said, he may shun me when he sees my feet.”
“If he does, it’ll be his loss and Antoni’s gain.”
