I shrug before assailing him with uppercuts. “I’m thinking about it.” Before he can hand me a list of all the reasons I shouldn’t give Gael the time of day, I ask, “Is Ines still hiding out in Atlantis?”
“She wasn’t hiding out. She just thought it best to keep her distance from you.”
A vicious smirk curls my mouth. I don’t even care that Ines didn’t lose her magic when Tarian asked her if she’d known about me. If she’d been a good person, she would’ve checked my mother’s claim.
I hope the guilt of my abuse eats Ines alive.
I drag in a breath, then shove it out, wishing I could empty my anger the way I do my lungs. “Is Mal still in love with her after what she did?”
I’d almost broached the subject with Malachi himself the other night, but his relentless tirade had me ready to kick him out.
Dorian’s broad forehead ruffles. “In love withInes?”
“Well, they’ve been dating for a while, haven’t they?”
“Ines and Malachi?Dating?”
I lower my fists. “They attended the gala together, and then she came to the family dinner…” I say, to jog his memory.
“Ah. That was for Monta’s sake. He’s been— Hewaspursuing Ines again. I think the news of you being his daughter did more to curb his advances than her and Mal’s fake-dating act.”
Dorian’s confession unhinges not only my jaw but also my brain. It was all an act?Oh…the irony.
“You didn’t know it was for appearance’s sake?”
“No one told me,” I say.
“Really? Not even Callie?”
“Not even her.”
“That’s surprising. Why wouldn’t she tell you?”
Two theories go head to head: she kept it from me because she knew Malachi wasn’t into me, or because she wanted me to give Cillian a genuine shot.
Shot taken. Virginity gone. Malachi forgotten.
Calanthe’s name flashes on my screen, saving me from answering Dorian.
I ditch my gloves on the ab bench and pick up. “Speak of the devil, and the devil calls.”
“Ouch. Here I was planning on embroideringMaid of Honoron a cute book clutch for you,” Calanthe says. “But now it’s getting upgraded toBitch of Honor.”
While my brother’s eyebrows wing up, I burst out laughing—which feels damn good after the turmoil that’s gripped me for the last three days.
“I’m downstairs. Curbside,” she says.
“Why?” I ask, sobering.
“Because I’m getting married in two weeks, and we don’t have dresses.” When I don’t reply for a prolonged amount of time, Calanthe says, “I know you hate shopping, but I really need my maid of honor.”
I can just picture her flapping her lashes and pouting to soften me.
“We’re only hitting one boutique,” she continues. “Same place I got my gala dress. Promise.”
“Fine.”
She claps—or sounds like she’s clapping. “Oh, tell Dorian that Tarian needs to see him about some urgent matter.”
