I once heard my father, who isn’t a man prone to insults, say that Gael oozed enough self-importance to drown in. My mother seconded the statement, but it wasn’t shocking coming from her, since—like me—she has no issues with insults.
“Electra is my younger sister,” Dorian is saying.
“Ah, yes.” Gael peeks around Dorian.
“Weren’t you leaving, Monta?” Tarian asks, from where he sits across the table from me, his hands resting nonchalantly on his bent knee. Though he seems relaxed, his gaze and skin gleam with the strain of his barely contained magic.
Not for the first time, I wonder what Gael did to Ines to warrant such animosity. I suspect that if I ask, I’ll be met with the same unhelpful answer:It’s Ines’s story to tell. In other words, I’ll never know since Ines guards her secrets like my parents guard the mine.
“I just wanted to wish my wife a pleasant night,” Gael peeps up.
Guess that answers my question about their marital status.
“We’ll relay your message,” Tarian says.
“Wonderful.” Gael remains planted in front of my brother for a full minute before he finally pivots and walks away.
“Didn’t realize they were still married,” I muse, hoping it will lead to more answers.
“We’re not.”
My heart skips a beat from the proximity of Ines’s voice. While I tracked Gael’s egress, I missed Ines’s ingress.
Dorian finally shifts away from my chair. I wish he hadn’t, because there she stands, arm in arm with Malachi. I try to reason with myself that arm in arm isn’t hand in hand.
Still, I glare at the place where their bodies connect. When Malachi drops a whisper in her ear, I lurch out of my seat and head toward the bathroom, intent on giving myself a pep talk.
Instead, I run into Cillian and, fueled by jealousy and tequila, do something epically stupid.
Chapter 5
Electra
My head.
Holy mother of the mine, my poor, poor head.
I roll over, my brain playing bumper cars in my skull. I amneverdrinking again. Never fucking ever.
A groan slips free as I crack my lids open and blink around me. The raspberry-colored curtains help situate me immediately: Calanthe’s bedroom at Lisa’s house. Though I have zero recollection of how I got here, a small wave of relief washes over me—one that unfortunately does nothing to clear my grogginess.
After massaging my temples a great many times, I root around the mussed sheets for my phone only to find it charging on the wireless base. I imagine I didn’t put it there, but maybe I did. Can’t really remember much after meeting Ines’s super-tanned ex.
I swipe my finger, expecting the lock screen to clear. Except it doesn’t. I rub my eyes, smooth my hair. Still no luck with Face ID.Ugh. Stupid technology. I punch in my six-digit code. The first thing I notice is the clock: 11:49 am.
The second thing I notice is a notification from a contact named…
I didn’t…
But apparently, not only did I, Electra Serran, exchange phone numbers with Cillian Lowry, but I also gave him a ridiculous nickname.
BOOGIE BOO:How are you feeling?
BOOGIE BOO:I’m outside, by the way. In case you want to talk about last night…
Blood prickles the column of my throat. Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
