Calanthe suddenly bursts out laughing, which snaps my attention back to the here and now. She’s surprisingly easygoing and genuinely kind, which begs the question of why she’s engaged to a monster.
Because he’s rich?
Because he’s controlling like Trenton?
Because he’s a snake-charmer like Hudson?
“Where have you been hiding those moves, Fi?” Electra’s quip earns her a radiant smile and an exaggerated hip roll from Mrs. Murphy that results in a ragged inhale and a litany ofblimeys.
She flattens her palm on the base of her spine. “I think I pulled me back.”
I stride toward her and seize her elbow, then lead her to the L-shaped sofa in the corner. If I could let on that I’m aware of Atlantean powers, I’d ask why she didn’t get runes, yet clearly knows all they can do. After all, she’s traveled to Atlantis. Told me that herself—leaving out the magical mine-part.
As I help her sit, I feel Electra’s gaze wander over me. What does she see in the light of day? A regrettable decision or a true candidate for her affection?
I slept poorly last night, trying to come up with a viable solution to keep her interested in me beyond the dinner date she’s agreed to.
Quinn swears it doesn’t take much to make someone fall for you—just well-timed attention and interest in the other’s life. According to her, what takes effort is keeping the love alive.
I wouldn’t know. All I’ve ever had were hookups.
After my front-row seat to what love did to Quinn and my mother, lasting attachments held no appeal for me. I’d choose death of the body over death of the heart any day.
A pair of toned legs in black leggings appears next to where I’m crouching. I look up to find Electra standing over me, an ice pack in hand. The sports buff in me can’t help noticing how toned she is. The red-blooded male in me can’t help imagining how those legs would feel wrapped around my waist, bare and unrestrained.
“Andthisis why you’ll never find me on a dance floor,” Electra says, sliding the ice pack under Mrs. Murphy’s back. “It’s hazardous.”
I don’t miss how she lets her palms linger against Fiona’s skin, or how her eyes take on a preternatural glow. Before Electra can catch me eyeing her, I go back to observing her physique and her choice of attire—a cropped maroon sweatshirt that reveals a sliver of lean, tanned stomach.
Electra makes me think of Quinn’s clay statues—the ones that don’t reflect light but drink it in, leaving them with a velvety sheen.
Thinking of Quinn’s art hurls me back to a day I’d give anything to forget—the day Trenton Caruso used his wife’s artwork as projectiles after I told him I wanted out of the organization.
Only one statuette had been spared—the one in my camper representing two palms pressed in prayer. Every time I stare at it, I’m reminded of Quinn and the choice she made to stay and marry my stepbrother instead of escaping with me.
As I rise from my crouch, I press my glasses up the bridge of my nose. During special ops—back when I was still working for my stepfather—I’d wear contact lenses. I’m reluctant to use them at the moment, worried that Gael or Ines or another Atlantean will recognize me.
Glasses might not alter a person’s facial features, but they do change a face. More than that, Quinn says they make me look innocuous, like some overly passionate college professor.
“Is the danceathon over?” I think Electra is asking me, but her gaze is on Calanthe, who’s guzzling water from one of those large adult sippy cups people tote around the gym.
Hers is white and reads “Mrs. Hades.” I wonder if the printer misspelled it or if it’s some inside joke.
“Afraid so. I need to get down to the shop for a cooking class.” Lisa turns down the music. “Thank you, Cillian. It was great fun. We must absolutely do it again.” She winds an arm aroundElectra’s waist and pulls her in for a side-hug. “And I’ll make sure this one attends next time.”
“Keep dreaming, Lisa,” Electra says a beat before nodding to the door. “I’ll walk you out.”
I expected a chat, so I’m not surprised by her offer. “I’ll grab my stuff.”
My belongings amount to a gym bag with a cap, a hoodie, my keys, and a wallet containing a fake license and a complimentary gym membership in my alias.
I pull the cap on backward, swing the bag over my shoulder, and trail Electra to the locked stairway leading toBloom’s Blooms’ back office.
Instead of heading into the shop, we head into the teaching kitchen, where Jeneva is setting up the ingredients for the lavender shortbread Lisa had me sample when I arrived earlier. It was oddly delicious, like eating a butter cookie in the middle of a field of wildflowers.
I stroke the countertops with longing. Although I’ve learned to make the most of my camp stove, nothing beats a professional kitchen.
“Oh, hey, Cillian! I wasjustabout to text you. The girls weresuperhyped when I told them about my idea,” Jeneva gushes. “So it’s a go.”
