My dreams aren’t magical like Calanthe’s, but are they premonitory?
The question tumbles through my mind until the latter shuts off again.
I dream of Cillian again, but this time, he’s lying next to me, holding me tight, and it feels so real that when I wake to the sound of clinking curtain rings, my skin isn’t clammy…it’s burning.
Chapter 20
Electra
Way too bright sunlight assaults my tired eyes. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”
Relief and disappointment collide within me. Funny that I experience both for the same reason. That reason being that I didn’t go home with Cillian.
“Who the hell shines when they rise?” I grumble to Calanthe. “Like, seriously, who came up with that expression?”
The bed dips. “Your parents are here. I managed to buy you two extra hours by inviting them to brunch at Tarian’s.”
I sigh. “What time is it?”
“Three-thirty. In the afternoon,” she adds, as though I could confuse sunlight with moonlight. “I brought you a carrot cake muffin.” She hands me a dainty rose-patterned plate topped with a muffin so puffy it reminds me of the mushroom lamp from last night.
“I hate vegetables in my desserts.” I prop my back against the tufted headboard of the bed I deem more mine than hers, considering the number of nights I stay over at Lisa’s.
“But youlovecarrot cake.”
“No. I tolerate it if your mom bakes it, but I don’t love it.”
“You ate three slices on Fiona’s birthday.”
“Didn’t realize you were counting. Besides, skipping someone’s birthday cake is bad luck.”
Calanthe rolls her eyes.
I glance at the closed bedroom door behind her. “I hope they didn’t come over to convince me to forgive Ines, because my hatred’s got generational plans.”
Instead of calling me difficult and stubborn, she pats my knee. “Ines swears she didn’t realize your mother was pregnant. She genuinely thought your mom came to extort Gael.”
“I’m still never forgiving her,” I say, sitting up and grabbing the muffin.
“I’m not either, but at least she didn’tdeliberatelylet you suffer.”
“She could’ve checked if my bio mom was bluffing, and she didn’t.”
“You’re right,” Calanthe says, voice softened by wariness.
In between mouthfuls of muffin, I say, “I’m only eating because I’m starving.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t press in her dimples.
My stomach grumbles like a wild beast as I demolish my very late breakfast—or rather, lunch. “So why are Mom and Dad here?”
“Because they love you.” After a beat, Calanthe adds, “You’re not short on people who love you.”
My throat clogs, and it takes extra effort to swallow. As I set the plate down, I say, “I’m ready to discuss your conversation with Cillian.”
Her eyes begin to glitter as though every copper speck were absorbing the sunlight and refracting it. “Was it the mention of people who love you that made him crop up in your mind?”
“No.” I pick a crumb off the rumpled comforter and flick it onto the plate. “Mal’s convinced the guy’s not with me for my sunny disposition. And, well…what do you think?”
