Calanthe’s smile remains intact. “About your sunny disposition?”
“Not about my disposition. Obviously. Everyone knows I’m more ‘thunderous with a chance of volatile hail’ than ‘clear with a chance of naive joviality.’ What I’m asking is… Do you think Cillian’s after my money?”
Her outrage reshapes her expression. “Absolutely not! Did Mal actually say that?”
“Yeah.”
She takes my hand. “Cillian wouldn’t let anyone pay last night, and we racked up quite the bill.”
“Because you ordered everything on the menu that contained tomatoes.” In other words,everythingsave for dessert. “You should really consult a doctor about your recent lycopene addiction.”
She gives my fingers a squeeze. “Bill aside, the guy’s obsessed with you. He said he’s never felt this way before about a woman, like you get him in a way that no one ever has, and he said thiswhile compelled.”
“He could still be playing a long con.”
“I asked him. He’s not.” When my lips pull to one side in skepticism, she says, “Want me to ask Tarian to root through his mind?”
“No. Too risky.” Tarian’s power is so great that even a stray, hostile thought about Atlantis could permanently damage— “Shit!”
Calanthe startles. “What?”
“I forgot to cancel breakfast.”
“You mean the one with your parents and your boyfriend?”
“Tell me he didn’t show up.” My heart feels like it’s grown claws and is skittering around my ribs.
“He showed up.”
I shut my eyes and tap the back of my skull against the headboard. “And…?”
“And I’ll let your parents tell you the rest.” She stands and walks toward the door, unrolling the sleeves of the oversized button-down she wears over a white tank top and cut-off shorts.
“Give me a hint,” I plead, but Calanthe leaves me hanging.
Ugh.
I wash up and pull on yesterday’s clothes before heading into the living area, where Fiona is completing a Wordle booklet while Lisa and Calanthe are serving my parents tea at the white marble kitchen island.
“Honey…” Dad gets up from the counter chair and holds his arms out while Mom studies me like she’s unsure whether I’m about to bolt.
When I allow my father to fold his arms around me, Mom heaves out an audible breath, her lashes beating wildly, whisking away her relief. I may be a massive grudge holder, but not when it comes to the people I love.
“I’m so sorry, bug,” he murmurs into my hair.
“It’s okay, Dad. Not your fault.”
His embrace tightens, especially when I finally lace my arms around his slim middle. Another set of arms comes around me. I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know it’s Mom.
“Better than a Hallmark movie…” I hear Fiona say.
As I extract myself from my parents’ hug, I meet the old lady’s brilliant grin.
“Guess who they got to grill this mornin’?” Fiona is clearly on a mission to rattle me.
I cross my arms. “I heard.” I amdyingto ask how it went, but my tongue feels like a slug, and the inside of my mouth like it’s packed with mulch.
Goddess below, I’m an independent twenty-year-old woman. Why am I so distraught? And why do I crave,slashfear, my parents’ opinion on my fake boyfriend? Keyword:fake.
