And yes, maybe I’m biased, but who wouldn’t be after having had their neck snapped? I don’t care that Ines intended to “improve” my fighting skills. Dorian trained me too, and he never once left so much as a bruise.
I believe she has it in for me, even though I don’t know why. Because I became family while she remained the help? Because Malachi saved me, and she wanted his attention all to herself?
I refocus on the man I’ve been dying to lay eyes on for the last eleven months, deciding to rip the band-aid. “So, you and Ines?”
Malachi dips his jaw that shines from a fresh shave. “We work together. I thought you knew she’d left my father’s service?”
Before I can ask why he’s skirting my question, Lisa’s voice booms through the speakers, quieting all the ambient conversations—including Malachi’s and mine.
Although he stays close while she speaks about the extraordinary drug her son-in-law has helped her develop—leaving out the part about Tarian’s blood being the main ingredient, naturally—Malachi doesn’t even glance back at my face.
At least, he isn’t looking at Ines.
Gaea, how anticlimactic was our reunion?
Did I expect he’d devour me with his eyes and then with his mouth? Or that he’d open his arms so I could run into them?
Maybe.Ugh.I read too many romance novels.
Not to mention that I look exactly the same as I did when he left. Even my hair is cut the same—short and blunt. I should’ve let it grow out or gotten layers. Or highlights.
I’m trying to picture myself with blonde hair when Malachi leans over to murmur, “Want to grab coffee sometime this week?”
Coffee?Sometime this week?
What I want is to weep, and not because Malachi Hadez has just ruined coffee for me, but because coffee is the sort of beverage one suggests drinking when one wants to keep a rendezvous brief and casual.
Coffee is for business meetings or get-togethers with platonic acquaintances. I should know. When I can’t get out of seeing someone—which is thankfully not often—I suggest coffee.
“Let me check my schedule and get back to you,” I finally reply.
Malachi gapes at me as though I’ve lost my mind when it’s my heart that’s just jumped ship. I uncross my arms and stride back toward the bar, incapable of standing another minute wearing my bleeding heart on my nonexistent sleeve.
Keeping my voice hushed to avoid disturbing Lisa’s speech, I order another one of those pink-orangey cocktails.
“Salt rim?” the bartender asks.
“As long as it’s not coffee grounds,” I murmur, “sure.”
“We don’t—” The man looks down the bar at his colleagues. “We don’t usually use coffee grounds.”
I don’t bother explaining the reason behind my comment as he sets about pouring and shaking.
“That was specific.” The muted masculine voice drifting from my right tightens my jaw.
“You again,” I mutter.
“Not a coffee fan?”
“Weren’t you on your way to see your date?”
“I was, but you looked sad. One of my missions in life is to cure sadness. That’s why I dance.”
I expect a halo to pop out of the ether and clock his head at any moment, or angel wings to sprout from his back. “That’s sweet. But let me reassure you—that’s not sadness you’re seeing, because sadness isn’t part of my emotional repertoire.”
“Here you go,” the bartender murmurs, sliding the pink concoction in front of me.
I down half of it in one draw. Not exactly a feat considering the ice cube rivals the iceberg that sank the Titanic. And then I turn toward the stage where a giant movie screen has started to play success stories from the lucky souls who’ve trialed the new-age drug.
