She offers me a soft smile. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s daunting. No one truly understands what goes on in Tristan’s head.”
Dahlia speaks of him with a fondness that intrigues me.
She must notice my silent plea because she continues, “We’ve known each other since childhood. He’s fiercely protective, caring, and good behind that cold exterior. Sadly, he constantly hides that side. Or who knows?” She sighs, “After all these years, maybe his demons won, but then he wouldn’t have married you.”
“It’s a business transaction.”
She approaches the sink, but her eyes never waver from mine.
A soft peal of laughter rolls out of her mouth. “I don’t believe that. He’d start a war if it would benefit him. His whole trying to ‘keep the peace’ is far-fetched.”
She rubs her belly, and I stare entranced. That will never be me.
“He doesn’t want kids,” I blurt out.
She waves a hand through the air. “He thinks he doesn’t, mostly because his father was a monster.”
I nod, aware of that.
She sighs. “He broke something inside him. I hope he’ll heal and realize that even if we come from monsters, we don’t have to turn into them.” Then she beams. “He played Cupid for my husband and me.”
My eyes widen, taken aback by that piece of information, and she adds, “He’s something else. Tristan never wanted to marry. Don’t get me started on feelings. But the look in his eyes when he glances at you, thinking no one is looking, says differently.”
Overwhelmed by her sweet presence and her genuinely wanting to help me, even though her side and my side should be enemies, I hug her.
She pats my back when Calla bursts through the door. “You know how that husband of yours is.”
Dahlia smiles, looking smitten. “You mean your brother?”
Calla rolls her eyes. “Good god. You’ve been pregnant before. How did his state worsen rather than improve?”
She reapplies her lipstick and watches me. “Hiding?”
“Calla,” Dahlia chastises.
I get who’s the more sensitive one in their sisterhood. It reminds me of my relationship with my sister.
She shakes her head at me. “I swear I don’t know what Tristan was thinking…”
I glare at her. “You shot my brother-in-law.”
“Your sister shot me.” She shrugs and pins me with an intense glare. “Tristan is my son’s godfather. My only child.”
There’s a clear threat wrapped in a plea for understanding.
“I would never,” I assure her.
I can’t even bring myself to say that awful thing.
“Good. You don’t have to like me. We don’t have to be friends. But I will ask you to be civil when we are together.”
Quite arrogant, but this woman carries an invisible cloak of lethality. No wonder the Underworld fears and reveres her.
Reality crashes onto me. All the implications. My loyalty will be tested.
As if she senses where my thoughts head, Calla adds, “There are two types of families. One we are born into. One we make. Don’t let the first guilt trip you.”
With that, she redirects her focus, and her voice softens when she places her palm on Dahlia’s belly. “How’s my little diva? I can’t wait to spoil her rotten.”
