Leaf leaps from her arms, and she turns her body in my direction. “Are you saying you also have daddy issues?”
“No, the Prince of Hell was a lovely guardian. Always said he was grateful to have a child. Applauded me for my studies. Praised me for every little thing I did.”
She grimaces, thankfully catching my sarcasm. “I never thought about… you being a kid.”
“A Princling,” I correct.
“A child, Rosie. You were a child. It sounds like one without any real parents.”
“I had servants,” I tell her. “Is that different?”
“Parents aren’t really servants. They do more than servants. They nurture you and teach you right and wrong. They hold you when you’re scared.” Her head tilts, and her voice becomes distant. “They bring you to the library and read to you, scold you out of love. They’re your everything when you’re little.”
Her eyes sparkle like polished diamonds, only for the glimmer to fall from her eye in a single drop that takes me aback. I reach for her cheek, holding her face like she’s a precious heirloom. Another stream descends down her cheek, and I swipe at it with my thumb, tracing along the little specks of brown that dot her cheeks and nose.
It’s as if my touch awakens something in her because she pulls back, pawing at her eyes with her palm. “Ugh, God, this week is getting to me.”
“Mommy issues,” I point out. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you”
“I always am.” She chokes. “I hate crying in front of people.”
“I don’t see why…” The edges of her eyes are red and she inhales sharply through her nose. Yet I can’t stop looking at her. I hold her face once more, this time cupping her cheeks in both hands. “Maybe you should cry more often.”
More and more, her eyes sparkle, and droplets fall down her cheeks. Some, I push away, while others, I let round her chin and land in the space between us.
“I hate crying…” she repeats, voice wavering.
I don’t know what to say, so I keep holding her face, keep catching warm drops of water on my fingertips until her eyes are clear again, and her breathing is normal.
To my delight, she smiles at me, leaning into my touch. “You’re confusing.”
I relax my hold on her cheeks. “You are an odd little thing, Minerva. Scared of all the wrong things.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should be terrified of me.”
A dry chuckle leaves her lips. “You’re right. I should be. I should have been afraid of you from the start.” She rests a hand atop mine, trapping me. “Even before I summoned you, I should have been frightened.”
I huff and pat her cheek with my other hand. I’ve let her get too comfortable. But when I try to pull my hand away, she takes it in her own palm and brings it back to her cheek. Both her hands have mine now. Holding them against her like… like she needs me. Not my power or a contract butme.
Crush every ounce of kindness!My Father’s voice irritates me like Leaf’s tail under my nose in the dead of night. He’s a damn hypocrite, acting like he didn’t desire a mortal. As if his lust for my Mother didn’t hide some fondness. Why else would he have chosen her if not in response to somefeeling?
I lean down, and she closes her eyes. In anticipation of what, I’m not sure. “The gala is tomorrow.”
Her eyes open like she’s been shaken awake from a dream. “R-right.” She clears her throat and shakes her head. “That’s right, I have to go see Amber tomorrow.”
“I thought you and Amber were finished?”
“We’re best friends. It takes a little more than a man to tear us apart.”
“I’m more than a man, Minnie.”
She ignores me. “She’s going to do my hair and then we have to get ready. You’ve got a whole suit to put on.” At that she smiles.
“You know, I’ve heard this human phrase. Birthday suit–”
“Donot.” She covers my mouth with her hand, and I smile against it. “What happened to manners?”
