But we’re not dating.
We’re... something. Something complicated and undefined and probably ill-advised. Something that involves leather bracelets with mysterious stones and imps who steal juice boxes and questions that still don’t have answers.
“I’ll answer what I can,”he’d said, that night in my office.“Some things I’m not free to discuss.”
We’d talked for a long time after that. About how he had found Nix half-starved in an alley three years ago, and how the imp had decided to attach himself permanently. About how the bracelet was connected to something he called “a binding agreement,” though he’d gone vague when I pressed for details. About his life before Bellamy Cove, which apparently involved a lot of traveling and very little staying in one place.
But the big questions—what he was, why he was here, what those ruby stones actually meant—remained frustratingly unanswered.
“Give me time,”he’d asked.“Trust me.”
And the terrifying thing was, I did.
“So,” Bianca says, appearing in my office doorway like a particularly smug apparition, “I hear you’re taking Mal to the gala.”
I set down my pen. “You started that rumor.”
“I may have mentioned the possibility.”
“To your aunt. Who then told?—”
“Everyone.” Bianca grins unrepentantly. “It’s Bellamy Cove, Izzie. A butterfly farts in the park and everyone knows about it by lunch.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“That’s small-town life.” She perches on the edge of my desk, examining her nails with exaggerated casualness. “So are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Taking him to the gala.”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Why not? He’s gorgeous, he’s clearly into you, and you’ve been doing that whole ‘we’re just dance partners’ routine long enough that everyone’s bored of it.” She fixes me with a look. “Including you.”
I want to argue. I want to point out all the reasons why taking Mal to a public event would be a terrible idea—the questions it would raise, the expectations it would set, the complication it would add to an already complicated situation.
But she’s not wrong.
I am bored of the routine. I’m bored of correcting people, bored of pretending, and bored of maintaining walls that don’t seem to be keeping anything out anyway.
And the thought of walking into the gala with Mal on my arm, of having someone to dance with who actually knows how to dance, of spending an evening being looked at the way he looks at me...
Stop it. This is exactly how you get your heart broken.
“I’ll think about it,” I tell Bianca.
Her smile is triumphant. “That’s a yes.”
“It’s amaybe.”
“In Izzie-speak, that’s a yes.” She hops off my desk. “You should wear the red dress. The one with the thing.” She makes a vague gesture at her back.
“The open back?”
“That’s the one. Mal will swallow his tongue.”
“That’s not the goal.”
