Enclave Edict #99:
As representatives of the enclave, you must conduct yourselves appropriately. Remember, someone is always watching.
CIPRIAN
I am having a fucking moment.
The urge to make a joke or hide my frustration behind a bottle of wine is hard to resist. And it’s harder because I’m here, within the walls where I created the Ciprian Casanell I show to the world. That Ciprian is flippant, rude, often drunk, and sometimes crass, but he never gets his feelings hurt. Rumor has it, he doesn’t even have them.
Except my dead dad’s chair is staring at me, demanding I feel something, as if it’s sentient and not just a pile of leather and wood held together by nails or glue or whatever they use to construct overpriced furniture.
Celine didn’t want me to come with her.
And I gave Luca one piece of advice: don’t tellGideon about the basilisk. I only wanted him to have some peace, but did he listen? No. And it’s because he thinks I’m ashamed of him? What the actual fuck?
I’ve never done anything to make any of them think that. They’re the ones who cringe every time they hear my last name.
Alistair fears he’ll lose his business because of his connection to me, which is logical, but what are Celine and Luca risking? Street cred in the fucking Fringes? If the opinions of strangers are more important to them than I am, we’re wasting our time.
I’m in love with them, but I won’t remain a dirty secret forever.
Excusing myself, I storm out of the room and close the door behind me, ignoring their probing stares. I’m overreacting. I know that, but I can’t keep swallowing rejection and crawling back for more.You’ll never be enough.
Luca calls my name.
I walk faster. I can’t deal with this right now; I need to calm down first. Bitterness chokes me, the sick churning in my stomach confirming what I’ve always feared: it’s not the situation—it’s me . . . I’m not serious enough to be taken seriously.
“Ciprian, slow down.”
I swallow, ducking into the fae wing and slamming the door behind me.
Luca wrenches it open again a second later, but I don’t turn around.
My skin is crawling. My heart is racing. And I’m over it. Over feeling like nothing I do matters, then turning around and smiling as if I’m not bleeding out on the fucking floor.
“Please, wait!”
I ignore him, charging into our bedroom and heading for the bathroom. Understanding Ciprian can’t come to the phone right now, blow-everything-up-and-walk-away Ciprian has him gaggedin a closet—and until I can figure that situation out, I need to hide.
Luca shoves his foot into the crack before I can close the door. Bouncing off his shoe, it slams into the wall. My fingers curl around the edge. “Do you mind?” I sneer.
“What the fuck, Ciprian?” His hazel eyes search my face. “Did I do something to you?”
He’s oblivious, but I can’t do this yet.I need time to get a grip. I’m barely holding on. “Leave me alone.”
For a full minute, Luca studies me before shaking his head. “No.”
“No?” I must have misheard him. “I’m asking for privacy, and you’re telling me no?”
Luca slides between the door and the wall. “You’re not asking for privacy, Ciprian, you’re asking for space, and I don’t like it.”
“Too bad,” I growl. “None of you will ever accept who I am. I don’t know why I’m bothering?—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Luca’s mouth drops open. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I look at the ceiling and groan. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. Arguing, fighting to be heard, and the painful demolition of the pipe dream I’ve created in my head.
A shadow appears over Luca’s shoulder. It’s ominous and unavoidable—Alistair’s signature vibe—which means I’m out of time.Squash it and retreat. Don’t show them it hurts.
