"Mam and Daire fine or actually fine?"
"Somewhere in the middle. Daire mentioned that Lorenzo was never attentive with her but he didn’t need to pretend. Oh, and that everyone knows I’m second choice and always will be."
"Christ," he says quietly. "She's working already."
"She's always working." I look at him. "Go enjoy yourself, Caden. I'm alright."
He gives me a look that says he doesn't really want to, but he must see the resolve in my eyes, and sighs. "Daithí's watching from the east corner," he tells me, squeezing my arm. "He's been keeping an eye."
"I know." I spotted Daithí the moment I walked away from my mam. He's positioned himself with a direct sightline to most of the room, which is either about security or about making sure he can see what's happening with me, or probably both. "Go. I mean it."
He goes, though not without a look over his shoulder. He’s worried, and from the look Daithí has as he looks at me, he is too. I need space, time to breathe, and to get my thoughts together.
I need a minute away from prying eyes.
The bathroom is on the first floor, which requires going up the main staircase. I can feel heavy gazes on me with every step I take up the stairs. I make it to the bathroom and sigh, glad that I’m able to breathe in a moment of privacy.
I fix my lipstick in the mirror, and as I run my hands along my dress I hear the door handle move.
Shit. I didn't lock it properly.
I hold my breath as the door opens and in walks Sabrina Laskaris.
She has beautiful dark hair, dark eyes, and she’s wearing a red dress that hugs every curve that she possesses.
"Quinn," she says, coming in and letting the door fall shut behind her. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to speak with you tonight."
"Sabrina," I greet, tilting my head to the right as I watch her step closer.
She steps up close to me, her gaze roams over me, stopping at my ring before turning back to my face. "You look well," she says and I can hear the little sneer in her tone. "The ring is beautiful."
"Thank you," I reply politely, my manners kicking in.
"Very classic,” she says with a smile. "Lorenzo has traditional taste, he always has."
Here we go. Yet another person telling me that Lorenzo doesn’t want me.
"I wouldn't know his taste that well yet," I say pleasantly. "We're still getting there."
"Of course." She grins as she looks at me in the mirror. "It's a lot to navigate, isn't it? Walking into something that was already in motion."
"Most things in our world are already in motion," I say. "You navigate or you don't."
"Mm." She tilts her head slightly. "Still, it's a particular thing. Being the one they turned to when the first option didn't work out. I think that would sit uneasily with most people."
There it is. Delivered beautifully, voice warm, face pleasant. Absolutely nothing she's said that anyone could point to and call unkind.
"It doesn't particularly," I say.
"Doesn't it?" She sounds genuinely curious. "I think I'd find it difficult. Knowing that every person in that room tonight is aware of the full context. That Lorenzo agreed to marry your sister first, and then—" She makes a small gesture with her hand that finishes the sentence without finishing it.
"And then agreed to marry me," I say. "Yes. I'm aware of how it happened. So is everyone in that room. I didn't come tonight thinking otherwise."
She looks at me for a moment. "You're more direct than I expected."
"People often are when they're not particularly afraid of a conversation," I say.
"Lorenzo is a difficult man to know," she says, pivoting the conversation smoothly. I guess she didn’t get what she wanted out of what was just said. "I've been in this world long enough to understand that. He doesn't let people close easily."
