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“Do not ‘ah’ at me.” I pout back at her, beginning to busy myself with placing stage decor in crates and walking farther away from where she stands.
“I will ‘ah’ wherever I please. You have been meeting this man in secret for years, and now you finally know his face. That is not complicated. That is romantic.” Her explanation makes my heart race faster within my chest.
“It is extremely complicated,” I state coldly.
“Because?” She teases me.
“Because he is an assassin.”
She considers this. “Not ideal.”
“He is bound to a dangerous man who wants me alive for reasons I do not yet understand.”
“Worse.” Her scowl could reach Hell.
“He believes distancing himself from me is protection.”
She exhales dramatically and slaps her forehead. “Idiot.”
“Precisely.”
“And yet?”
I lift another chair. “And yet what?”
Elisa’s voice softens. “And yet when you speak of him, you look as though the world has opened a window.”
The chair nearly slips from my grasp. “Elisa,” I warn.
“I only ask because you are attending a ball tonight with another man. How do you intend to perform your usual duties while thinking about this Edward?” Her words stun me.
My mouth opens. No answer arrives.
Her smile becomes wicked. “A challenge, then.”
I narrow my eyes. “Everything is a challenge if one is determined enough.”
“There she is.” A devilish grin creeps across her face, as I roll my eyes and turn away.
Elisa follows, clearly not finished. “And what of the others?”
“What others?”
“The Slaying Sickle and the pretty blond lunatic.”
I nearly trip over a chair leg. “Elisa.”
“What? I have eyes and ears. The dark-haired one looks at you as though you are the moon and he has just invented worship. The blond one watches you as though he is deciding whether to dissect you or write poetry about you. They’ve come here for some time now, and I have observed their heated gazes upon you.”
“That is a horrifying description.” I take both my hands and drag them down my face to hide my embarrassed, reddened cheeks.
“It is accurate,” she states. I press my lips together as she continues, because of course she does.
“Morrigan and Thanatos will not be pleased.” Her finger waggles in my direction.
I blink. “Pardon?”
“With new father figures.” The words strike me so unexpectedly that I glare at her. Then the image forms. Edward attempting to earn Morrigan’s approval with stern dignity while my ocelot stalks him from the wardrobe. Alcott studying Thanatos with scientific fascination while my vulture considers whether his pale hair would make suitable nesting material. Lazarus introducing himself politely to both animals and somehow immediately becoming accepted as one of their own.
