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Edward looks at me with malice in his eyes. “This is your fault.”
“Yes, but assigning blame is an activity for later.”
“You left drugged biscuits in a lavatory. Shut it,” he retorts.
“I did not expect her to eat the entire artillery supply.”
Olive turns her head toward me. “You said armory earlier.”
“I did.”
“Now it is artillery?” she asks.
“I am escalating with the situation.” My tone is amused as I card my fingers through her hair. She preens with the touch.
She nods gravely. “Good.”
Edward exhales through his nose. “You imbeciles are going to kill me.”
Alcott’s lips twitch. “She does look rather cute in this state.”
Edward’s gaze drops to Olive. She has curled both hands around his fingers and is staring at them as though they are the most fascinating objects in the known world. His expression softens again.
“Unfortunately, yes.” He murmurs.
Olive gasps and we all tense.
Edward’s hands tighten around hers. “What?”
She looks at Alcott with sudden, devastated wonder. “You called me cute.”
A flush climbs Alcott’s throat. “No.”
“You did,” she accuses. “You think I am cute.” Her eyes gleam up at me.
“You are in an inebriated state,” I explain.
“Am I the most adorable creature?” She asks with wonder.
Edward looks like he would rather walk barefoot through broken glass than answer. Then he glances down at her. At the way she is curled into his chest, furious and soft and overwhelmed, trying to remember how breathing works while glaring at the universe for giving her too many teeth. His expression gentles, while his head nods, 'yes'.
Olive’s eyes go wide, then she melts back against him with a pleased little hum.
Alcott whispers, “He is doomed.”
I whisper back, “Catastrophically.”
He looks at the ceiling as though praying for strength from a god who likely abandoned this household some time ago. Alcott leans close to me and whispers, “he is losing.”
“He lost weeks ago,” I whisper back.
“I can hear you,” Edward says.
“Good,” Alcott replies. “Then hear this: She is winning.”
Olive smiles, not her typical dangerous smile or the one she wears before poisoning a man or cutting him down with words. This smile is soft and elegant, yet inebriated. Almost peaceful.
Edward stares at her as though he has forgotten how to be afraid. For a moment, all humor leaves me. There’s our girl. Overwhelmed, frightened, affectionate, fighting a battle against her own thoughts and two extremely powerful biscuits. I am both deeply guilty and terribly fond. A complicated combination.
