Page 40 of Angel Eyes

His tongue darted across his lips, his face a mask of cool indifference. “I understand why you might feel that way, Gabriel, but there are things you don’t know—”

“Let me offer you some free advice, cousin. Stay the hell away from me. I do not wish to see you again. And as for my father, he made his choice. Now he can live with it.”

The barest hint of emotion flickered in his expression as we stared daggers at each other, the chasm between us growing wider with each passing second. Once, we had been, if not exactly friends, at least friendly toward one another. But all that was over now.

What he had done could never be undone.

After an extended silence, he retreated a step, a smirk pulling at his lips. “She’s here, you know. In Paris.”

My body went rigid, my jaw locking up as the anger blazing in my chest sputtered out.

Surely, he didn’t mean—but, of course, he did. His eyes gleamed with triumph as he turned away, and I glared after him. Well played, Lucien. He might not have gotten what he came here for, but he wasn’t walking away empty-handed either.

And we both knew it.

He waved a hand over his shoulder. “Just thought you’d like to know.”

Fifteen

Juliet

“Dude, are those birds?” Ember drew the phone closer to her face, squinting at the screen.

“Why, yes they are,” I said, cooing at one with olive-green plumage tinged with yellow, tapping a finger against the metal cage. I darted a look around the open-air market to confirm no one was looking my way, then grabbed a seed from the bird feeder and angled it toward my new feathered friend. He directed one beady eye at it before hopping along the wooden perch and plucking it from between my fingers. I grinned, gently stroking his soft wing. “I think I’ll keep him and name him Hank.”

“You’re insane. You can’t buy a bird in Paris. How would you even get it home?”

Reluctantly, I bid adieu to Hank and turned down an aisle lined with flower displays. “Um, you okay, Em? You seem a bit cranky this morning.” I examined a shelf of pink azaleas, inhaling their sweet and spicy clove scent as my sister slumped face-first onto her heather-gray couch, burying her head beneath a throw pillow.

She murmured something unintelligible.

“Sorry, I can’t understand you when you’re smothering yourself.” I paused to adjust the tie shoulder straps of my sundress. “Wait, don’t tell me—you went to a five-star restaurant and found your date dressed in khakis and boat shoes.” She grunted, and I nodded sagely. “If so, your reaction is completely warranted.”

She flung the pillow at the screen. “No, although I agree that would be tragic.” She rolled onto her back, her hair rising in a cloud of static. “It’s the National Debutante Ball. Grandma got me a spot on the planning committee.”

I drew up short, nearly stumbling into a potted fern. “Oh, my goodness. Em, that’s fantastic. This is the perfect opportunity for you to flex your event planning skills.”

Party planning was practically in my sister’s blood. In fact, she was so good at it that at fourteen, she started charging the seniors at our high school to plan their house parties.

“No, it’s not. Can you imagine me sitting around a tea table with a bunch of women in pearls trying to select a string quartet and, I don’t know, shopping for tiaras?”

I snorted. “Debutantes don’t wear tiaras. It’s not the ball from Cinderella.”

“It might as well be. I mean, the tradition is so outdated. It’s just an excuse for society women to parade their daughters around in wedding gowns and advertise their good breeding.”

“Well, actually, it’s more about fostering community and supporting charity—”

“It’s not me, Jules,” she said, shaking her head. “I’d rather plan literally anything else. An amateur fashion show, a product launch. Hell, I’d even settle for a sweet sixteen party.”

“Well, you should talk to Grandma. Tell her how you feel.”

“And earn myself a lecture on what an honor it is to volunteer with such an esteemed organization? No thanks.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Anyway, enough about me. What are you up to on this fine Saturday?”

I passed the last of the market stalls and darted across the street to the river, pedaling down a set of patchwork stone steps before dropping my bag and settling onto a patch of grass.

“Just exploring Île de la Cité. It’s pretty close to my neighborhood, so I figured I might as well check it out.” I thumbed through my camera roll, selecting a few pictures. “Here, I’m sending you some shots of Notre-Dame Cathedral.”

“Ooh, isn’t that the church The Hunchback of Notre-Dame is based on?”

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