Page 95 of Ulune's Daughter

No, we won’t, because that weight is back in my chest. I felt so close to him when he showed up. I was so excited to see him again, feel the warmth and strength of him again instead of just remembering it while we talked on the phone. Now all that excitement’s crushed and lying in glittering shards in my chest.

Five years.

While Mitch was cheating on me. While he was marrying Chelsea. While Rowan was backstabbing me. All those nights I was alone, alone, alone. All that time he knew about me and I had not one fucking clue about him.

I hate being ignorant. I hate being kept in the dark.

I fix a smile on my face and as Dean Quinn steps away, I move forward and bow to Aranthann, the Holly King. “Your Majesty, may I present Lawson?”

The fae holds out his long, strong, pale hands. Lawson unwinds his hand from mine and offers it to the Holly King, who shakes.

“Son of the Cait,” Aranthann says.

“Your Majesty. I was planning to come to Ivywhile soon to speak with you.”

The fae’s crimson brows lift. “You are always welcome but is there something I can help you with now to spare you a trip?”

Lawson’s strong lips purse. “Thank you, that’s kind of you. But I just caught the professor. I’m not letting her slip away.”

Aranthann smiles indulgently.

I pat Lawson’s arm. “Please, don’t let me stop you. I need to circulate anyway. Host duties.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Host duties that weren’t as pressing a minute ago.”

“Host duties that grow more pressing with every minute.” I nod at Dean Quinn, who is waving her fingers at me as she speaks with a couple in matching gold suits. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

I slide away from Lawson, leaving him with the Holly King.

The weight in my chest grows cold and spreads through my veins.

Dean Quinn’s talking with the Spellmans, whose family donations built a whole quad. I lead them through the exhibit, elaborating on the narrative, pointing out details. The Spellmans lap it up and I leave them under the totems with Dean Quinn while she maneuvers them into a larger annual donation.

I want to kick myself when I look around for Lawson. I just met him. I don’t need his approval. I shouldn’t want his attention. I should ignore him for the rest of the night—for the rest of my damn life—for knowing about me for five years and saying not one fucking thing to me.

But I can’t help looking around for him. Or feeling a ping of disquiet when I don’t immediately see him.

My parents walk over to me, beaming.

“Kells, this is—” Mom begins.

“Hot stuff, kiddo,” my dad finishes, punching me lightly on the shoulder.

I shake my head at him. “Looks good all laid out like this, doesn’t it?”

“It’s amazing, honey,” Mom gushes. “I had no idea—when you showed us those broken pots.”

I laugh a little. “Back then, I didn’t know what I’d find either, Mom.”

“Is this what you’ll be teaching?” Mom asks, taking my arm and pointing to the looming, stone totems.

“Some of it. There’s a lot of work to do on the Magi of the Mists. I’ve deciphered a fraction of their writings. Some of their runes don’t have counterparts in any language I can find. They need more research?—”

“Which I hope to help your daughter with,” Rowan interjects, appearing when he’s least wanted.

He holds out his hand and takes Mom’s when she’s slow to offer it. I never brought Rowan home with me. I barely went home during the months we were dating because Mitch and Chelsea were in the middle of planning their wedding. Dinner conversations about the dress and the menu and the silverware and the fucking font on the invitations made me spiral. Isla Cedros was safer. But my parents have seen pictures of us together on my social media. They’ve asked about him. And they know he declined me funding when I needed it and tried to slap his name on my discovery when I announced it.

Rowan kisses my mother’s knuckles before she drags her hand back.

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