Page 21 of Until the End of Ever
What if her phone was out of battery? What if the spotty connection didn’t show the text until tomorrow? What if?—
I could physically feel myself tensing so hard I’d have a kink in my neck in no time. “Don’t bother. I’ll handle it.”
This time, it was Ronan and Gideon exchanging a glance and smirking knowingly.
“Right,” my “friend” drawled, making the word drag like it had approximately ninety-seven letters. “For hersafety.”
“Absolutely not to interrupt her date, huh?” Gideon weighed in.
Marvelous, they’d decided they were on the same team.
Dicks.
8
KLEOS
If Python showed up in the middle of the Velour Lounge and gobbled me whole in one bite, I would consider it a mercy killing.
The first noteworthy thing about this place was the decor. In case the name didn’t give an accurate enough description of the vibe that Masha, the owner, wished to convey, there was red or black velour literally everywhere: chairs, benches, the side of the bar, the placemats, the carpet and curtains.
There was live music, too. Tonight, it was a trumpet. The sexagenarian blowing into it seemed to mistake his instrument for a loaded blowgun, assaulting us with every sound.
The first thing I’d noticed upon arrival is that my imposed date had booked a table with a single rose at its center, in the dining lounge rather than a place in the bar area. I never accepted dinners with my “suitors.” Ever. And Mother knew that. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and place the blame on Cousin Castor.
He was perusing the menu when the friendly host, not so discreetly hiding earbuds behind her wavy brown hair—lucky bitch—showed me to the table.
“Cousin,” I greeted, my best smile firmly in place as I deliberately plucked the menu from his fingers, along with the one set in front of the empty place, already laid with cutlery. I handed both to Annette, speaking a little loudly in case the music she was listening to to survive a night of auditory warfare interfered with her hearing. “We won’t need these, I’m only staying for drinks.”
“Of course, ma’am. Would you like the wine and cocktail menu?”
Under other circumstances, I would have. Old, out-of-touch people like Masha Payne tended to have excellent tastes in alcohol. But I didn’t want to do anything that might risk prolongating the torture.
This place most definitely would not have mead. I didn’t even attempt to ask. “I’ll just have a G and T? With Fever Tree, if you stock it.” My nose wrinkled.
“We do. There’s a lovely summery sloe gin, if you’d like to try.”
I knew I liked her. “Make it a double, please. What’s your poison, Cousin?”
Acknowledging the presence of the man seated opposite me was distasteful, but necessary. I took pleasure in reminding him of our familial ties, first, to make it clear that I found the situation preposterous, and second, to ensure the entire world, trumpet player included, realized he wasn’t actually my date.
I wasnotvoluntarily saddled with a man who wore so much cologne it was akin to a nonconsensual nostril rub and dressed in an ill-fitted red suit with a green tie.
Happy Christmas a month and a half early, I supposed.
Objectively, the suit wasn’t the worst of offenses. I knew men who would have gotten away with it—erm, Lucian, to name the first coming to mind. I was fairly certain he could wear just about anything. But then again, he knew better.
Castor cleared his throat twice. “Err—I meant…I intended to, well, the Lounge is known for their excellent fruit de mer, and your mother mentioned you quite liked that.”
There wasn’t enough gold in the universe for me to try seafood from this establishment, even if I wasn’t actively attempting to cut this encounter as short as possible.
“I already ate.” I silently sent a prayer to my stomach, begging it to stay quiet. Besides, I wasn’t lying: I’d had nectar and ambrosia today. “Your drink?” I pressed, still standing.
His face scrunched up, as he wrestled with the knowledge that I wasn’t letting him control the situation.
“Perhaps—a whiskey?”
He was asking me. I managed a smile. Good.See, Cousin? Enjoy a preview of what marriage to me would be like. I’d wear the trousers, you’d be on your knees—and not in the fun way. Run while you can.
