Page 22 of Until the End of Ever
It was true. I usually controlled the situation; except when I was around Lucian. Somehow, he presented decisions, with a clear reason as to why they were the best choice when it wasn’t obvious, before I even had the time to think, taking the burden of always deciding everything from me. I liked it. I liked ita lot.
“A whiskey then.” I sat. "So, Cousin, I was rather surprised when Mother informed me you were on my list. I am not going to do you the disservice of believing that you’re serious about this. No doubt your own parents pressured you into finding a wife and you opted to select the most unsuitable match in order to appear to satisfy their requirement.” I leaned in, winking conspiratorially. “Tell me, do you have a lover they wouldn’t approve of? A powerless mortal? A man, perhaps—I hear your side of the family is still rather old-fashioned about gender roles.”
I was steamrolling him, hard, and he didn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he opted to hide under thetable and cry. But Castor gathered what was left of his balls and cleared his throat again. “I don’t see why we’d be an unsuitable match.”
I laughed like he had said the funniest of things—which he had. “Oh, Castor. We’re cousins.”
That was when I heard it. A discreet chuckle I wouldn’t have noticed above the trumpet if the poor old man hadn’t taken a moment away from what he called music to pant like his life depended on it.
My eyes slid across the mostly empty room, and spotted him.
He sat in a corner, right behind the bar, mostly concealed, though I spied that hand, with its strong, long fingers, adorned by the ornate silver—or platinum?—signet ring I was intimately familiar with, holding a newspaper.
Actually smiling rather than forcing it, I bit my lower lip to prevent myself from laughing.
“Notclosecousins!” he insisted. “I looked at our tree. My mother might have been a Pendros, but she’s the daughter of Tiberius, who was the son of Victor Pendros, while your mother’s the granddaughter of Victor’s brother, Gwythyr.”
I wasn’t all that familiar with the Pendros family tree. I knew I had fifty cousins, and of them, only one stood out as someone I’d enjoy spending more than thirty seconds with: his little sister Rhea.
“Did their parents actually call both boys Victor? That’s pretty lazy.”
“Pardon me?”
“Gwythyr is Victor in Welsh. There’s a myth about a Gwythyr and a Gwyn, fighting for a maiden. King Arthur—” I let the subject drop, seeing the light dim in his eyes. Using brain cells was wasted in such company.
“Oh.” He blinked, then refocused. “The point is, we only have great-grandparents in common. It would be perfectly acceptable for us to join hands.”
I opted to place my hands on my lap, seeing his snaking towards it. “Castor. One set of great-grandparents in common is one too many.”
If I were perfectly honest, had I suddenly met the perfect man, who had great-grandparents in common with me…no, even then, I wanted to throw up thinking about it. We’d been raised as cousins; no one sat me down and said, this man isn’t part of your direct family and you should wonder whether he’s hot.
Which he wasn’t.
“Well, I don’t think so, and your mother agrees!” he said, like it settled the argument.
Ha. Another Zenya fan.
“A shame she’s not single. You could apply to marry her.”
By luck, or because Annette conveyed the urgency of the situation to the bartender, our drinks floated to our table right then.
I grasped the tumbler filled with the pale lilac drink and took a big gulp, promptly deciding that everyone here deserved a big tip.
“There’s ice in my whiskey!” Castor hissed, his outrage evident.
I crocked an eyebrow. “So there is.”
“I didn’t ask for ice.”
It took some effort, but I managed to prevent myself from rolling my eyes. He also didn’t ask for no ice. I’d helped out enough times at the Silvervine to know that most people wanted ice in their whiskey. That was the default.
Before I could tell him as much, he was on his feet, stomping towards the bar.
I sighed.
In truth, the poor staff was going to get an earful because he wasn’t happy with the way this evening was unfolding and he wanted to take it out on someone. He couldn’t bug me, so they’d take the brunt of his anger. I was fairly certain he probably liked ice in his whiskey just fine. Those who didn’t learned to say so.
Just as Castor started raising his voice, I spotted Lucian, making his way from his table to mine, looking thoroughly amused.
