Page 72 of Immortal Sins
I tug on the lapels of my bolero. “Andred.”
Eyes narrowed to slits, she grins. “Are you a womananda man? That would explain my brother’s keen interest in you.”
The wrath of a party planner should never be underestimated.
Cole smacks an annoyingly loud kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Helena, fun party.”
She twirls the cherry in her cocktail glass. “You should let me plan your wedding.”
“We already had one,” I clip.
“Asecretone.” She plops the plump fruit inside her mouth and snaps it off the strand. “You better hope father asks me to plan a legitimate ceremony.”
Cole scans the crowd. “Where’s—”
“Mother? You think she’d show up after the stunt you pulled? Went crying to daddy, did you?”
Cole pats her shoulder the way you handle an annoying kitten. “Always a pleasure, sis.”
She leans closer to me, her glamor so bright and eyes so gold that I tremble. “So, little mortal. Are you a mouse, a spider, or a snake?”
I fight the urge to blink. “Are these my only choices?”
Helena Desirys scratches the skin of my lower arm from my elbow to my wrist with her long, stiletto nails. “The mouse will be eaten. The spider wove her web to entrap my brother, so she’s patient and clever, but untrustworthy. The serpent seduced him, and will bite anyone who comes too close to her spoils.”
I hold her intense gaze. “I’m a bull.”
One corner of her mouth curls up. Her red nails fly up to cover the budding smile. “A bull?”
“Yep.” I make a loud popping sound and forge ahead, leaving this macabre menagerie conversation behind me.
Cole snags a shot glass from a tray on our way to the back of the ballroom. He downs the liquid in one gulp. “Helena’s a brat. She’s my favorite, but she’s not—”
“She’s fine. I prefer banter to pointy arrows.” I steal a macaroon from the delicacy table.
“About what she said…” He scratches the back of his neck.
The deep lines on his forehead and the crinkle of his nose bring me right back to his comment about prejudice and mortals. In the glitz and glamor of his palace, surrounded by his peers, Cole is the epitome of poise and self-confidence, but his sister apparently found the one flimsy button in his smug prince exterior. The button he secured with a safety pin, hoping no one would notice.
I raise my brows. “Aren’t all Fae bisexuals?”
“Err—no.”
Shit.
I bring a hand to my chest. “That was rude of me to assume. I just—”
He combs a hand through his dark curls. “Not rude. A majority of us are. But I thought it would…bug you.”
“It doesn’t,” I say without an ounce of hesitation.
He arches a brow. “No?”
“No.” I grip his collar and yank him down for a very public, indulgent kiss.
He allows it, and I don’t care who sees us.
I’ve attended my share of Council parties. This isn’t so different. There are no photographers, no press, no one scribbling notes in the corners, but world-class schmoozing buzzes in the clusters of courtiers. Most of them gossip in our wake.
