Page 28 of Leather & Lark
“I’m not feckin’ miserable, youbellend.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing. Absolutelynothing.”
“Then why are you being an arse? Like, more of an arse than usual?”
“I’m not being an arse.”
“No. You’re right, you seem perfectly charming. I’m sure she finds it endearing.”
I growl and turn enough to pin Fionn with a menacing frown. He looks straight back at me but his eyebrows knit together with worry. “I’m just standing here, having a drink, trying to survive my overanalyzing little brother, minding my own business. I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Right. Well you’d better figure it out soon, because I have a feeling the bride noticed you trying your best to avoid Lark all day. Kinda hard to miss your shittier-than-usual attitude, brother. And if there’s anyone in this room scarier than you,” Fionn says as he claps me on the shoulder, “it’sher.”
He gives me a gruff laugh and walks away.
Fuck.
Though I try to keep my attention on his back, I can feel it, the weight of Sloane’s murderous stare on the side of my face.
With a heavy sigh, I finally meet her eyes across the dance floor.
Sloane jabs a pointed finger in my direction.
Me?I mouth, my palm pressed to my chest, my expression one of sweet innocence even though my guts twist in my belly.
Sloane points at me again and nods her head in Lark’s direction, though I don’t dare look that way.Dance, she mouths in a silent command.
I pretend to be confused.
Shedoes notpretend to be infuriated.
Sloane mimes the saddest little choreography I’ve ever seen as she makes another voiceless demand.Dance with Lark. Right the fuck now.
I point to my ear and shake my head.Can’t hear you.
Sloane rolls her eyes, then pivots on her heel and marches away, her glare not breaking from mine until she arrives at the bar. When the bartender leans across the polished wood to take her order, a sense of dread sneaks into my veins.
“Ahshit,” I whisper as he passes her a full bottle of Teeling whiskey. She tosses me a dark and devious grin. My hands raise in a truce. “Okay, okay.”
Sloane shakes her head and points to her ear before her expression shifts into a sarcastic pout.Can’t hear you, she mouths.
“Feckin’ pain in the arse.” I’m about to stride across the dance floor and beg her not to give the bottle to Rowan when Sloane’s face transforms. A slow smile plays on her lips and her eyes move to something just over my shoulder.
Tap, tap, tap.
Three gentle taps land on my shoulder and I turn just enough to find Lark’s crystalline eyes latched to mine. They’re still beautiful and bright. Butcutting.
“Dance with me.”
Whatever she feels about this demand she’s just made, I have no feckin’ clue. Her voice is nearly monotone, her expression a neutral patina. It’s unnerving. This isn’t the vibrant woman I kissed on Rowan’s balcony, nor is it the fiery one I argued with moments later. It’s not the one I’ve met a handful of times since, who might have been displeased to see me, but who still held warmth within her, as though she can’t stop its radiant heat. This version of Lark is none of those things. This woman before me is cold, her edges jagged.
I glance toward Sloane as though she might be able to shed some light on the situation, but I don’t think she’s even blinked.
“Sloane will just stand there staring until you dance with me,” Lark says.
“Christ. You’re probably right.” A heavy sigh passes my lips as I continue waiting for Sloane to at least blink, but she doesn’t. “I guess we might as well.”
