Page 47 of Crown of Thorns
She laughs and says, “I could see how you’d feel that way but there’s nothing keeping us from being friends.”
“Other than you wanting to fuck my husband.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says. “He’s good for sure, but you know that. Also, he’s yours now. I was never invested as a love match. Now that he’s off the market, I’m free to make another match, so there’s no reasonwhy we can’t be friends.”
“Okay,” I reply hesitantly.
“And as your new friend, it’s my duty to tell you to stay the hell away from the earl. He’s dangerous, as in deadly, and you need to remember that. Also, he’s Saoirse’s father and that apple did not fall far from the tree, if you get my meaning.”
“Oh.” I feel my eyes go wide. Now I know what everyone meant when they said to be careful.
“Precisely,” she says. “Now let’s get back to the party. It looks like lunch is about to be served.”
Lady Thomley leads me back around the corner and I see Rhys’s brow raise in question as to what I was doing with her. We still have a performance to finish here so I just smile sweetly and wave to him before turning to Dahlia.
“I found something you lost,” Lady Thomley says to her. “Do be more careful. There are snakes in this garden.”
“Jesus,” Dahlia says after my unexpected savior walks away. “How did you end up with Suzanne?”
“You don’t want to know,” I tell her, giving a pointed look.
“Now I want to know even more,” she says, looping her arm through mine just as Lady Thomley—Suzanne— had before. It makes me wonder if I should trust her. Could she be my friend instead of an enemy? Just to be safe, I’ll stick with Dahlia. “Let’s get a Pimm’s and you can tell me all about it.”
I let out a dramatic sigh and rolled my eyes, but my smile gives me away and she throws her head back and laughs, her blonde hair falling down her back in golden waves.
Dahlia demurely signals to a passing waiter. He stops at our sides and offers us his tray bearing an assortment of cut crystal punch glasses filled with colorful drinks. We each take one and a cocktail napkin and begin walking toward the garden trails.
“Be careful or we’ll be drunk before the end of the party and I’m to be on my best behavior,” she says to me with a happy face before her expression falls. “Well shat. There goes the neighborhood.”
“What?” I start to turn around, but she stops me.
“No,” she whispers harshly. “Don’t give her the attention she wants.”
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Saoirse swan in like the princess in a play. She’s dressed like, well… like a bride.
Her white lace dress with mermaid hem hits just below her knees. It plunges into a deep V low in the back, the two sides lined with hand embroidered red flowers. Her fascinator is a matching red flower stitched in a three dimensional design. It’s honestly stunning.She’s stunning.
It makes me pale in comparison, not that I would ever match myself up to someone like the dowager queen. I would never compare myself to anyone, I don’t think it’s a healthy way to live my life. But still,she may very well be a monster on the inside, but outside, she’s beautiful—the kind of woman a king belongs with.
Saoirse floats over to Rhys and kisses his cheek. To anyone looking, they appear like a doting stepmother and stepson on the week of his wedding, but to Dahlia and I, we see her for what she really is. We know what she’s actually doing—today’s show is to make the party about her.
I’m fine with it, really. I would happily fade away if I could, especially when Rhys’s eyes lock on mine across too many people and too much space for him to do anything without making a scene. He thinks I’m going to run but he’s wrong. I’m not going to run, even if now, with all of these witnesses, would be the perfect time to do so. Even if that makes me the bigger fool.
I turn away from the scene with a fake smile on my face and lift my glass to take a sip only to notice a bee on the tiny flowers decorating the glass. It must have wandered over from the fragrant flower beds that are so close to where we stand now, Dahlia and I, looking for a secluded place to gossip happily only moments ago.
I gasp and the bee startles, shaking him from the flower on the glass to land on my bare arm, just below where the blue fabric of my dress ends at my shoulders. The bee does what it was wired by nature to do when scared; it stings me. I feel the prick and drop my arm, letting my glass fall to the pavers on the pathand shatter. My body, doing what nature determined I should do when stung by a bee; I feel my lungs stutter and slow.
“Stella, what are you doing?” Dahlia asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Bees,” I whisper, my voice ragged as my knees give out.
“Bees? What do you mean ‘bees’?” she screams, dropping to her knees beside me. “Since when are you allergic to bees? This isn’t some Bridgerton shit. Stop it. Rhys!”
“I need my EpiPen,” I rasp.
“Rhys!” she screams again, and he bounds over to us.
“What the fuck happened?” he roars.
