Page 17 of Taming the Beast (Fairy Tales of New York)

“This morning I’d have said that suited you,” said Mercy, turning her attention back to him and giving him a faint, but, for the first time, genuine, smile.

“But now?” he said, slightly confused by the flipping of his stomach in response to what was after all only the hint of a curve of her lips.

“Now I’m not so sure.”

And what was that supposed to mean? “Intriguing,” he murmured even though it wasn’t in the slightest. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Lifting her bag off her shoulder, Mercy sat, and after pushing himself off his desk and stalking round to the other side, so did Seb.

“So what can I do for you, Mercedes?” he asked, leaning forwards, resting his forearms on the desk and feeling oddly glad that it stood between them. “I presume you haven’t come to discuss the furnishings.”

“No.” She shook her head, then swallowed and took a deep breath, all of which made Seb wonder if she was nervous. It would be interesting if she was. And, come to think of it, deeply satisfying to see her on the back foot for once. Sitting back and relishing the switch of positions, he waited.

Mercy cleared her throat and pulled her shoulders back. “I have some questions for you.”

Seb’s eyebrows rose. “Questions or accusations?”

“Questions.”

“Makes a change.”

“Hmm.” An unamused pause. Then, “I’ve just had a night out with the girls.”

“Are you drunk?”

Mercy blinked at him. Bristled, possibly. “What? No. Of course I’m not drunk. I grew up on a vineyard. I don’t overindulge. Ever.”

“Didn’t stop you at St. John’s.”

“That was ten years ago. Ancient history. I’ve been a wine maker for years now and I’m a good one so I know its effects. One drink is my limit. Always.”

“And was your night out with the girls fun?” he asked, not that he knew what fun was. He didn’t go out socially if he could possibly avoid it. Nor did he drink. The potential for loss of control was simply too great. And fun was very definitely for other people.

“Usually it is. Tonight, though, it was more thought-provoking than fun. Zelda said you want to reconcile.”

Seb started for a moment because he hadn’t expected news to travel that quickly, but then he nodded because there seemed little point in denying it. “That’s right.”

“Why?”

Ah. Well. Wasn’t that the question of the century. For days after Mercy had waltzed into his apartment, whipping up a storm and speaking to him in a way that no one dared do these days, he’d wiped the whole night from his mind.

But then, somehow, she’d started slipping into his thoughts and niggling away at his conscience. He’d pushed her out, reminding himself over and over that she was wrong and he was fine, but it had become increasingly difficult to ignore her and what she’d said.

Especially the part where she’d basically told him he was to blame for everything that had befallen his sister.

Despite his best efforts to prevent it the seed of that had taken root and he hadn’t been able to squash it. Instead it had grown until it was so big and so strong that it had battered through his ironclad defences, struck at the very center of him, and had had him suddenly questioning everything he thought he knew.

Was he to blame for Zelda’s troubles? Might she have had an easier ride of things if he’d been there for her instead of removing himself both physically and emotionally? Might they have been stronger together than apart? Had all those times she’d been expelled from school really been cries for help? And what about her subsequent behavior? Had she been as lost as him?

The more the questions had ricocheted around his head the more he’d realized that the answer couldn’t be anything other than a horrible, deafening

yes. The way he’d treated Zelda had been horrendous. He had failed her. In every terrible way possible. All she’d ever wanted was him to be there for her, and he’d run a mile, convincing himself what he was doing was the right thing for her, when really he was doing it because it was the right thing for him.

That Zelda was all right now was testament to her strength and the loyalty of those who cared about her. Her friends. Her boyfriend, Ty. Who’d been around for weeks and who he hadn’t even heard of before she’d enlightened him yesterday. He hadn’t even questioned where his sister was when she’d disappeared for the whole Labor Day weekend.

Amends, an apology, an explanation, he’d figured, didn’t come close to what he owed her. He was only grateful she’d given him the opportunity to pay his dues.

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