Page 95 of Live To Tell

I sip the coffee and watch them. I really have pulled these guys into each other’s lives.

“Tell me, Leif, how do I gain entry to Violet’s Consort Club?” asks Grayson.

I splutter coffee and it showers the side of his cheek. “I do not have a consort club and please be more sensitive.”

“Sounds better than harem,” suggests Grayson.

“Good grief,” I mutter and glance at Leif, who drinks, not responding. I’m irritated by Grayson; Leif doesn’t need a reminder of the other side of yesterday. “Sorry about Grayson.” Leif shrugs and shifts away slightly to delve into his backpack for a paper wrapped sandwich.

Kneeling, Grayson shuffles towards me and places a hand to either side of where I’m sitting. “Did Leif have to do anything special to achieve consort status?” he asks quietly.

I spot the teasing glint in his eyes, his gaze dropping to my lips momentarily. “If you’d like me to arrange a meeting with Dorian to introduce you as my consort, just ask,” I say casually.

Grayson runs his tongue along his bottom lip, not reacting with the recoil I expected. “You’re saying I am in the club?”

We haven’t spent time alone together since the night Josef attacked him, but the kiss replays in my mind now that Grayson fills the space around us, sharpening all my senses. My pulse ramps up—is that Grayson’s blood in me recognizing him, or mine wanting to be part of Grayson?

Or the intense attraction that dents lockers?

“What club?” asks Rowan.

I look away from Grayson to where Rowan stands, gripping the handle of his black rucksack harder than normal. He’s paler, a hassled crease to his brow. Grayson quietly chuckles and moves away, lying back on the lawn.

“The Violet Blackwood Consort Club,” says Leif, and I slap his thigh hard enough for everybody to hear. He pouts and rubs his leg. “Good thing I don’t injure easily.”

“Don’t encourage Grayson. I do not have a club.”

“But you have consorts.”

“I thought you didn’t like that word.” I narrow my eyes at him.

He leans forward. “You can call me whatever you want if you kiss me like you did last night, Violet.”

My mouth parts at his bluntness, but I’m happy he isn’t the broken guy who walked away from me and Ethan. “You may regret that permission.”

Leif’s smile dimples and my heart fills with warmth rather than the chill of last night’s rejection. My attempt to fix something with talk of consorts and belonging together backfired at first but forced something very necessary. Honesty. I’m yet another step away from a place I’d created inside myself. One where I believed I was safe, with the solitude I preferred.

Solitude I did prefer until these people gradually snuck into my life and now take up space in my heart and mind.

“Consort club.” Rowan sits beside me. “Funny.” But he doesn’t sound amused or suggest his own membership.

“You look like you need a coffee,” says Leif and hands him Grayson’s.

“Thanks.”

I touch his fingers. “Everything okay, Rowan?”

His spare hand curls around my knee. “Yes and no.”

“Did you speak to Julius?” I ask.

Rowan nods and pulls a face when he drinks. “Ugh. Milk?” With a sigh, Leif swaps his cup with Rowan’s. “I did see Julius. There wasn’t much to tell him as we agreed, although we might have some more information soon. I heard back from Annabelle. One of two interesting communications for me this morning.”

Progress? A familiar rush of excitement runs through. “Please tell me she’s identified the guy.”

“No. But Annabelle has something to give Dorian to help the investigation—if I keep her name out of it.” He side glances me. “My lie that he’s involved helped.”

“Maybe the information will be enough to force Dorian to get involved. Did she say anything else? What did this information consist of?”

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