Chapter 22
Edwina glows when she’s smug. Figuratively, of course, yet she’s as blinding as the sun. Her diminutive stature takes on the commanding presence of a sunflower in a field of daisies, her petals unfurling for more praise. I’m half convinced she could subsist on adulation alone.
“Your books changed my life,” Queen Gemma says, her eyes glazing. “They consoled me during one of the hardest experiences I’ve endured and helped me weather a scandal with my head held high. I hardly have words to express the comfort your books have given me. Please know how much I—and all your readers—cherish you.”
Edwina’s jaw slackens at the queen’s praise, and the crowd visibly swoons, their expressions captivated.
Zane leans toward me and whispers in a wry tone, “Has anyone ever told you that? That your book changed their life?”
“Yes, Z,” I whisper back. “My sister.”
They smirk. Zane knows certain facts about me and my situation that few others do. “Right. You’re funding Cassie’s dreams.”
“College,” I specify. “And I’m keeping her out of the workhouses.”
Zane’s expression softens and they make no further comment. As much as we like to tease each other, my family is a sensitive topic, and Zane knows it.
“I don’t want to take up too much more of your time,” the queen says, “but I hope you’ll stay for my book club meeting. We’d love for you to do a reading for us if you’re open to it.”
“Of course I’m open to it.” Edwina’s voice is rich with wonder. “I’m more than open to it. I insist!”
“Lovely. Oh, and…” Queen Gemma pivots toward me as if she only now recalls this signing hosts two authors. “You as well, Mr. Haywood.”
I bow my head in acquiescence, for what else can I do before a queen? She may not be the reigning monarch of any of the courts—only one with fae blood can hold such a position—but she is the wife of Elliot Rochester, Unseelie King of Winter. To be honest, I’m a little starstruck.
As the queen turns away from the table, the guests in line step aside, offering curtsies as she passes.
Edwina sucks in a gasp. “Oh God. I didn’t curtsy. William, I didn’t curtsy!” She looks at me with wild eyes. “Should I run after her? Apologize? Throw myself at her feet and beg for forgiveness?”
She’s so frantic, I’m almost of a mind to tease her, but I don’t have it in me today. “It’s fine, Weenie. She wasn’t upset, and she’s not even your queen.”
She deflates a little. “Ah, I guess you’re right. I suppose none of the fae royals are my monarchs.”
Am I imagining the disappointment on her face? Edwina is from Bretton, which means she only needs to respect the fae and follow our rules while visiting. After our tour is over, she’ll return home.
Unless she wins the publishing contract, that is.
Which I can’t let her do.
I need the contract. Cassie needs it. I will not fail my sister.
Something tightens in my chest, a sharp thing that claws at my bones. I shift in my seat to distract myself from it. Luckily, Edwina doesn’t notice my discomfort as the line has surged forward in Queen Gemma’s wake, and her next guest is chattering her ear off over her love of Edwina’s books.
I force my eyes off her and face ahead. At my nonexistent line. At the very empty space in front of my table. Only then do I feel Zane’s gaze burning into me.
“What?” I snap.
Zane looks from me to Edwina. “Nothing,” they mutter, their lips curled with a mischievous grin.
The signing is unbearably slow.For me. Not for Edwina. Our roles have reversed, with her enjoying an endless line of excited guests while I have the occasional visitor. It’s nothing less than I expected. I knew all along that Winter Court would be Edwina’s domain, and she continues to glow with every book she signs, every word of conversation.
My only entertainment comes from a game I’ve created. It involves seeing how many times I can covertly slip my book onto her stack and get her to unwittingly take it and almost sign it. It’s the same copy I’ve already tried to give her. Over the last several hours, as day has crept toward evening, the title page has grown more and more clustered with writing. When she first discovered the book in her hands, her pen poised to sign, she found my reply that I wrote to her: Well, I don’t like you. Or your book. Stop trying to give this to me. Beneath that I’d scrawled: You don’t have to like me to use me, Weenie.
She slammed the book shut so fast she startled her reader, cutting off the young man’s effusive praise. Edwina set the book on her lap until she had a lull in her line. She glared at me while writing her next message, which ended up being a crude rendering of a penis with my name under it. It was so juvenile, I could only meet it with an equal measure of immaturity. The next time I passed it back to her, I wrote a page number on the title page, and when she flipped to it, she found not only a handful of flower petals that fell upon her lap, but a poem I’d edited, crossing out lines and replacing them with insults. My favorite of which compared the shade of her hair to a boiled carrot.
She hastily went to work making edits of her own, changing the part about carrots to reflect the size of my cock. And it was a baby carrot this time. Predictably.
I’m enjoying this game more than I should. As the signing is nearing its end, I probably only have one more chance to trick her into taking my book again. I edit another poem for her, turning a brooding love sonnet into an explicit ode to a girl with carrot-colored hair, from the perspective of an amorous shriveled carrot.
I do this while half listening to the man standing in my line. Zane has been chatting with Monty and Mr. Cordell at the front counter, leaving me alone with my insufferable reader, a Mr. Gavin Aston. I’ve given up on playing my part as the seductive poet, as Mr. Aston seems more interested in hearing himself talk, rather than speaking with me. He’s been droning on about his favorite piece of Brettonish literature, a pretentious work called Infinite Suffering in the Garden of Happenstance. I nod as he speaks—because of course William the Poet likes the same trite shit as Mr. Aston—and continue scribbling new lines over the sonnet. Once it’s complete, I covertly lean toward Edwina’s table and slide the book onto her stack. She’s so immersed in speaking with her current guest, the same way she is with every reader, that she doesn’t even glance at her stack of books as she gathers one to sign. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, her grin as sweet as nectar?—
Until she finds my book’s title page beneath her hands yet again.
Baring her teeth, she cuts me a murderous glare.
Blooming hell, I could live for that look.
I purse my lips to keep from laughing and force my attention back to Mr. Aston. He’s been listing all the ways he’s similar to the main character in Infinite Suffering, and it’s a miracle he hasn’t floated away from the sheer mass of his inflated ego.
Disappointment sinks my chest as I don’t catch Edwina writing anything else in the book. Has she finally tired of our game? Her last guest leaves and—thank the All of All—so does Mr. Aston. Only a handful of guests remain, and Queen Gemma has returned. With the shop closing for the evening, it must be time for the book club meeting.
Edwina and I leave our tables so Mr. Cordell can rearrange the nook for the meeting. She has my book in her arms, hugging it to her chest. My breath hitches at the sight, and I’m suddenly jealous of an inanimate object.
“I’m keeping this,” she says, hugging the book tighter. “Otherwise, you’re going to continue to annoy me.”
“Then I’ve finally won. You’ve accepted my gift at last.”
“I’m only going to throw it away the first chance I get,” she says, yet the way she cradles it in her arms makes me think otherwise. Or perhaps that’s only what I hope. “In fact, I’ll dispose of it right now.”
She flounces off in the direction of the back room, and I join Zane just outside the nook. My friend hands me a steaming mug, scents of chocolate and peppermint wafting from it. I accept the cup and take a sip. It’s warm, the flavor a delectable blend of sweet and bitter mingling with the unmistakable—and not unpleasant—burn of liquor.
“Mr. Cordell informed me that book club hour is synonymous with drinking hour,” Zane says, taking a hearty sip of their own mug. “I approve.”
They must be right, for everyone who gathers in the nook holds an identical mug, and the mood is growing livelier by the second.
Edwina returns from the back room, her coat draped over her arm. I squint at it, smirking when I catch a sliver of green poking out from one of the pockets. She didn’t throw my book away after all. Little liar.
“You aren’t leaving, are you?” Queen Gemma strides up to Edwina, two mugs in hand.
“Of course not,” Edwina says. “I just wanted to gather my belongings.”
“Good. Are you still open to doing a reading for us?”
“Absolutely.”
“You truly are a treasure, Miss Danforth. This just might be the best day of my life. Just don’t tell my husband. Or my children.” Gemma winks and hands Edwina one of the mugs.
Just like she did with Cloud Dive, she downs a hearty sip without hesitation. Part of me wants to chastise her for accepting a drink before even knowing what it is, but at least the liquor is of the human variety this time. She won’t suffer any effects that are out of the ordinary.
“Oh!” Edwina licks her lips, slowly running her tongue over the chocolate that stains them. Now I’m jealous of this damn drink too. “I like that indeed.”
Gemma links her arm through Edwina’s and leads her into the nook. Monty, Daphne, and Mr. Cordell settle onto the chairs at the back of the meeting area while Zane and I remain standing just behind them. I lean my shoulder against the nearby bookcase, watching Edwina’s eyes light up as Gemma formally introduces her to the ladies that comprise the book club. Not that they didn’t already meet her during the signing. After introductions, the book club members settle into their chairs, facing Edwina.
She wrings her hands, the first sign of nervousness she’s shown all evening. “What would you like me to read for you?”
“What’s your favorite scene?” asks one of the women.
“That’s a hard choice.” Edwina furrows her brow and taps a finger to her chin. “I suppose if I had to choose, it would be the scene in The Governess and the Earl, when Sarah realizes she deserves to be loved by a man of high standing.”
“That’s one of my favorites too,” Queen Gemma says. She hands Edwina a copy of the book in question from her personal signed stack. “I’d be honored if you would read it for us.”
Edwina’s cheeks flush, but she accepts the book and seeks the chapter. She nibbles her thumbnail, another sign of her nerves, but when she speaks, she seems to forget her anxiousness. The bookshop is silent as she reads the chapter, her voice soft yet carrying the depth of emotion the character portrays. Her tone falls when the character speaks of her longing and fears, then rises when she voices her worth. Chills run down my spine. I’ve been surrounded by performers for most of my life. My mother, Lydia, was an actress. Though not related to me by blood, she was Cassie’s mother and was the woman who raised me. We practically lived in the theater for most of my life. Then there were my years at university. Edwina may not have the honed skill of someone who spent her life studying the performing arts, but she has a raw talent in the way she reads from her character’s point of view. The way she sinks into the role and captures emotion with the slightest inflection.
I’m mesmerized.
So much so that my heart plummets when she speaks the final word of the chapter and closes the book. Reality sharpens around me, pulling me from the pages she’d drawn me into.
For fuck’s sake, she’s…
She’s incredible.
Applause erupts all around, and I set my mug on the nearby shelf to join them. Edwina’s gaze flicks to me, her eyes widening as if she’d forgotten I was still here. I give her a smile devoid of taunting, and the one she returns—so wide and genuine—nearly takes my breath away. Then her attention falls back upon the book club members.
“I’m sure of it now,” Zane says, keeping their voice low.
“Sure of what?”
“You like her.”
The blood leaves my face. “I don’t…”
Zane chuckles. “You can’t finish that sentence, can you? Because it’s a lie. You do like her.”
I tug at my cravat, loosening it and unbuttoning the top of my collar. Why is it suddenly so hot in here? I lower my voice to a whisper. “I…may be attracted to her.”
“She’s not your usual type. I would know.”
“No, she’s not,” I say. Zane would know. Zane witnessed my sexual exploits during my university days and even joined them a time or two. Zane and I never exclusively courted, as we were both of a mind to enjoy only casual flings while at school. Yet once our physical relationship ran its course, a deeper friendship remained. They’ve been my closest friend ever since, even though we haven’t seen much of each other since their opera career took off. We still keep in touch by letter.
“She’s different,” Zane says. “Quirky. Cute. Chaotic. I like it.”
“She’s annoying,” I mutter.
“And you like it.”
What’s the point of denying it? Zane has seen through me. “Yes. For whatever reason, I want to bed my rival.”
Zane arches a brow. “Is that all it is? Just physical?”
I refuse to even contemplate that question.
“Will you read something else?” Mr. Cordell asks.
“Chapter Eighteen,” Daphne calls out.
“Chapter Fifty-five,” says one of the ladies.
“I’d love for you to read Chapter Thirty-two of The Governess and the Rake,” Gemma says.
My shoulders tense. I know exactly which chapter that is. The heated kiss that precedes the love scene. The very one that ended my acting career.
The book club members voice their agreement. One adds, “Remember when King Elliot read Alexander’s lines at one of our meetings?”
Gemma laughs. “He was terrible at it.”
“Yes, but his grumpy demeanor certainly added nuance to the character that wasn’t on the page.” A wave of laughter rumbles from the ladies.
Edwina sighs. “What I wouldn’t give to hear Alexander’s lines read by a handsome male.”
“Might I make a suggestion?” Zane says, and my heart stops at once. I know what they’re about to say before they even say it. “William will read the lines.”
“Z,” I bark under my breath, but the sound is drowned out by exclamations of approval.
“He’s an actor, isn’t he?” one of the ladies says to another.
“He’s as handsome as Alexander.”
“No.” Edwina’s voice silences all the rest. My eyes meet hers, and I expect to see annoyance or embarrassment in them. Instead, it’s concern that etches the firm line of her mouth. Concern…for me.
A crack wends through my heart as I understand the source of her distress. She knows what this play means to me. What this scene means. And it’s that care that emboldens me. That care that burns away my trepidation and replaces it with my competitive spark. I adore her for her concern, but I don’t need it. Not truly. Not when she’s here. Not if I’ve been presented with an opportunity to shatter her expectations and rock her off her feet.
I release a long and steadying breath, then tuck my hands into my pockets. With my signature seductive grin, I say, “I’ll read the role.”
Edwina blanches. She gives me a significant look. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
The book club members squeal with delight as I make my way to Edwina. I cast a look at Zane, who gives me a taunting grin. Monty turns in his seat and mutters to my friend, “Nice work. I think we’re on the same team.”
“Shut up,” Daphne says, standing on her chair to get a better look at me and Edwina. “Things are about to get smutty.”
Gemma retrieves her copy of The Governess and the Earl from Edwina and gives her The Governess and the Rake instead, while a young woman offers a copy of the latter book to me. Her voice is soft and shy. “So you can read the lines.”
I grace her with a smile but wave away the book. “I won’t be needing it.”
Edwina worries her lip as I face her. She arches a brow in a silent question. You really think you can do this?
I step in close and hold her gaze, my unspoken answer written in the wicked curve of my lips. My beautiful bespectacled hellion. I’ll make you pay for doubting me.
Out loud, I say, “Tell me, dearest, how would you like me to make love to you tonight?”