Chapter 26
26
I forgot about the dance lessons.
When I arrive at the dining hall for dinner, I am already jumpy. Finding the tables moved to the sides of the room, providing the impromptu dance floor in the middle of the Great Hall, does not help my nerves.
I’m on high Scott alert. I can’t help looking for him when I enter the grand room, where everyone else is adapting to the new seating arrangement with ease, carrying plates of the evening’s delicious-smelling roast chicken. Well, they haven’t just had a fantasy-making, heart-shaking hookup with their rival. Or, I assume they haven’t.
I’m preoccupied enough that I mistake a blond man on Experience staff, carrying speakers, for Scott. I’m hopeless, looking for him everywhere. I spent the entire day daydreaming about him, honestly. Not the speakers guy—I spent the day daydreaming about Scott .
About the kiss.
I wasn’t able to do anything else. Not even a forty-five-minute lukewarm shower—on the third floor, not our shared fifth-floor outpost, which is a freaking Scott Daniels flirting crime scene—cooled me off. The Experience’s activities were wasted on me. I went to an Elytheum cooking class, hoping I could learn how to whip up a stew or night cakes for when I got home, and instead spent the hour scorching everything I attempted until I had to excuse myself on account of incompetence due to distraction.
The unfortunate episode left me wandering campus for the rest of the afternoon. The rain gave way to another gorgeous North Carolina day, perfect weather in which to get fussy about running into my work nemesis. When I happened to notice him leaving a lecture hall in front of me, I spun around and walked in the opposite direction.
I am fully aware I’m acting ridiculous. Not at all like a fierce, confident, sexy heroine. Instead I’m behaving like I did in middle school when I liked a boy and didn’t know how to talk to him.
It’s nonsensical. I do know how to talk to Scott! How could I not? I have spoken to this man, albeit often against my will, nearly every day for the past year of my professional existence.
And I do not have a crush on him. Only a fool would have a crush on the asshole she works with. It’s unrealistic, and not in the flirting-with-a-fae-lord way.
And yet.
I’m heading for the servery, hoping dinner will fortify me against my volatile mood, when Scott walks into the dining hall, glancing around the room. Is he looking for me?
My stomach knots. Oh no . What if he’s not looking for me? In moments like now, I do not appreciate my powerful, well-practiced fantasy reader’s imagination. It’s already providing devastating, dark-night-of-the-soul, all-is-lost plot points I would rather not live out. What if our kiss was just another of his schemes to outwit me? What’s better than rejecting Jennifer once—the perfect culmination to a year of rivalry?
If it is…it’s working. Which terrifies me. I’m here for the Elytheum Experience, not the Heartbreak Experience.
“You okay?”
I spin, finding Brit eyeing me inquisitively, which is understandable since I stopped short of the servery when I saw Scott. I’m presently standing motionless in the dining hall like a video-game NPC. She and Laurel are wearing long, flowing skirts. Smart . They’ll learn how to dance in a dress. I’m in leggings and boots, having forgotten the evening’s plans.
“Fine,” I say with haste I know comes off weird. “I’m fine, yeah. Why? Did you hear something?” Wow , I am coming off jumpy. I could never be a courtly spy like Kethryn’s ladies-in-waiting.
Brit peers at me. “What would we…hear?” she asks.
“Nothing!” I assure them. “Nothing. How was your day?”
Laurel looks like she hoped I’d ask. She leans in, quietly exuberant. “We found another clue, in the costume room!” she whispers.
Ordinarily, the news would stress me out. First Lord Scott the Deceptive, and now my friends—it seems like everyone has found their second clue except me. Now, however, I grasp on to the distraction from my own jumpiness and my not-crush. “That’s amazing!” I cheer them. “Did you solve it?”
“Not yet. We…got distracted,” Laurel replies.
I notice the shy restraint in her voice, halfway to embarrassment. Brit does, too. Shooting Laurel a quick glance, she explains. “Laurel’s ex is getting married this week.”
My eyebrows rise. Laurel fidgets with her sleeve. In just days I’ve come to understand she doesn’t open up easily, and I count it an affirmation of friendship when she explains herself haltingly. “His name is Ryan. We dated for a year until he…cheated on me,” she admits. “I wanted to hate him. I really did. I just couldn’t. I was happy when we were dating. Really, really happy . I miss how he made me laugh, how he was always planning adventures and perfect nights and everything. I can’t love him, and I can’t stop,” she croaks out. “Now he’s…with her. Getting married.”
“They posted from their venue today. Destination deal on Martha’s Vineyard,” Brit continues gently. “We…had a little spiral.”
“I should’ve blocked him earlier,” Laurel says morosely.
“I’m…I’m sorry, Laurel,” I say earnestly. I remember her pointed commentary— Revenge is makeover magic . Maybe this week is a little bit of her own.
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” Laurel assures me. “What did you do today?”
“Nothing,” I say.
The other women exchange a glance.
“Nothing?” Laurel repeats. “Are you feeling okay? I hope you’re not sick.”
“No, I’m not sick—” I start, then realize Laurel may have handed me an explanation preferable to reality. “I mean…yes, I think I might be. Sinuses. Or migraine. Probably from getting caught in the rain.”
“Oh no,” Brit says sympathetically. Whew . One point in the realistic-courtly-spy column for me. “Yeah, it really came down. You should get into bed after this.”
“I agree.”
Scott’s voice startles me. I whirl, whacking my elbow into his chest.
“Ow,” he says slowly.
“Scott,” I greet him. He gazes down from where he’s stopped, close to me. I wonder if he knows I recognize his simple black sweater from work. He probably doesn’t know it’s one of my favorites of his. “Um. Hello,” I say. “Are you well?”
His eyes spark with amusement. “Exceedingly,” he replies.
I wish I had something deft to reply. I would in other circumstances, circumstances in which I did not wish to end this conversation as soon as possible for fear of leaping at his kissable face or stomping on his foot for my stolen clue.
“Good. Good,” I say instead. “Good to hear.”
Brit narrows her eyes. “Um, is it? Isn’t he the enemy?” she points out.
“What? Oh, right. No. Yes,” I stammer. “That.”
Everyone exchanges perplexed looks. Yes, if I were conducting espionage in Crimsonfell, they would certainly have flung me from the highest parapet by now. I push my nails into my palms, needing to get a grip on myself.
“You seem a little flustered,” Scott remarks.
“No. Not at all,” I protest.
He raises his eyebrow. Just the one.
Irritated, I decide I need to go on offense. “How was your day, Scott?” I ask.
Scott looks smug. I swear, I could chart his smugness like I chart social media hits on Parthenon’s upcoming releases for work. His smug looks per day are up like five hundred percent in the past week. “My day was eventful,” he replies.
“Memorable?” I press him.
“To some, perhaps.”
I flush. “Not to you?” I glare, focusing on my annoyance with his evasion instead of the hurt of his insinuation.
He smirks. Then, though, the lofty playfulness of his voice softens. He nods at the open floor. “Want to dance?”
Promptly, I panic. I realize everyone is partnering up. I’ve gotten to dinner on the later side, without regard for the dance lessons—another unfortunate consequence of my distraction—and many people have finished the meal.
I cannot dance with Scott. What with the inevitable kissing and foot stomping. I look wildly elsewhere, around the room, not caring how paranoid I undoubtedly appear, and find—
Erik is walking past us.
I fling my arm out, grabbing him and dragging him over. “Sorry,” I say hastily. “I already have a partner.”
Erik blinks, understandably unprepared for my invocation. I give him a meaningful look, and like a skillful scene partner, he recovers. “Right. Yes,” he agrees.
Scott shrugs like it’s exactly what he expected me to do. I don’t know if the flicker of disappointment in his gray eyes is real or wishful thinking. I’ve heard I have a problem with confusing those two.
“I didn’t take you for a coward,” he remarks.
Indignation flashes in me. “What could I possibly be afraid of?” I fire back.
“You tell me,” Scott replies.
Now I’m pissed. I’ve finally run out of patience for whatever he’s playing at. I’m not participating, even if it means no more kisses in the rain. Fine! Who needs those!
I pull Erik to the other end of the dining hall, where we watch the dancing instructors. I barely hear them over the blood roaring in my ears, and the pangs in my dinnerless stomach only make focusing harder. Erik, for once, says nothing, perhaps intuiting I’m not in the happiest of moods.
While the instructors demonstrate, I have the here-goes-nothing feeling I did in front of physics problems in high school. Fortunately, when the first practice dance starts, I find I can rely heavily on Erik, who appears to have had dancing training already. He leads us easily through the steps, his muscular frame directing me around the floor with poised confidence.
How often have I dreamed of jacked guys who looked exactly like him spinning me around a dance floor? I really, really wish I could enjoy the immersion instead of spending every minute hung up on a rainy kiss.
I do notice Erik’s posture straighten even more perfectly whenever we pass in front of Heather Winters or Val—Fred, I should say, since it’s who Erik is showing off for. Whatever. I’m lucky Erik unintentionally interceded in stuff with Scott. If he wants to use the opportunity to flaunt his Val vibes, everyone wins.
“Are you avoiding Scott because you kissed?” he asks.
The question comes out of nowhere, and I fumble in the midst of the dance, stepping squarely on Erik’s toe. He winces but doesn’t miss the step.
“How did—” I pause, realizing. “Of course he told you.”
“We are in an alliance,” Erik reminds me. “We share much with each other.”
He’s putting on the Elytheum heavy. I want to point out Heather isn’t even in earshot.
I’m rolling my eyes when inspiration hits me. If Scott confides in Erik, for whatever reason…
“Did he…say anything about us?” I ask Erik. “Did the kiss mean anything to him?” I hardly dare share the possibility out loud, just like I’ve hardly dared entertain the idea itself. Hope is a page in an open book—fragile, and easy to rip out. “Or is it just part of his book boyfriend training, or whatever? Am I just practice? Just a data point for his journal?”
Erik pauses, considering, and my heart pounds. It’s the feeling of figuring out my clues, except more intense—this question has eluded me, and the answer means everything.
Instead of responding, Erik spins me grandly away from him on the dance floor. When I return to his arms, he dips me with flourish. I hear oohs and ahhs . When I come up, I glimpse our spectators, and I realize—of course. Heather was watching.
“Did she see?” Erik asks eagerly.
It isn’t just the head rush of the dance move sending a painful flush into my cheeks. Like cruel dance partners, frustration pairs with my embarrassment at how much the answer means to me. “Erik. I was talking to you,” I say. “Can you focus on another person for two seconds?”
His eyes dart to me. I give him credit for the guilt in his glance. “Sorry. Right. I’m focused. You asked about Scott.”
I nod eagerly.
“Oh, well, yeah, I can’t tell you. You have to talk to him yourself. I will not forsake my alliance,” Erik says.
Exasperated, I sigh. “Can we please stop pretending alliances are real? It’s all just a game.”
“If it’s all a game,” Erik replies, “then communicate with Scott for real. Or maybe you’re avoiding it because you’re afraid of being hurt.”
He levels me a challenging look. I sag in his arms. “You’re supposed to be too self-absorbed for that kind of insight,” I say.
Erik laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m still remarkably self-absorbed.”
“I’ll say.”
The voice interrupting us is sharp like steel and smooth like silk. Val—no, Fred. He stands nearby, his presence halting me and Erik.
“May I cut in?” Val-Fred prompts Erik, nodding my way.
Erik doesn’t respond, staring his brother down, probably weighing the pros and cons of making a scene in front of Heather versus letting his sibling in. “Am I stealing too much of the spotlight?” he asks Fred.
“Jennifer deserves to dance with the one and only Lord Valance,” Fred replies.
Erik frowns. “For now,” he mutters.
He walks off, and Val-Fred clasps my hand and leads me flawlessly into the steps.
“You didn’t need to antagonize him,” I say.
He stares at me, his expression unmoved. “His presence here is antagonistic,” he replies. From his diction and his direct reply, I understand he’s speaking like Val about the realities of Fred.
“I know,” I reassure him. “Erik is in the wrong, too. You all need to work some stuff out.”
Val-Fred’s eyes narrow. “One could say the same of you and Lord Daniels,” he observes.
My mouth drops open. It’s not like Fred is in a whispery alliance with my enemy. “How did you…?”
His gaze cuts past mine. He doesn’t look curt, only serious. “While all of you are watching us, we are watching you ,” he says. “It is clear you care for each other, and yet you mask it in animosity. It is something I know much about.”
His final words lift his lips in a wry, fond smile. While admittedly I appreciate his nod to Elytheum, his remark irks me. Is it clear we care for each other? It’s not clear to me. I wish I had more clarity on whether I was just a pitiful pawn to the man with whom I just shared the hottest kiss of my life.
“Let me guess,” I reply. “You think I should talk to him. It’s what your brother just told me to do.”
A little sadness stains Fred’s smile. “Yes, well, I love my brother, and we’re very similar. Too similar, perhaps.”
I eye him, understanding. I hadn’t considered it until now—how stressful Fred must find Erik’s intrusion, amidst the pride Fred hoped to enjoy in his professional achievement. “Well, it’s certainly worked in my favor,” I say enthusiastically, hoping humor cheers him up. “A pair of brothers vying for my attention as part of their rivalry? I mean, who hasn’t had that fantasy?”
It works. Val-Fred swallows his smile. I’m wondering if he remembers our chat about The Vampire Diaries over coffee, although of course he has to pretend he has no such memory. “Nevertheless,” he says gently, “don’t overlook what’s right in front of you in favor of a fantasy, no matter how fun.”
When he says it, I can’t help my eyes straying to Scott. He’s very earnestly practicing the dance steps, partnered with Amelia.
It’s the real Scott, the one I met in that hallway a year ago. It’s endearing to see him, the Scott who isn’t Val-worn confidence and swagger. The Scott who’s a little nerdy, who I once heard swapping favorite Excel shortcuts with our coworkers, who drinks mint tea out of a mug with Star Trek Captain Picard’s “Make it so” quote on it during meetings. When this week is over, will I see him again? Or will he bring his book-boyfriend project back to the office?
I have to pull my eyes away. I face my dancing partner, only to find his gaze is also on Scott and Amelia. The expression of soft yearning on his face is all Fred.
“She’s incredible, you know,” I say gently.
“I know.” His reply is immediate. Then he whips his head to me. “I mean, to whom do you refer?”
I smirk. “Nice recovery, Fred ,” I whisper. “Why don’t you channel some of that Val swagger and ask her out?”
His gaze drifts to her side of the room again. “She’ll say no. She doesn’t see me beyond the character I play.” He clears his throat, then speaks louder for the people nearby. “And I am sworn to my true love, my liege Queen Kethryn.”
I laugh a little at his hasty cover-up, which prompts me to miss a step. Val steers me back on track unerringly.
“She sees you,” I say quietly. “She just doesn’t let herself get swept up very easily. Be brave, Lord Valance.” I squeeze his hand, which I’m holding reassuringly.
He manages a halfway hopeful smile. “You are very inspiring. Queen Kethryn’s court is fortunate to have you.” Then, without Val’s deep rumbling voice, he adds, “Thanks.”
“It’s easy to talk to you,” I say to Val. “Like talking to an old friend.”
Friend. The word echoes in my head.
Did I just friend-zone my one true book boyfriend?
I’m dancing in the arms of my favorite fantasy, and I…feel nothing. No infatuation. No giddiness. Instead, I feel like I’ve known Val for years. Which, in a way, I have, across five books and thousands of pages.
“With Scott…” I go on, slowly. “It’s not easy.”
Val watches me. His eyes still sparkle, but I find I’m not dazed. “No,” he says. “It’s not easy to face hurt. You can’t be rejected by something that isn’t real.”
He spins me, and the world goes blurry for a dizzying moment before my vision can make sense of the dream around me once more. The moment it does, I know Val is right. None of the dance’s continued steps are as complicated as the predicament I’m facing now.
I want to want Scott, and I’m afraid. Afraid he will hurt me if I reopen my heart, and not only because he rejected me once already. I’m afraid of how the new Scott, the one I’ve gotten to know this week, could dash the delicate new hopes I’ve started to have—not to mention how uncomfortable work would be if everything ends badly between us.
And then, deeper down, the darkest possibility. The antifantasy, the worst reality. What if the real reason I haven’t had the relationships I wanted isn’t because I don’t try hard enough or communicate well, or because I push people away when they’re not the fantasy?
What if the problem is me? What if I’m not good enough?
It makes punishing sense. Why would I have to hide here, ensconcing myself in fake fantasy, if I were the heroine I pretend to be? I’m not. I’m not a main character in the real world. I’m no one special. Why should I have an extraordinary love?
Val must notice. He slants his head to find my eyes while we glide around the dance floor. “Be brave, Lady Jennifer,” he murmurs, echoing me.
Val-Fred is something more than smoldering, more than swaggering—he’s sweet. Nevertheless, the nickname prods my sore spot. Lady Jennifer . Is she the character I deserve, or just the one I’m pretending I am?
I focus on the unambiguous part of what he’s said. Be brave.
I force a smile, wanting to be.