Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MONTY
T hat was fucking close. I can’t believe how much I just gave away. I had no intention of voicing my hatred for my father, even though my confession barely scratched the surface, but I couldn’t help it. When Araminta asked why I couldn’t marry Daphne, and I saw the flush of Daph’s cheeks, the way the question flustered her, the brief hope in her eyes, I wanted Daphne to know. That if I ever push her away, if she ever wonders why our friendship can’t be more, it’s not because of her. It could never be because of her.
It’s me. It’s my family. It’s a mess I’d never wish upon her or anyone.
Though now that Daphne has resumed painting and my nerves have settled, I question why I didn’t take the opportunity to reiterate the boundary between us. I could have said I can never marry Daphne because we’re just friends. Or I could never feel that way about her. I’m shocked I took the harder path—the path of truth—instead of falling back on my usual patterns.
How curious…
Night has fallen by the time Daphne deems our painting session complete.
“Thank fuck.” I release a grateful groan, shaking out my arms and legs. Most of my limbs have lost feeling, even after the intermittent breaks Daphne allowed me. I roll my head from side to side, resulting in several audible cracks.
“I’m glad I’m not that kind of model,” Araminta mutters.
“When is our next courtship lesson?” Daphne says as she cleans her brushes. “Tomorrow? Next weekend?”
I don my shirt and start doing up the buttons. My stomach drops at her question. “I might be out of town next weekend.”
“Where are you going?”
“My best friend is getting married,” I say, putting on my waistcoat and leaving it open. I seek out my small silver case and remove a cigarillo from inside. “Though I haven’t decided if I’ll attend.”
Daphne sets down her brushes and approaches me. “Your best friend…you mean the baker? I remember you mentioning him on the tour.”
“Yes, the baker. He and his fiancée are the match I’m proudest of making. I’m supposed to be his best man and escort my sister so she can attend as well.”
“Best man is an important role, isn’t it? You must go. Where is the wedding?”
“The Cyllene Hotel in the Star Court.”
Daphne’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious? The Cyllene Hotel ? As in the Cyllene Hotel with the ballroom that has the domed ceiling that perfectly replicates a meteor shower without any magic, only a human painter’s mortal talents?”
Ah, I can understand her awe now. “That’s the one.”
She stares at me with an irked expression. “I…I’m so jealous. I’m experiencing such vast envy I sort of want to punch you.”
“Punch him!” Araminta says in support, clapping her hands together.
Daphne takes a step closer. “You have an opportunity to not only serve as your best friend’s best man but to witness one of the greatest artistic marvels on the isle?”
“I have my reasons?—”
“Take me.”
I blink at her. Before I can reply, she speaks again, eyes wide with fervor.
“Take me with you, Monty, I’m begging you. It’s not just that I’m desperate to see the ballroom with my own eyes, but the location is the perfect background for my next cover. I’ve envisioned my piece being set in a ballroom, but the ones here in Jasper don’t evoke the right atmosphere. I need to paint the Cyllene Ballroom. To sketch it, at the very least. Please take me with you.”
“Sorry,” Araminta says in a lazy tone, “I can’t go. I have another modeling job next weekend.”
“No one invited you,” Daphne snaps. “When are you going home, anyway?”
Araminta stretches out on the settee, her legs hooked over one of the arms. “I don’t have a home yet, and I’m tired of sleeping at the office now that I’ve grown accustomed to this seelie lifestyle. Just let me stay the night. Please? I’ll get my own place soon.”
“Fine,” Daphne grumbles, then returns her attention to me. She wrings her hands, wincing. “I guess I shouldn’t scold Ari for inviting herself to places when I’m doing the same thing. But can I please invite myself, Monty? Please, please, please?”
Did she always sound so cute when saying my name? Blazing hell, when she looks at me like that, I find it impossible to care about the repercussions.
If I leave town over the weekend, I’ll miss another payment and incur another penalty; my lender will move the due date for my loan up another week. But I’m fucked regardless if I can’t get another loan to pay this one off, and I can’t get a legitimate loan without that signing bonus as collateral and proof of long-term employment. Which means my book—my case study—takes priority.
And my case study depends on Daphne.
I flip my unlit cigarillo over my fingers. “If I take you with me, we’ll need to hold our next courtship lesson over the weekend. And since I’m supposed to arrive Friday and the train ride there is a long fucking haul, we’ll have to leave early Thursday evening and miss work on Friday. Probably Monday too.”
“Friday is my illustration day,” she says, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice, “and Mr. Fletcher often lets me do illustration work from home. Missing work Monday shouldn’t be a problem either. I rarely take time off.”
“Then I guess…” I pause to watch her squirm a little, to watch her eyes grow rounder with pleading and her smile grow sweeter. “I guess you can come with me.”
Daphne collides with me, her arms encircling my waist in a crushing hug. She’s surprisingly strong for a woman so small in stature. She hops in place while hugging me, her cheek crushed to my chest and making my whole torso shake from the force of her excitement. Then she tilts her head back and meets my gaze, her eyes crinkled with joy. “Thank you.”
My breath catches, my pulse quickening. I’m struck dumb looking at her, at her adorable expression, the coral flush in her cheeks, the mussed strands of her hair from where she squished her cheek against my chest. Her body is soft against me, yet her arms continue to hold tight around my waist. My hands are still loose at my sides, but I’m suddenly aware of them, curious about how it would feel to return her hug?—
She steps back, releasing me, and brings her fists under her chin in a bashful gesture while her grin remains wide. “Sorry. I got too excited.”
“It’s fine,” I say, mortified at how soft and choked my voice sounds.
“Don’t I get to pick the next lesson topic?” she asks, unaware of the effect her spontaneous hug had on me. “You said we could alternate who chooses our topic if I wanted.”
I do my best to recover my senses and arch a brow at the manuscript, still on the table where I left it the last time I was here. “Have you read my book yet?”
The guilt shows all over her face. “No, but I will. I’ll read it this week.”
“Then if you have any requests, you can make them. Meanwhile, I’ll draft out a lesson plan I believe would be most effective for our circumstances.”
She gives an exuberant nod.
I see myself out, but only after Daphne thanks me a thousand times more.
Once outside, I heave a sigh and light my cigarillo. I find I don’t need the herbal blend’s calming effects. Even though I’m wary about leaving next weekend and attending a damn wedding, I’m relaxed too.
As I proceed down the sidewalk, I absently rub my palm over the middle of my chest. I know I’m only imagining things, but my shirt still feels warm where Daphne crushed herself against me. Or maybe it’s my chest that’s warm. Or my heart? Whatever the case, I must be a madman for agreeing to take a woman to a wedding with me. Daphne doesn’t know what a big deal society places on gestures like taking a date to a wedding, though even if she did, she knows it’s not like that with us. Besides, I’m escorting my sister to the wedding too. I’m only taking Daphne so she can work on her illustration and so that I can help her make progress in finding a husband.
My jaw tenses at the thought, bringing a flash of anger along with it. I hate the idea of setting Daphne up with another idiot like Conrad. Or maybe I hate the idea of setting her up with anyone. I don’t know a soul who’s good enough for her. Not that I make a habit of knowing many people these days.
Still, I must try. I must do more than enjoy our time together. I must do more than focus on my case study. Her needs are just as great as mine, and if she doesn’t marry by Lughnasadh, she’ll be bound to someone worse than Conrad. At least I assume Clyde the fucking honey badger is worse because he participated in a handfasting ritual with a drunk person. Not only that, but she’ll have to stay in her hometown.
And I’ll never see her again.
The thought makes my stomach roil.
I take a long drag from my cigarillo and breathe my worries away. Shifting all my stressors aside, I’m left with a prospect equal parts terrifying and exciting: I’m going to spend an entire weekend with Daphne.