Chapter 9
M y fingers flew over the keys. The words formed on the screen, but in my head, a battle of epic proportions raged. The enemy forces battled it out for a strip of land, while the rightful king struggled with a band of a valent few to save the area for the peasants and their farms. From far behind the battle lines, but still within earshot of the screams of the dying, the mortal paced, her magic simmering under the surface, but not well enough controlled to be of use—
“Your drink is cold.”
I jumped from my seat, heart thumping loud. “What the hell, Americano?” I tried to sound serious but ended up laughing.
“I, um, was hoping you were here.” Leonard set his beverage down and pulled out a small, red box. “Here. This is for you.”
The chaos of war fizzled out, and the sounds of the café roared to my senses. I unwrapped the package and gasped. “Leonard! It’s beautiful.”
He shrugged. “Saw it in a window and thought of you.”
I carefully plucked the gold chain from the box and held the necklace so the gold pendant caught the light. Delicately molded flowers framed a book.
“This is….” I lifted my shoulders.
“I thought about waiting to give it to you for Christmas or something, but I, uh, wanted you to have it now.” Leonard held the back of the chair so tightly that the split in his knuckle reopened. “It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“Nothing about us is normal, and I’m okay with that,” I drawled, pulling my hair to the side. “Put it on me?”
His steps were long and elegant, like those of a great cat. As he bent behind me, the warmth from his body washed over me.
I’m in over my freaking head.
His fingertips brushed the nape of my neck as he fastened the clasp, sending a shiver down my spine. The pendant settled against my collarbone, its weight both delicate and significant.
“Thank you,” I whispered, turning to face him.
Leonard’s eyes softened as he studied the necklace against my skin. “It suits you.”
I touched the small golden book, feeling the raised edges of its tiny pages. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He settled into the chair across from me, his gaze drifting to my laptop screen. “What were you writing? You were so absorbed you didn’t hear me approach.”
“The battle scene,” I admitted, closing my laptop. “The shadow prince and his forces are fighting to protect the villagers.”
“And the mortal girl?”
“She's there, watching, her power building but unusable—they’re not speaking to each other after she sacrificed her humanity to become the thing she hated to save him.”
“She’s going to fucking destroy them.” There was a teasing light in his eyes.
“Maybe. I think she has to suffer too.”
“If you say so, little author.” He chucked under my chin and left.
I touched the pendant resting against my collarbone, emotion tightening my throat. No one had ever given me something so personal, so thoughtfully chosen. It wasn’t about the value—though I suspected it wasn’t inexpensive—but about the fact he’d seen it and thought of me.
I’m in over my head. The phrase was on repeat in my mind.
The truth of that thought settled into my bones with an uncomfortable weight. This hadn’t been the plan. I was supposed to use Leonard as a pawn in my rebellion against my parents. Instead, I found myself caring for him in ways I hadn’t anticipated—enjoying his company, craving his touch, valuing his insights about my writing.
My phone buzzed with a text from my mother: “Don’t forget the Carmichael Gala tomorrow night. Wear the blue Valentino. And be home soon so we can discuss the details before our guests arrive for dinner.”
Reality crashed back. The Carmichael Gala was one of the biggest social events of the season. Everyone who was anyone would be there—including Leonard, most likely. The thought of seeing him across a crowded ballroom, pretending not to know him while my parents paraded me in front of “suitable” young men, made my stomach twist.
I touched the pendant again, drawing strength from its presence. Something had to give. I couldn’t do this.
The Prestons, the Larsons, and the Astors gathered in my parents’ living room for cocktails and finger foods before dinner. Because I’d been determined to finish the battle scene, I’d been late coming home. There was no delaying the inevitable, and after some primping, I sailed into the crowd.
My mother waited by the door and the moment I was through, she snatched my wrist. “Where have you been?”
I met her stare and counted to ten in my head. “I’m sorry, Mother. I lost track of time.”
“What—” She plucked at my necklace.
I smacked at her hand, rearing back. “Don’t.”
Her eyes widened, but she kept back the explosion that otherwise would have rained down on my head. “That looks cheap and tacky. Take it off.”
I decided right then and there that I never would. It didn’t matter what happened, I was keeping it. “I’m going to say hello to the guests.”
My parents never understood me. I didn’t know why I expected them to.
But this thing with Leonard…it was becoming real. I shivered before flashing a fake smile at the matrons of the three families. What would he do when he finds out? That is the flaw in my plan; he might not accept me and this life.
I’ll have to make him understand.
The thought of losing Leonard made me physically ill. I touched the pendant again, drawing comfort from its weight against my skin. Across the room, my father caught my eye and gestured impatiently for me to join him.
“There she is,” he announced as I approached. “Gentlemen, you remember my daughter.”
Five middle-aged men in expensive suits nodded politely. I recognized them as board members from competing media companies—potential allies in my father’s latest business strategy, no doubt. Mercifully, Paul Preston the Third was not standing beside his father. He was away with the boys for the weekend, according to what his mother was telling another woman as I came into the room.
“We were just discussing the Baldwin situation,” one of them said, his eyes calculating. “Your father tells us you’re studying business. What’s your take on these aggressive acquisition tactics?”
My mouth went dry. “I—"
“Annaliese hasn’t been following that particular matter,” my father interjected smoothly. “She’s been focused on her studies.”
I felt a flash of anger at being dismissed.
“Actually,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness, “I’ve been following it quite closely.”
The men turned to me with renewed interest, while my father’s smile froze on his face.
“Baldwin’s strategy is innovative,” I continued, carefully choosing my words. “He identifies undervalued companies with potential, acquires them at competitive prices, and implements modernization that traditional media has been reluctant to embrace.”
One of the men nodded appreciatively. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“It’s predatory,” my father countered, his voice tight. “He’s dismantling institutions that have served communities for generations.”
“Or he’s saving them from obsolescence,” I replied, meeting my father’s gaze steadily. “The media landscape is changing. Adapt or die.”
A heavy silence fell over our little circle. My father’s eyes had darkened with anger, though his social smile remained firmly in place.
“You’ll have to excuse my daughter,” he said finally. “Youth often mistakes disruption for innovation.”
The men chuckled politely, but I noticed more than one of them studying me with new interest.
“Perhaps there’s room for both perspectives,” Mr. Astor offered. “Fresh eyes can sometimes see opportunities where experience sees only risk.”
My father’s hand clamped on my shoulder, his fingers digging in slightly. “Annaliese, I believe your mother needs help in the dining room.”
It was a dismissal, not a request. I nodded politely to the men and extracted myself from my father's grip, feeling his eyes boring into my back as I walked away.
In the hallway, I leaned against the wall, my heart pounding. I had never openly contradicted my father like that, especially not in front of business associates. The pendant seemed heavier against my skin.
“Fuck it.” I went to the kitchen and found the dish soap, and proceeded to make myself sick.
The maid notified my mother after finding me bent over the trashcan. My mother sent back word that I was to go upstairs and not return the rest of the evening. It was worth the stomachache to escape the Greek Tragedy that was my parent’s dining room. A little more soap, and I would be excused from the Carmichael Gala tomorrow, with no chance of running into Leonard. My secret was safe a little while longer.