Gant
“It’s not too late for me to stay outside with the bike,” Elle says as I squeeze her fingers so tight, the tips turn as plum as her outfit as we climb the infinite pathway to the front double doors.
The Parrish estate is like a modernised castle for Fae. It’s in the details, like the black and white rosebuds, the thin, pointed, gothic-style windows, and the weather-stained natural stone walls. It’s stunning, a place where fairytales happen and that’s exactly what we need because I don’t give a damn about Sylo’s family. I only care about what they know.
“Why are you so scared?”
“I’m not.” She huffs, fluffing her hair with her free hand and adjusting her skirt. “Is the back wrinkled?”
Hopelessly, even though her ass is stretching the fabric beautifully.
Before I can answer, she mutters, “Do you think I should’ve worn stockings?”
“I have a love-hate relationship with stockings.”
She pauses. “Why?”
“It’s another layer that stops me from accessing your pussy. Then again, watching it glisten through the sheer fabric is a sight to behold, especially when those orangey hairs poke through. It’s like my personal porcupine to pet. My porcupine princess.”
She tries to wrench her fingers away again, but my grip is relentless. “Don’t say shit like that when we’re inside.”
“I love your needles. They’re like little defence mechanisms that can’t deter me.”
“ ! ”
I drag her into my side and snake my arm around her waist.
“I think your nervousness is just about making a good first impression. I think you’re scared.”
She snorts. “Of what?”
“Them not accepting you. In the dorms, before the break, you said that our being together was impossible because the Auclairs would never accept you. Us.”
“They aren’t the Auclairs, who I have no intentions of meeting.”
A prick, a little twinkle of broken glass, pierces me, but I staunch the wound.
“Which is exactly why you’re so scared to meet the Parrish’s. They’re extended family, so their opinion isn’t so severe, but it still matters. If they like you, it gives you hope that maybe the Auclairs could too. It’s that hope that’s scaring you because you don’t want it.”
She shakes her head, her windswept waves from the bike ride blowing in the gentle breeze. “You’re projecting. This isn’t about us- well, not in a romantic sense. This is solely about us getting answers. If I’m the white elephant in the room, you may not get them. I do need them to like me, but just enough for them to speak freely.”
I don’t believe her because I don’t want to.
“Besides, why would I care about being accepted past a chat? I’m here today, ,” she says, meeting my eyes seriously. “Not forever. We’re still in the bubble.”
Darkness washes over me, but the heavy wooden door squeaking open interrupts us as we’re greeted by Sylo’s pale face before I can even knock.
“You look surprised to see us,” I say, noting the slight widening of his crystal eyes.
He quickly narrows them, smiling at me with teeth that should be pointed. “No, no, just Elle. I didn’t know you had a plus one, given what transpired at the play.” He looks at Elle’s soft boots. Boots I convinced her to wear, never mind how badly they fucked up her outfit, as she’d whined.
I hate the look that crosses her features as she follows his gaze. Shame? Not at the boots, but at being by my side. I squeeze her tighter against me.
“Whoever pulled that stunt will be dead before the new year.”
“You’re saying it wasn’t you?” Sylo lifts a platinum brow.
“If it was me, I’d say it was.” I glance past him and into the massive foyer at a flicker of movement. “Did you say it was me?”
“My mother couldn’t make it to the play if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m not talking about the pointe shoes, but about our last meeting in the greenhouse.”
When I’d strung him up into a nest of spiders.
Sylo’s expression remains cool. “You mean, did I go running to mummy to alter her first impression of you? Are you afraid that it’s been altered before you’ve even met?”
Elle tenses beside me.
“You can relax, y. I figured I’d let her see you for the neurotic nephew you are first-hand. Besides, what’s one more secret between cousins?”
But he’s not looking at me when he says it. He’s smiling at Elle.
I want to scalp his platinum lace front, but there’s another flicker of movement, so I smile at him sweetly instead as Delphine, who…looks exactly like my mother, pops into view.
I don’t know why that surprises me. They’re sisters. A resemblance should be expected, yet I hadn’t anticipated looking into my mother’s face. The angles are a bit sharper, her hair a tinge cooler, more of an ashy blonde, versus a golden, but it’s like I’m seeing her in the flesh again.
My eyes fall to the hollow of her throat, and I watch her collarbones rise and fall.
Alive and breathing.
My fingers twitch against Elle’s because they want to reach for her involuntarily. No, not Delphine herself, but the ghost she embodies, my mother.
“,” she smiles. Even her smile is identical. Her lips twitch, but no more words come out as she reaches for me before thinking better of it. Instead, she settles her slender fingers against her throat.
“Mother?” Sylo asks, seemingly concerned.
“It’s just,” she chokes, “I’ve been waiting almost two decades to meet my nephew. When I called, I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”
“Elle’s to thank for that,” I say.
Her eyes, the same shade of sage green, flicker warmly to Elle as she reaches for her hand, and Elle shakes it with a nervous smile.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Eloisa. I’m happy felt comfortable enough to bring someone so important to him here.” She places a hand on Elle’s back, and I’m suddenly freezing when she leaves my side.
I almost want to dig my fingers into her houndstooth jacket and pull her back against me. Instead, I slip my burning fingers into my pockets and follow behind them with Sylo.
“Me too,” Sylo smirks. “It’s like a two-for-one special.”
“How long have you been dating?” Delphine asks.
I flinch at the word dating. I hate it. It sounds too unserious.
“Just a few months,” Elle says. “Nothing serious.”
Nothing serious? Why the fuck would she say that?
Delphine smiles brightly. “It must be serious. You’re here.”
Suddenly, I’m okay with Delphine guiding my baby into the sitting room. Once we cross the threshold, Elle can barely hold in her gasp, and it’s her roving eyes that make me spare it a second glance. I’d been in great rooms that were featured all across Europe’s top architectural magazines, but even this one was impressive, based on the quadruple height of the vaulted ceiling alone. It’s as if a cathedral was converted for the sole purpose of chatting over tea. Tea that Elle’s suddenly interested in as her face lights up at the dainty, bone porcelain tea set, offset by the love seat.
“You’re home is,” Elle begins, but then shakes her head. “It’s more than stunning. It’s like a dream. A fairytale.”
“That’s how a home should be,” Delphine says. “A place where no nightmares can happen. A haven.”
Elle’s beautiful smile crumbles. “It should.”
My dove’s never experienced such a haven. Is this what she likes? This style? Then she’ll have it.
“Would you care for some tea? Earl Grey? Lemon?” Delphine asks as Elle settles on the loveseat near the window, and I join her in the warmth of the filtered sunlight. My muscles relax the moment my thigh presses against hers, my fingers settle on her knee.
“Lemon please,” Elle says and I accept the same, not giving a damn about the flavour as I settle the cup and saucer onto the coffee table after a polite sip for it to turn ice-cold. I like making tea with Jarett, not drinking it.
“It really is lovely to see you, ,” Delphine says on the opposite couch beside Sylo, who’s hiding his bemused expression between sips. “I didn’t think this day would ever come.”
“My mother was adamant that it didn’t,” I say, and Delphine’s smile drops, and the light shining in her eyes, which has nothing to do with the sunlight filtering through the window, dims.
“I know. We were never able to rekindle our relationship. But it wasn’t from a lack of my trying.”
“My mother always had her reasons. What was hers when it came to you?”
Elle chokes on her tea, and Sylo’s wide, curious eyes fly to his mother.
“Straight to the point,” she laughs delicately, but there’s no humour.
“It’s impossible to move forward until you’ve cleared the hurdles.”
She nods slowly, resting the teacup on a saucer with a gentle rattle. “You’re right, and I want to move forward. Finally.”