Chapter 29 #2
Diego’s cheeks hollow. “As protective as he is of you, he’d never do anything to hurt you.”
“I second that,” Calanthe says.
“It’s not me I’m afraid he’ll hurt.”
Calanthe’s long brown curls swing as she whirls her head toward me. “Same difference, Elle. If the person you love hurts, then you hurt.”
“Whoa. Love? Geez, Callie…I’m still on the fence about liking the guy.”
“If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t have slept with him,” she says. “And you wouldn’t be bringing him to Atlantis.”
“I never said we slept together.”
“Well, you didn’t deny it.” Her mouth kicks into a smug smirk. “And you nearly combusted when I brought up his bedroom skills. Which—by the way—we’re on pins and needles to hear about. Right, Diego?”
“Only if you want to talk about it, Elle.”
No way am I sharing details with Diego… “Nope. I really don’t.” A flicker of levity cuts through the nerves. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
Calanthe fake-bristles. “Friends always kiss and tell. It’s the second rule of friendship.”
I tip my head. “Really? And what’s Rule Number One?”
Calanthe’s dimples pop free. “Bringing the shovel, should a shovel be needed.”
Diego chuckles.
“Speaking of shovels…” Calanthe rolls the necklace part of her body chain, making the diamonds bound in yellow gold gleam blindingly bright. “Are we going to the bachelorette party on Saturday?”
“I don’t hate Jeneva that much,” I say.
“Let’s be real…if she flirts with Cillian again, she’s done.”
“Plant food,” Diego adds.
Their solidarity sends a warm rush through me. I draw in a deep breath—the first full one in days—and pull my phone from my pocket, ready to answer Cillian’s question. But then I pause and tuck my phone away. Probably best to put words down once my emotions aren’t running the show.
“I think we should stop by just to keep an eye on things,” Calanthe says. “Plus I hear it’s themed, and I have some truly kickass cowgirl boots, which I haven’t worn since…since the day I met Tarian.” Her eyes acquire such a deep luster that they glimmer even through her smoky-brown lenses.
When she sniffles, I hike up an eyebrow. “Are you seriously about to weep over boots?”
“Unlike certain emotionally constipated individuals in this car, I’m deeply in touch with my emotions.”
Calanthe’s quip causes my eyes to roll way back.
“I could loop the block to stretch this out, but the boutique owner looks about to pounce and haul you two out of the car.” Diego gestures toward the shopkeeper, who shifts like she’s one deep breath away from sprinting toward the Porsche.
After we climb out of the car, Calanthe loops her arm through mine.
“Mrs. Hadez, what a pleasure to see you again,” the fifty-something woman gushes. “I’ve narrowed it down to twenty-three options.”
“Twenty-three? You better not try them all,” I mutter to Calanthe.
She carries her mouth near my ear. “Rule Number Three of friendship—grin and bear what makes your bestie happy.”
I sigh. “I’m going to need champagne on tap.”
To the boutique owner, Calanthe says, “We’ll also be needing dresses for a Wild West party tomorrow. Got any suede and denim?”
“Of course!” The shop owner is already streaking to the backroom of her boutique.
“I never said I’d go,” I hiss. “Or that I’d dress up.”
Calanthe pulls me to a stop inside the boutique. “I know, babe. And maybe we won’t go. But just in case you decide you need to see Cillian in chaps, I want you to have the option of showing up as the hottest cowgirl there.”
“We should probably all go if that’s all he’s wearing,” Diego chirps, strolling up behind us.
“Down boy. You’re married to my brother.”
Diego’s dimples make an appearance as he pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head.
“I’d be going for fashion pointers, Callie would be going to keep Jen and her friends in check, and you’d be going…
I suppose you don’t need to go if Callie and I go.
We can document the night and send you text updates. ”
“Yeah, totally.” Calanthe nods. “Diego and I will go. You should stay at home. We’ll tell you all about it.”
I narrow my stare. “You two play dirty.”
Calanthe presses a kiss to my cheek. “We don’t play dirty; we play to win.”
She holds up her palm, and he delivers a high-five.
And then Diego drapes his arm around my shoulders and tucks me close. “Atlantis, Lil Sis. You’re going to go there with him…”
“Maybe. Not all her dreams come true.”
As Calanthe starts on the first rack of dresses, she muses, “Most have.”
Most isn’t all.
I’m so consumed by my thoughts that I barely register my body being stripped and compressed into a parade of couture—pastel silk for my maid-of-honor skit, and tan suede for Jeneva’s event…assuming I even go.
Especially now that Cillian and I are apparently destined for each other. If I invite him to Atlantis, that has to mean he’s not bringing Jeneva, or one of her friends, back to his camper…right?
The mere idea churns my stomach and fills me with a pressing need to reply to his message. I root around my pile of discarded clothes when Calanthe floats out of the fitting room wearing the one.
An odd prickle stings my nose at the sight of her clad in white lace. “Callie, it’s…”
“Perfect,” Diego finishes for me.
She twirls, and the skirt blooms around her, the sequins scattered beneath the lace shimmering like starlight on a calm ocean. “It is, isn’t it?”
Diego sniffles. For once, I don’t give him grief for it, because I’m right there with him.
After our yeehaw costumes are packed into glossy shopping bags, we stop by a shoe boutique specializing in cowboy gear.
I end up with copper snakeskin boots that mirror the metal buttons tracking down my halter-fringed micro dress. I blame the champagne I chugged like water in the first boutique for this bold choice. And Calanthe’s premonitory dream that’s completely taken over my mind.
I feel possessed. Like the girl powered by hope, stomach butterflies, and sappy endings has punched her way through the tough, protective casing I keep her locked in.
As I run for the car beneath a Boston sky blistered by a heat storm, the clarity I’ve been chasing for the last three days finally snaps into place—I’m done thinking.
Calanthe sighs, “There goes our pool party.”
I finger the silk paper wrapped snugly around the fringed dress that no real cowgirl would be caught dead wearing on a cattle ranch, considering the price tag.
Dropping that much money on clothes feels aberrant.
To ease some of my guilt, I wire twice the amount to the anti-sexual violence charities I volunteered at the summer I turned sixteen.
Gaea, what would Cillian think if he saw my credit card bill? Would he be disgusted or covetous?
My earlier contemplation takes root: What if the reason I bring him to Atlantis is because he’s after runes and somehow manages to seduce me into giving them to him? He might die the second he treads the mine, but still…
The butterflies drop dead in my stomach, replaced by something darker that dims my mood and makes me reassess—for the hundredth time—how to answer Cillian’s message.
Damn you, Malachi Hadez. Damn you and your stupid doubts.
“Want to come over for dinner and a movie?” Calanthe asks.
I glance out the window at the pounding rain beyond. “Actually, I think I’d prefer to go home.”
“And what will you be doing at home? Or should I ask, who will you be doing?”
I roll my eyes. “No one.”
“Shame.” She pouts.
As Diego threads the car through growing traffic, and Calanthe chats with Lisa about wedding preparations, I turn everything in my head until my brain feels like it’s about to combust.
“Callie, do I look happy in your dream?” I ask her as Diego swings down the ramp of my building’s parking lot.
She lowers her phone, telling her mother she’ll call her back. Is it me, or does worry crimp her brow? “Emotional. Very emotional,” she finally says. “But that’s probably because your best friend in the entire world is getting married, so you’ll be a weepy mess.”
My lips purse. It’s not that I put it past myself to sob on Calanthe’s big day, but what if that’s not the reason I’m emotional? “Can you try to dream about Cillian and me again? Like maybe, at Thanksgiving? Is he there with me?”
“You know that’s not how Gaea’s gift works…”
I sigh as I finally part ways with them and ride the elevator up. Though I’m still feeling torn, my unease takes a breather when I come toe to cardboard with a big box. I unbolt my front door with magic, then float the box onto the kitchen island.
After I set down my shopping bags, I slice through the tape and peel back the folded flaps. I frown at the contents.
I might hoard titles in my virtual shopping cart, but I usually check out one book at a time so I can give it my full attention before moving on to the next. Did I inadvertently click buy and purchase a dozen—two dozen?—paperbacks?
Maybe it’s someone else’s package? I check the flaps for a shipping label, but find only my name written on them in bold black letters.
I pull out my phone.
ME: Did you buy me books?
CALLIE: Recently? Or during the span of our friendship?
CALLIE: Why?
ME: Because someone sent me a box of books.
CALLIE: What sort of books?
ME: The sort I read.
CALLIE: Maybe it was Fiona? I’m pretty sure she went to a bookstore the other day because I saw a pile of new word puzzles.
ME: That’s weird. Even for Fi.
I pull the books out one by one. Some are brand-new releases. Some are older titles. All our love stories.
At the very bottom, I uncover a piece of folded paper. Three words in all-caps sit in the middle of the page.
WHILE YOU THINK.
Even though Calanthe is blowing up my phone with question marks and detective emojis, I click out of our chat and into another one.
ME: Got your package.
ME: Why would you buy me romance novels?
BOOGIE BOO: Hi.
A beat passes, like he’s waiting for a hello back. I guess I was a little abrupt, but sending it now would be weird, so I just hover my thumbs over the screen and wait with bated breath for his answer.
BOOGIE BOO: I took Mrs. Murphy to the bookshop yesterday because she needed crossword booklets.
Fuck, he’s sweet. I rub my breastbone that’s getting clobbered by heartbeats.
ME: And she volunteered my reading preference?
BOOGIE BOO: After I asked her.
BOOGIE BOO: Still thinking?
ME: No.
A fresh swarm of butterflies takes up residence in my stomach, their wingbeats firing quick, electric pulses everywhere, all at once.
BOOGIE BOO: Electra?
I can just imagine the suspense eating him alive. It’s eating me, and I know what I want.
ME: See you tomorrow, cowboy.