I heard my mother’s voice pitch up to an octave that allowed it to be heard with perfect clarity, even from across a large, echoing room. “I’m very busy seeing to the packing. Can it wait?”
“Put her on,” I told my father again.
I heard him pass it to her along with a whisper to behave herself. Was he trying to make things worse?
“So, you’re speaking to me again?” she said.
“Which event will Thea need to attend without me?” I demanded, slamming my palm on the steering wheel. “She’s not a familiar.”
“But you are thinking about marrying her,” she responded smoothly. “Or have you reconsidered?”
I saw what she was doing. She would keep pulling threads until she found the one that would unravel my well-laid plans. I couldn’t let it happen. “No, but those events are for familiars,” I countered.
“They are for all possible consorts,” she corrected.
“And that now includes humans?”
“If you’re concerned then maybe you should leave her at home.”
“I don’t see why she needs to attend a private event. Nothing is decided,” I said through gritted teeth. “And I won’t have Thea at a party for witches.”
“Your French side is coming out,” she said with a sniff. “You’re acting like a snob.”
I rolled my eyes. If anything, I was acting like her.
“Besides, I’ve already registered her for the Salon du Rouge.”
I stopped the car in front of Thea’s building, wondering why I bothered trying to speak. She never heard a word I said.
A few questionable characters shuffled down the sidewalk outside. At least, taking Thea to Paris meant getting her away from this far from ideal living situation.
“Does she have appropriate clothing?” Sabine asked.
“She’ll be dressed,” I snapped.
“That is not what I asked. I will not have you parading a mortal around in clothes from a thrift shop.”
“I have to go.” I ended the call before she could add to her growing list of demands.
I climbed out of the car to find Thea waiting on the sidewalk. She was dressed in a pair of torn jeans that rose high on the waist, showing off the curves of her hips, an oversized cardigan, and a cropped black T-shirt that had two words printed over her pert breasts: Bite me.
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not certain that shirt respects my boundaries, pet.”
“I’ve had this for years,” she said with a barely contained giggle. She hoisted her small hand luggage higher on her shoulder. “I just thought it was funny. Given the circumstances.”
Given the circumstances, she was going to wind up with my fangs deep in her neck if she kept pushing my buttons. I had more restraint than human males, but even I had my limits. I lifted the bag from her shoulder and looked around. “Where are the rest of your bags?”
“Just my purse.” She patted the small bag hanging near her hip. “Everything’s in there.”
“We’re going to be gone for two weeks, at least.” Maybe she’d misheard me.
But Thea shrugged her slight shoulders, looking unfazed. “I can always find somewhere to do laundry.”
“Do laundry?” I repeated.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “You put clothes in the washing machine, add soap, and it cleans them.”
“I know what laundry is,” I growled. “But why not just pack more clothes?”
“These are my clothes. And when Celia texted me the information, she promised she would send the green dress.” The matter-of-fact innocence of her response was adorable.
It made me want to pat her on the head–or maybe swat her on the ass. Either way, something would have to be done. Preferably before my mother found out that she’d been right to ask about her wardrobe.
“Ready?” I asked, knowing that there was nothing I could do at this moment.
“Oui,” she said brightly and followed me to the car.
But her demeanor suggested otherwise as we headed toward the private airfield where my family kept our jets. She was a bundle of nerves. Her scent was sweeter than usual, and it filled the cabin, likely her body pumping glucose as a response to some stress. She fidgeted in the seat next to me, tapping her fingers on the center console or readjusting her seat belt.
Finally, I reached over and took one of her hands. I wrapped my gloved fingers around her pale, bare ones. It was strange to touch a woman’s hands so intimately, even if no magic sparked under her skin.
“Are you okay?” I kept her hand in mine.
“Oh.” She bit her lip until it was slightly puffy. “Promise you won’t laugh.”
“That’s an odd answer.”
“Just promise,” she said more forcefully.
