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Darien looked at Loren, his expression desperate.
She merely shrugged, fighting a smile.
“Fine.” He pointed the spatula at Jack. “But you’re cleaning the kitchen after. And don’t argue with me, or I’ll cancel your allowance.”
“Deal.” He shoveled another handful of popcorn into his mouth, not bothering to shut it as he chewed.
“Thanks, Daddy,” Loren teased.
Darien’s smile grew, and she was glad to see it. He was worrying too much. She was fine.
In fact, after a few minutes, she felt well enough to get up and walk to the fridge. Although Darien was pretending to be absorbed with cooking at the stove, she could feel him stealing glances at her as she opened the door of the fridge and shuffled through the contents on the shelves, the air cooling her cheeks. Finally, she found the jar she was looking for and pulled it out, nearly knocking over a pitcher of iced tea.
Tossing the hair out of her face, she straightened and gripped the lid of the dill pickles.
Darien was watching her with faint amusement as he flattened one of the sandwiches with the spatula.
“I like a pickle with my grilled cheese,” she explained. Gripping the lid harder, she twisted, but it wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, she stepped up to Darien and offered him the jar. “Here you go, muscles.”
Instead of taking the jar from her, he merely gripped the lid and twisted it off with ease, his face darkening with concern.
“What is it?” she asked. “Do you want a pickle?”
“You should’ve been able to open that on your own.” There was nothing rude in the statement, only concern.
She plucked a pickle out of the jar and sucked on it, salt puckering her tongue. “Guess I should start lifting weights then.”
“The lid was half-shut, Loren.”
“I must’ve loosened it for you.”
The frown on his face deepened. “Loren.”
“Mmm?” She bit off the end of the pickle.
He flipped the sandwiches, barely looking at what he was doing. “Are you sure you’re okay? Should I be worried?”
“I’m fine, Darien. I promise.” She offered him a bite of the pickle, and he took one only to appease her, his attention still on her face. “This has been going on for a lot longer than you’ve seen. I’m okay. Trust me.” She squinted up at him. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.”
“Good. Then stop fussing. You have bigger things to worry about than my fights with a pickle jar.” Taking the lid from him, she put it back on and placed the jar back in the fridge. Pretending she couldn’t feel Darien staring at her, she walked back to her seat.
Darien continued to watch her. He was always watching if she was in the same room as him, no matter what he was doing or who they were with. Usually, it had her bursting with happiness, but tonight it only made her feel seen, and not in a good way.
Because regardless of what she’d just told him, this was unusual for her. But she didn’t want him to worry; he had enough to worry about.
Turning in her seat to pretend to watch the movie with Jack, she tried to stop herself from remembering the words the Widow had said to her that day she’d walked into her den. But no matter how hard she tried, the words—the warning—still managed to sneak in.
Use your magic and you will die, Liliana Sophronia.
17
“Hold still,” Dallas scolded, gripping a fistful of Max’s hair hard enough to make his eyes tear up.
“I am holding still,” he grumbled. But even as he said it, he shifted on the bed, mattress sinking under his weight. “I feel like we’re in beauty school and I’m a goddamn mannequin.”
“A mannequin would be much easier to handle than you. You fidget and complain like a two-year-old. A mannequin would be doing none of that.” She snatched up the glass bottle from the nightstand in his suite and pumped more cream-colored liquid onto her middle finger. Liquid foundation, she called it.
