Doesn’t matter. I shake my head, my mind churning like a kaleidoscope through the various implications of Clare’s word choice. Who am I kidding? Caleb is probably behind this, too. Best not to read too into it. “Yes, and I’m sure he would have followed through with the arrangement too.”
“Oh hush, that was, what, nine years ago? And I still contend something happened.”
“He told me it was all a giant practical joke.”
“Yeah, after you made it pretty clear what you thought of him. The poor boy was probably saving face.”
“Unlikely.”
“Ugh,” she grunts. “You and Ignatius are the worst. You deserve each other.”
“Harsh.” I laugh. “And I’m totally not as bad as him. I’m not worried about getting attached; I’m worried I’ll get screwed.”
“From what I’ve heard, you may find that very enjoyable coming from him.”
“Unless he has a magic penis, that’s doubtful considering my situation.” I shift on the couch, wincing as the words leave my mouth, my filter all but eradicated courtesy of the cheap bottle of wine I apparently inhaled. “And there’s already enough people who think there’s a link between having sex with demons and my disease. Best not to add to their ammo.” An uneasy chuckle rattles my chest as a similarly awkward one sounds through the speaker. Making any situation impossibly uncomfortable when I don’t want to dwell on my inadequacies is a particular skill of mine.
“I still can’t believe that bullshit theory exists.”
“Some dude did a whole study on if people with endometriosis were scientifically more attractive than people without, instead of working on understanding the disease or finding a cure for it, so I mean, sure. Why not have some medical professionals floating demon sex theories too.”
Clare sighs. “I’m sorry, boo. If I could toss a bucket of water and melt them all, I would.”
“Your willingness to go all Dorothy on their ass is noted and appreciated.” I snort.
“Good. But in all seriousness, Evie. If Liam asks you to the wedding, promise me you won’t get all defensive and you’ll at least consider it.”
“He already did,” I mumble.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“He already asked me.”
“And we’re having this conversation because . . .”
“I don’t know.” I groan, stretching my feet out wide on the couch. “It won’t work with him. My mom needs to feel like there’s a chance it could become more to satisfy her, and it’d be rather obvious Liam’s escorting me out of obligation.” Especially after she made her feelings on the plausibility of this situation ever occurring crystal clear in our previous conversation.
“Play it up, make her believe your dynamic has changed. You’re in the City of Love with him for a month, for Pete’s sake. It’s realistic! He’s objectively gorgeous, played college football, he’s super nice—”
“Is he, though?”
“Yes, yes, he is. I’m sorry to break it to you, but years of my sister dating your brother and his best friend have only solidified my you’re holding a weird grudge over nothing stance.”
“My grudge is totally valid, but let’s say I’m entertaining the idea—who else could we throw in for options?”
“I love you. You’re a freakin’ catch, but honestly, no one. Everyone’s still terrified of your mom after that debutante fiasco and the weird ad she took out a few years ago.”
“Hell.” I rub my temple with my forefinger. “I had almost scrubbed that damn ad from my memory.” Two years ago, an avalanche of direct messages from random guys in town offering me less than gentlemanly services had me scrambling for a culprit. For a brief second, I thought Liam may have landed the ultimate prank, but it seems Caroline and her inability to handle me turning twenty-five without a relationship resulted in the weirdest birthday newspaper announcement in existence. I was fortunate newspapers were a dying medium, even then.
“It was an excellent picture of you.” Clare unhelpfully supplies.
“It should have been. It was photoshopped.” I bitterly laugh. “But you’re right, I won’t even be able to get a mercy date with anyone after that.”
“Evie. Ask. Liam. Or tell him you changed your mind, whatever, but he’s the answer to your problems here. He loves your family and knows what he’s getting into, and you can sell it. End of discussion.”
“You’re bossy today, mama.” I giggle. Oh, that was a lot of wine.
A tense silence pulls our lines taut. I’ve called Clare “mama” countless times, but today it’s awkward.
