For a breathless beat, the café quieted.
Even the haunted teacups froze mid-hover, as if sensing blood in the water.
Then Thorne let out a delighted laugh and leaned back in her chair. “Gods,” she murmured, grinning wide enough to show teeth. “Marry me.”
Across the table, Evangeline’s gaze sharpened. Her smile had vanished, replaced by something far more dangerous.
“Careful, princess,” she said. “Keep talking like that, and I may just take your threats seriously.”
“Please do,” was all I said.
Evangeline moved, her booted feet dropping to the patio tile.
“Enough!” Juliette hissed, her voice laced with steel.
Evangeline stilled instantly, her fingers gripping the edge of the table until it moaned.
Juliette leaned back in her chair and adjusted the delicate cuff of her sleeve with slow precision. The gesture was subtle but struck a chord within me. I’d seen that exact movement before—from her brother.
“We are in public, Eva,” Juliette said gently. “And we do not cause scenes.”
Evangeline muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, says who, but leaned back anyway, teeth grinding.
Juliette lifted her eyes to me again. “Please forgive my sister. She’ll keep a polite tongue from here on out. Diplomacy is not one of her strong suits.”
I simply smiled, lifting my cup to my lips. “I noticed.”
The tension didn’t fully drain from the table, but it shifted, no longer a fuse waiting for fire. More like a truce. For now.
“You’re not what I expected, Miss Laurent,” Juliette said.
“Oh?” I asked, schooling my tone into polite curiosity. “And what did you expect?”
“Someone more…fragile.”
Now it was my turn to smile. “You’ll find I exceed expectations quite often.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” she stated.
Evangeline muttered something under her breath, but Juliette silenced her with a single, pointed look.
“Do grow up,” she said coolly. “Not everything is a bar brawl.”
I shot Thorne a sideways glance. “She’d be disappointed to hear that.”
Thorne raised her cup in salute. “I live for disappointment.”
It was fascinating, really—sitting across from not one, but two St. Germains. I got the sense that Juliette was a quieter storm than her brother. But that cuff adjustment was the exact same one Lucien had used in my bar. Guess it was a family thing.
Then there was Evangeline, who was clearly more brute force than finesse. Everything about her screamed chaos. But beneath the bravado, I saw it—raw power and a craving to use it. She didn’t seem the sort to plot downfalls like her two siblings, but rather the sort to throw someone through a window and call it diplomacy. At least her sister seemed to possess some control over her.
Three St. Germains, three entirely different flavors of danger.
And speaking of three St. Germains…
Movement at the edge of the patio caught my eye—polished shoes, a tailored coat, and a presence that made my stomach tighten in recognition.
Lucien St. Germain.
