Page 110 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

The wind is bitter today. Wear a scarf.

Cassia stared at it, lips twitching. After everything that had happened last night, he sent her a weather advisory.

Her reply went out on a pale pink tulip:

I always do, but thank you for your concern.

His response arrived within seconds, as if he’d been waiting.

Wear the green one. It suits you.

She smiled and shook her head, giddy inside, before continuing with her tarts.

By lunchtime, her friends had claimed their usual table at the back—Opalina with a slice of quiche, Lilibeth with a pot of dark chocolate and a fork poised over an eclair. Everything about them looked perfectly ordinary, perfectly routine.

Except they were both staring at her.

Cassia set their tea down and tried to retreat to the counter. Lilibeth’s hand caught her wrist.

“Sit.”

“I have customers⁠—”

“Mrs. Tilly and Mr. Henley are nursing the same cup of tea they ordered forty minutes ago. Sit down, Cassia.”

She sat.

Lilibeth studied her for a long, unblinking moment. Then: “You’re glowing.”

“It’s the new face cream.”

“No face cream can make a woman glow like this.” Lilibeth turned to Opalina. “Look at her. She’s incandescent.”

Opalina had that small smile that told others she knew much more than she let on. “She’s been glowing since we walked in.”

Cassia’s cheeks burned. “I have not⁠—”

“You hummed through an entire batch of cinnamon rolls,” Lilibeth said. “You only hum when you want to distract people into thinking nothing is going on, and⁠—”

“Fine.” Cassia exhaled. “Ark and I . . .” She lowered her eyes and pretended to be very interested in a crumb. “We spent the night together.”

Lilibeth’s fork stilled. Opalina’s knife stopped mid-cut. The silence lasted exactly two seconds before Lilibeth whispered, “And?”

Cassia bit the inside of her cheek. “And . . . it was”—she searched for a word that wouldn’t make her combust—“significant.”

“Significant,” Lilibeth repeated flatly. “You slept with the most eligible demon in Angelene and ‘significant’ is the word you’re going with?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Lilibeth leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Everything. Start from the door.”

“I am not giving you a play-by-play.”

Opalina set her knife down. “Then tell us: Was he gentle?”

The question was quiet, careful—and Cassia understood what lived beneath it. After Zakey. After everything.

And yes, he had been gentle. Passionate too. But toward the end, he’d stopped holding back. She could still feel the proof in the ache of her hips.