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The Fontes made a horrified tableau, watching her like a family of mice might face a cat who’d unearthed their den.
Saida blinked. “I don’t think we need anything. Do we need anything?”
Heads shook.
Alessa nodded. Then realized she’d been doing so for an awkward length of time and stopped abruptly. “Excellent.” Another half-nod. “Well. Then. Have a lovely evening.”
“You, too.”
“Thank you.”
Saida closed the door, but she didn’t throw the deadbolt. So there was that for a silver lining.
Dante popped his lips. “Okay. Maybe you should have brought something to loosen them up.”
“Nina is only fifteen.”
“Cookies for her and alcohol for the rest.”
“You could have suggested thatbeforeI stood there like a dunderhead.”
Dante stole a look at her as they retreated to her rooms. “Hey, points for effort.”
She gave him a mock scowl.
Her pent-up nervous energy had nowhere to go, so when Dante, with a waggle of his eyebrows, held up another romantic novel he’d found, she refused to play along.
“That’s a good one,” she said. “But I forbid you from getting stuck in a book right now.”
“Forbid me? You think you can give me orders?”
“I give you orders all the time. You just don’t follow them.” She cut a glance his way. “Dante, you’re my only friend.”
“I think you might be mine, too.” Dante pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dea,that’s pathetic, isn’t it?”
“Quality, not quantity. Now, I’m askingverynicely, so you have to say yes.”
“To?”
She clapped her hands. “Playing with me.”
Dante squinted, and she smiled brighter. If he was going to tease her about reading smutty novels, she’d fight back by working innuendo into every conversation.
“Fine,” he said, still studying her. “Should I raid the library, or do you have something to drink in here?”
“I’m theFinestra.A divinely ordained warrior.”
“That a no?”
“I’m just making it very clear that it would be inappropriate—” She hoisted herself up on the counter, reaching to open the highest cabinet and nudge a loaf of stale sourdough aside. “Highlyinappropriate to keep liquor in my room.”
The easiest to reach was a dusty bottle of limoncello she’d forgotten to chill, and she held it up for his consideration. Dante arched an eyebrow. She put it back.
Biting her tongue, Alessa flicked a heavy decanter with her fingertips, her other hand poised to catch it when it tipped over the edge.
Long browned fingers caught it in front of her face, and Alessa snatched her hand away. Pressing back against the cabinets, she turned to berate him.
And forgot how to speak.
