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“I think–”
But I never did get to find out what Florence thought, because a shower of red, white and pink rose petals rained down around us. The scent was overwhelming. It was gorgeous. They brushed against my skin like the softest caress. I dared not take another step for fear of crushing their beauty.
“Well, you can’t say he doesn’t go all out,” Florence commented dryly.
I nodded. “There are definite perks,” I agreed.
Apollo walked out of the main building – conveniently Callahan Hall, named after, yep, his family – and down the steps to me. It seemed he had no qualms about stepping on the hundreds of petals surrounding us like a blanket. I wondered how many Saintlings and how many hours it had taken to collect that many petals. It was just the sort of job Apollo would set for the youngest of the Saints. Once, that had been our job.
“My princess,” he said warmly, with not an insincere syllable passing his lips. “You look beautiful.”
I grinned. “I look the same as I do every day in my uniform.”
Which was nothing special. Blue and grey plaid dress, grey socks and black shoes. My hair, as school policy demanded, was in nothing more than a simple ponytail. A ponytail I’d barely even brushed that morning. Were it just up to the Dean and his faculty, we’d have been allowed to express whatever style we wanted within a flimsy pretence of a school dress code. As it was, Saint Benedicts still answered to the church, and the church cared little for the frivolous whims of the wealthy and elite. They still paid by the bucket load to send their kids to Saint Benedicts, so it was all the same to the nuns.
“As I said, you look beautiful,” Apollo said with a big smile.
I nodded, knowing better than to argue with him. “Thanks.”
“Well...” he started then snapped his fingers.
A Saintling appeared out of nowhere, running like he was trying not to be seen, and held out a box to Apollo. With his eyes still on me, Apollo took the box and dismissed the Saintling.
“Happy birthday, Harlow,” he said, offering the box to me.
Understandably, by now, there were a lot of people who’d stopped on their way to class to see what stunt God was up to now. No doubt a fair portion of them were betting that this was the moment, that there was a giant diamond in that box. Based on Florence’s face, she was on the fence. I gave her a surreptitious shake; if Apollo knew me at all, he wouldn’t do that at school. Not first thing in the morning. Not before I’d had a cup of tea and a scone – because who woke up early enough for proper breakfast if they didn’t have to? And not without warning me.
“You trying to prove something, sweetheart?” he asked with a wry tilt to the corner of his mouth. “Or are you going to take your present?”
I blinked, then forced a saccharine smile. “No, of course. Thank you.”
“You know what she’s like first thing,” Florence said quickly.
Apollo looked at her and a silent moment passed between them. One of those ones that no one else saw outside our little bubble. Had I not known both of them better, I’d have sworn there was a spark between them. A battle of wills that could tighten into an unresolved sexual tension. As it was, there was merely a battle over me going on. Apollo thought he still knew me better. Florence knew she knew me better.
“I do,” Apollo said smoothly, although we all knew he didn’t.
Apollo and I hadn’t woken up together since it was still acceptable for us to have sleepovers. That had been a good few years now and before we’d started at Saint Benedicts.
“Of course he does,” I said, still smiling sweetly and I took the box from his hands. “Thank you, Apollo.”
“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking in challenging question.
I had no choice now, did I? And woe to you, Apollo Callahan, if it was diamonds. I was already not choosing the man who was going to propose to me, but I was not being proposed to in the bloody schoolyard.
I nodded. “No. Of course.”
As he grinned with wry triumph, I gingerly opened the little box. The fluttering of my heart stilled when I saw what was in it, but only just.
Itwasdiamonds, but it wouldn’t pass for an engagement ring. Not by a long stretch. This... This was a statement piece.
“Fit for my princess,” he said, honestly meaning every single word and totally missing the point.
But, for him, it counted as trying so my smile for him was genuine. It wasn’t his fault that his best role model for relationships was his father, or that this whole thing was fake and he’d long since stopped knowing me well enough to get me something I really wanted for my birthday. That last bit was probably as much on me as him. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to buy him the perfect present anymore either.
It was a ring. There were diamonds. But it was a crown. Far fancier and over the top than something I’d pick myself, but I understood the sentiment.
Apollo took the ring from me, his fingers lingering on mine. I looked into his eyes – those deep sapphire pools of warm humour – and there was a part of me that fluttered. A part that skipped. A part that warmed. A part who loved the man in front of me.
