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Evie rolls her eyes. “He didn’t ruin your career.”
“He did. Bartleby’s won’t have me now. There’s no way.”
My sister opens her mouth but pauses, as if reconsidering what she wants to say. Leaning forward, she takes my hand in hers. “I know your career is important to you. I know you want to grow your label in the human market. But I think your heart is more important. Do you still want to go through with this? With the marriage?”
I blink a few times. Is getting out of the marriage even an option?
Evie nods, as if reading my unspoken question. “Now that we know they sent a spy to act in place of the prince, we have grounds to end the alliance without being blamed for it. King Grigory would have known sending a spy here could compromise the peace between us, and he did it anyway. If you want out, just say the word.”
My mind goes empty. “What…what about the peace between our countries? Improved trade?”
She squeezes my hand. “The benefits of peace with Bretton are only worth the cost so long as it doesn’t compromise your heart.”
Tightness sears my throat at my sister’s care. Is she truly willing to risk the alliance she and the Alpha Council forged just to protect my heart? And…do I want my heart protected? Do I want to admit I haven’t given up on love after all?
I’m saved from coming up with a reply by another knock at the door. With a groan, I extricate myself from the couch, then cross my living room on unsteady legs. It seems I’ve had more wine than I realized.
A startling thought occurs to me as I reach the door, although I don’t know why I would consider such a thing:what if it’s Dante?
Why would it be Dante?
It couldn’t be him!
It would never be him.
Despite my internal argument, hope flares in my chest, spurred by Evie’s offer to end my unwanted marriage—
All pleasant fantasies fade as I find the female winged fae standing on the other side of the door. It’s the postal carrier. She hands me a letter and flies off, leaving me blinking at the return address.
It’s from Bartleby’s.
My mind seems to sober at once, and I tear open the letter with eager fingers. Evie and Foxglove rush over to me. With wide eyes, I read over the correspondence.
Dear Miss Amelie Fairfield,
We are pleased to welcome you back to Bartleby’s. After much deliberation, we have decided to cut ties with Mrs. Maureen Vance and regret to confess we were acting under the impression that you were at fault for the scandal that erupted at the previous showcase. New evidence has proven the contrary, courtesy of several recent reports filed by other designers regarding Mr. Howard Vance’s repeated improper and unwanted behavior. Bartleby’s is a family company with strong values of propriety. While we agree that taking a man into a dressing room was poor form on your part, we acknowledge that Mr. Vance must be held accountable for his actions and assumptions. As for your latest scandal, Miss Fairfield, we are uneasy about your public displays of affection. However, we will be satisfied by the prompt wedding that will soon take place. Once you and Prince Albert are wed, you may resume participation in our showcases. We look forward to seeing your work.
Sincerely,
Grace Marlowe
Showcase Director, Bartleby’s
I stare at the letter, alternating between excitement and chagrin. While it bears the news I’ve been hoping for, I can’t help but feel indignant over the terms required for me to return to the showcase.
Once you and Prince Albert are wed…
Evie and Foxglove read the letter over my shoulder, making grunts of approval.
“Good,” Evie says. “I’m glad the other women came forward. That wretched son-of-a-harpy deserves to be put in his place.”
Suspicion crawls up my spine as I assess her words, the way she doesn’t sound at all surprised. The way she saysthe other womenas if she knows exactly who filed a complaint against Mr. Vance.
Slowly, I turn around to face my sister. “Did you do this, Evie? Did you make this happen?”
She pales but denies it with a curt, “No.”
I open my mouth to bully a confession from her, but Foxglove speaks first.
