AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Councilman Lawrence reaches for his coffee cup again and takes a sip. “I believe she now works in Salem at one of those Tarot reading shops. Interesting, don’t you think? I wonder if her upbringing makes any difference there, or if it’s just a personal inside joke.”
“Er, okay.” I lean forward. “So, if we find her and she agrees, you’ll perform the ceremony?”
He smiles a little knowing smile. “Yes, assuming you can get all the other witnesses of course.”
Well, that won’t be an issue.
Feeling somewhat bolstered, I stand and Roman follows my lead.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly.
“Of course,” the councilman says. “And if I might give you some advice, I would learn from your Aunt’s mistakes.”
“What are those?” I ask.
“You two are only children. If this ends in tragedy, it could mean the end of two founding lines. Just make sure you keep that in mind, and don’t tempt fate.”
“Right,” Roman says, already heading for the door, “Thanks.”
Only later, do I realize that my Aunt wasn’t the end of her line. I am. Councilman Lawrence really is getting too old for this.
ChapterSixteen
ROMAN
Etta presses her nose to the foggy car window. I shoot furtive glances at her, but trying to both watch her, and keep my eyes on the road is impossible. Especially as it’s raining, and visibility is low.
“You good?” I ask.
She tenses, and I cringe as I hear myself. That sounded stupid. I don’t know why every time I speak to her I sound either like I’m making fun of her or like my vocabulary has deteriorated to that of a nineteen year old frat bro. I couldwritesonnets about her beauty if given the chance, but I couldn’t say them out loud. If forced to recite anything, apparently all I’d come out with is “Fuck baby, nice tits.”
“Yeah,” she says, “I’m fine.”
I shoot another quick look at Etta, because something about her statement sounds off. I can’t pretend to be an expert of women’s tones—she could be sulking or angry or hungry, or something else, but she’s not fine. Maybe she’s nervous?
I crane my neck and try to get a look at Etta’s face in the mirror. She’s worrying her lip, her eyes wide, yet unfocused. Yes,nervous. That’s got to be it. It’s not an expression I’m used to seeing on her.
I’m used to seeing her defiant, frustrated and defensive when talking to me. Sometimes embarrassed when I tease her or smug when she thinks she’s beaten me. She’s concentrated and curious while reading, bored and indifferent in classes or at events she doesn’t like and euphoric in ones she does. She laughs with her friends, is resentful of her mother, and very occasionally, lately, I’ve gotten to see what lust looks like in her huge gray eyes.
Nervous, however, isn’t really part of her repertoire.
“Are you worried about talking to your aunt?” I ask, feeling somewhat pleased with myself for decoding her mood.
“What?” She says quickly, turning to look at me. “No. Why?”
Fuck. “You seem uncomfortable.”
She laughs, and it’s more of a nervous giggle. I can only describe it as, well, uncomfortable, but still she’s cute. I’ve never found anyone cute. Never cared about expressions or feelings or laughs. But then again, I’ve been completely focused on those things for her for years, so I guess there would be no time to care about anyone else’s mannerisms. Fuck, maybe I should send apology cards to my past girlfriends. Fruit Baskets. Condolences for dating me, sorry I’m an asshole. It really wasn’t you, it was me.
“I just realized that my parents might disown me, and I don’t know why that didn’t occur to me before? Maybe because it happened to Aunt Angelica when I was really young, or because I kind of didn’t think we’d get this far, but this might all turn out reallyreallybadly and I don’t really have a back-up plan, you know? I don’t think they would disown me, but then again I wouldn’t have thought they would pick Harrison for me either, and here we are. I just don’t think I could handle being cut off like that.”
She says all of this in one breath, and then sucks in a huge sigh—like she stayed underwater too long and has just popped up for air. I try and fail not to look at her chest as she heaves another breath, then shakes her head. I’m caught between wanting to laugh—not at her exactly, but with her, because she’s funny for forgetting how to talk and breathe at the same time—and the fact that I’m suddenly hard, my dick pressing against my jeans, and I feel sixteen again nearly unable to control myself.
“I don’t think your parents will disown you,” I bite out, willing myself to focus on the road and not think about her panties in my pocket or her perfect tits bouncing as she breathes too hard, or how her nipples show in little points through her sweater. About how easy it would be too easy to reach over and slide my hand under her skirt. To pull over and suck her nipples into my mouth while I bounce her—
“How do you know?” she asks.
Focus.
