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“Your Sunshine, as you say. Who is most likely your damned true mate, so you need to not fuck this up, Grantham. If you meet her, and she leaves… you know there will never be another woman for you again. You will literally die alone, and a lot sooner than you would otherwise.”
“It can’t be,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’m too old for her.” For some reason, he started choking, or laughing. “She’s… she’s chosen someone else already.” I’d seen pictures of her fiancé and read the file Storm had sent. Tarquin was twenty-seven, six feet tall, a bit scrawny. The kind of muscles you got from golf and a once-a-week personal trainer. But in every picture he’d taken—and I’d found one with the two of them together, though I’d thrown my laptop across the room when it had popped up—he was smiling like he’d won the biggest lottery in the world.
And she’d been smiling, too. But had her smile been real?
Storm stopped coughing and cleared his throat. “She’s not too young, if she’s already engaged. You said she wasn’t wearing the ring. Find out why. She’s the only one who knows. Try asking her instead of demanding, asshole. Don’t yell at her. I know it’s expecting a lot, but if you could even muster a smile for the woman, my guess is she’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
I hung up and went to find answers.
And my omega.
Chapter8
Sunshine
“Why did your parents name you Soleil? Are they French?” Sylvia peeked up from her sewing when I didn't answer at first. I put a few more basting stitches in the hem of a full-length skirt Clotilde had loaned me. We were sitting in Sylvia’s room, since my bed was still nest-like, though I’d stuffed the dirty washcloths and linens in the back of my closet. I’d found Giovanni’s belt under the bed, and had stashed it as well. I didn’t want to think about why I was hoarding his scent.
So Sylvia’s room it was. Her bed looked like an explosion of fabric and craft supplies, and she’d asked me to play some of my favorite music. We’d been listening to the new Babymetal album on my phone, and she looked happier than she had since I met her.
Dinner was only an hour away. I was supposed to go with Sylvia—her mother had sent a note to her cabin to make certain I knew to show up—but I’d altered my only formal dinner dress for her the night before. Luckily, I had a spangly golden sequined top with no back, a gift from Rain for my twenty-first birthday. But the only bottoms I’d packed were shorts, one pair of ripped-up jeans with a patch on the ass that saidKnot Thot, and a purple Versace miniskirt that had been too short four years before. Thank goodness Clotilde had been such a sweetheart when I told her my problem.
“Are you from France?” Sylvia asked again. “I heard you speaking French with Chef Juliette.”
“No. My parents, Peter and Marietta Fairweather, are both from Idaho,” I replied, glancing at the tiny, counted cross-stitch pattern she was making. It readEmbrace the Voidand had tiny skulls and belladonna flowers around the edges. Rain would love it. “My dad wanted to name me Sunshine, but my mom went to the baby name books to save me from that fate.”
She giggled, then said slyly, “My Uncle G calls you Sunshine. I heard him.”
“He’s making fun of me,” I replied, my gut churning. “Playing a game.”
“Oh no, Soleil. He wouldn't. He likes you, I can tell.” She fluttered her eyelashes at me. “We all could, when he carried you like a princess all the way through the ship. Uncle G is strong. Do you like him?”
“He’s very grumpy,” I told her, hurrying my stitches. “He mostly growls and shouts at me.”
“He’s like that to most people, except me and Mom and Grandma M. He used to smile a long time ago, Mom said.”
“Why did he stop?” I wondered aloud.
“Why does anyone?” she said after a long moment. “When there’s nothing to smile about, why bother?”
I sighed and started packing the sewing kit away. “My dad always said not to let the shadows of yesterday spoil the sunshine of tomorrow.”She made a choking sound, and faked her death very credibly on the bed. I poked her in the side. “He also said the sun never had to go to college because it already had a million degrees.”
She didn’t move.
“And he told me why the sun was mad at the clouds.”
The corners of her mouth twitched.
“Because they throw so much shade.”
She snorted quietly.
“And of course, he made sure I knew what the sun drinks out of.” I waited until one dark eye opened. “Sunglasses,” I yelled, tickling her side.
“Oh my gosh, your dad sounds like the hugest dork,” she said, jumping off the bed.
“Totally.”
I slipped into the bathroom to change, but heard her say softly, “My dad was a nerd. He told stupid jokes, too.”
