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The niceties over, Brien raked a gaze over my new mate. “Prince Rafael,” he said coolly.
“Prince Brien.” My mate wrapped an arm around my waist and smiled. Not a nice smile. A hands-off-she’s-mine smile that showed a hint of fang.
Brien returned it with an equally toothy grin. It was like seeing two male models—the sleek blond prince and the lean dark sex-god—face off.
“You’ve got a good woman,” he told Rafe. “The best. I hope you know that.”
“Brien,” I muttered. “Chill out, would you?”
The men flicked a look at me, then went back to glaring at each other.
“I know.” Rafe’s arm tightened on me. “And yeah, I know she’s too good for me. But she’s mine.”
Brien’s brow lifted. There was a taut silence. Then his smile softened, became genuine.
He held out his hand. “Congratulations, Kral.”
“Call me Rafe,” my mate returned, and they shook hands.
“Congrats to you, too, Zoe,” Brien added almost as an afterthought.
“Merci bien,”I said wryly.
We chatted for a few minutes. Brien kept glancing around the garden as if looking for someone. Finally, he asked, “What happened to that stylist? The cute one with the silver hair.”
“Lainey?”
“Yeah,” he said so quickly that I wondered if he’d been pretending he didn’t recall her name.
“What about her?”
A faint flush touched his cheeks. I blinked. Was this the same self-assured, perfect Prince Brien I’d known since I was a kid?
“I was wondering,” he said, then stopped.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He moved a shoulder. “Actually, I’d like her phone number.”
Rafe and I exchanged a glance.
“What?” Brien asked.
“Forget it,” I said. “She’s a slayer.”
His brows crawled to his hairline. “You’re shitting me.”
“No lie,” said Rafe.
“That whole stylist persona was just a cover,” I added. “She’s already shut it down.” I’d checked, just to be sure.
“So that’s why she went off with Olivier,” he muttered. Then he gave an easy smile. “Just wondering,” he said, but there was something behind his who-cares attitude—anger, or maybe hunger.
His mother beckoned to him, saying there was someone she wanted him to meet, and he wandered off to make like the Perfect Prince.
Rafe still had his arm around my waist. “I like him,” he said in a surprised tone. “He always seemed like an arrogant prick, but there’s actually something likeable in there.”
I chuckled. “He grows on you.”
