Page 13 of Dark Rover’s Luck (The Children Of The Gods #95)

13

FENELLA

F enella ended the call with Din and tossed her phone onto the couch, annoyed with herself. Why had she made that cutting remark about not lasting until Friday? The hurt in his voice had been palpable, though he'd covered it well with that confident response.

"That was unnecessarily bitchy of me," she muttered.

Jasmine, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop from the kitchen, returned with two glasses of water. "What happened?"

"Din suggested we go to the Hobbit Bar on Friday, and I basically told him he was being presumptuous to think we'd still be speaking to each other by then." Fenella took the water and gulped it down. "I don't know why I said that. It just spilled out."

"Defense mechanism," Jasmine said with a knowing smile. "You're scared."

"I'm not scared of anything," Fenella snapped, then caught herself. "Okay, fine. Maybe I'm a little nervous." She pushed to her feet. "I should go home and change."

Not that she had anything fancy to change into.

All she had were the few items that Jasmine had ordered for her, and she hadn't wanted to order anything else if she couldn't pay for it. She couldn't keep relying on Jasmine's generosity.

"I need to get a job and start earning money so I can buy myself some nice things."

"You said that you will talk to Atzil about bartending at the Hobbit."

"Yeah, but I haven't had a chance to do that yet. Besides, if the bar is only open on weekends, I won't be making much even if he hires me." She smoothed a hand down her shirt. "Until then, I'll have to make do with what I have."

Jasmine pouted. "You can borrow something of mine. I have a large closet packed with things, and I know my way around a curling iron and makeup brushes."

Fenella stared at her with incredulous eyes. "You're at least half a foot taller. Nothing you own would fit me."

"Not true," Jasmine said, already walking toward her bedroom. "I have skirts and dresses that would look perfect on you. They might be a little loose, but nothing some pins and tape won't fix."

"I don't want to wear something that has pins in it," Fenella protested, but Jasmine was already ducking into her bedroom.

There was something infectious about Jasmine's enthusiasm, and despite her reluctance, Fenella followed. She hadn't played dress-up with a girlfriend in so long that she'd forgotten how much fun it was.

Jasmine's walk-in closet was stuffed to the brim. Clothing of every color hung in orderly sections, with one entirely dedicated to shoes. It was the kind of feminine indulgence Fenella had always scoffed at but secretly envied.

"This is obscene," she said, running her fingers along a row of silk blouses. "No one needs this many clothes."

"I'm an actress." Jasmine grinned. "That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it. The truth is that I'm a hoarder, and I can't part with anything, so a lot of these outfits no longer fit me." She rifled through a rack of summer dresses, pulling out one with a vivid floral pattern in blues and greens against a white background. "This would look stunning on you. It's a bit short on me, but it should hit you right at the knee."

Fenella eyed the dress skeptically. It was prettier than anything she'd worn in recent memory—flowing, feminine, with thin straps and a fitted bodice that flared into a full skirt. "It's a bit girly, isn't it?"

"That's the point," Jasmine said with a wink. "Try it on."

Against her better judgment, Fenella took the dress and retreated to Jasmine's bathroom to change. The fabric was soft against her skin, lighter than she expected. When she looked in the mirror, she had to admit that it looked good on her. The dress accentuated her curves, the light colors contrasting with her dark hair.

Still, she emerged from the bathroom feeling self-conscious. "The dress is gorgeous, but I don't have the right shoes to go with it." She pointed to her Skechers.

Jasmine assessed her with a critical eye. "You're right. Hold on." She disappeared back into the closet, returning moments later with a pair of leather flip-flops in a caramel color. "These should work. They might be a tad big, but they'll do the job."

The sandals were indeed a bit large, but they matched the dress far better than her old shoes. Heels would have been better, but to wear Jasmine's, Fenella would have to stuff the toes with cotton like she'd used to do when she'd borrowed her mother's shoes as a teenager.

"You look great." Jasmine assessed her with a critical eye. "Now for hair and makeup." She steered Fenella to a vanity setup that would have made a professional stylist envious.

Fenella sat down on the stool. "My hair is not wet, and when it's dry, it won't hold the curl no matter how strong your curler is."

"Don't worry about a thing. You're dealing with a pro here." Jasmine plugged in a curling iron. "Once I'm done with you, you will blow Din's mind."

Fenella couldn't argue with the appeal of that. "Fine. Do your worst. I mean best."

Jasmine worked quickly, styling Fenella's hair into a loose updo with a few tendrils framing her face, then applied makeup with a light touch—just enough to enhance her features without looking overdone.

"There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "Take a look."

Fenella turned to the mirror and blinked in surprise. The woman staring back at her looked soft, feminine, almost vulnerable—a far cry from who she really was.

"I look like the sweet girl next door," she said with a laugh. "Which couldn't be further from the truth."

"Maybe not, but you can play the part and see how it fits. That's what I did for years. I tried on different personalities until I found the one that fit me best."

Fenella raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit weird to change personalities like outfits, don't you think?"

Jasmine shrugged. "It's what actors do. We explore different facets of ourselves through the characters we play. Sometimes you discover pieces of yourself you didn't know were there."

The idea wasn't as ridiculous as it at first seemed. Hadn't she done the same over the years? Adapting, blending in, becoming whoever she needed to be to survive?

"I'm not trying to become someone else," she said, more to herself than to Jasmine. "I just want to look nice." The admission felt vulnerable, almost embarrassing. She quickly added, "You know, for myself. Finding my style and all that rot."

Jasmine's knowing smile made it clear she wasn't fooled. "Of course. It has nothing to do with wanting to dazzle Din or make him fall in love with you all over again."

"That's a silly, girly fantasy," Fenella protested, but the denial sounded weak.

"After everything you've been through, you're allowed a few silly, girly fantasies," Jasmine said softly, her expression suddenly serious. "Everyone deserves a little happiness, Fenella. Even stubborn, independent rovers like you."

The simple kindness in those words threatened to undo her.

Fenella swallowed hard, blinking back an unexpected sting in her eyes. "Well," she said, her voice slightly hoarse, "I suppose it doesn't hurt to look dazzling from time to time."

Jasmine glanced at her watch. "We should head out if you want to be just fashionably late."

"You don't need to escort me there. I can find my way to the café."

Jasmine looked offended. "It's late, and I don't want you to get lost and be rudely late."

It finally dawned on Fenella that Jasmine was curious to see Din and that was why she wanted to accompany her.

She narrowed her eyes at the female. "Admit it. You want to meet Din and see what all the fuss is about."

"Guilty," Jasmine admitted with a grin. "The man carried a torch for you for fifty years. That's got to be some kind of record."

"Or some kind of pathology," Fenella muttered, but there was no bite to her words. "Alright, you can come. I'd appreciate your opinion of him, actually."

"Really?" Jasmine looked surprised.

"Don't look so shocked. I value your judgment." Fenella stood and smoothed down the sundress. "Besides, if he turns out to be a complete wanker, I'll need someone to complain to afterward."

"That's what friends are for," Jasmine said.

As they left the house and walked into the golden afternoon light, Fenella grew increasingly nervous with each step. What if Din was disappointed when he saw her? What if she didn't live up to the fantasy he'd built up in his imagination? What if the reality of the sharp-tongued, difficult woman she'd become was a major letdown?

When the café came into view, it was relatively quiet, with only a few patrons still lingering as the place was about to close.

"I don't even remember what he looks like," Fenella admitted, scanning the tables. "It's been fifty years, and we barely spoke to each other back then."

"There," Jasmine said, nodding toward a man sitting alone at a corner table. "I think that's him."

As if sensing their attention, the man looked up and stood, raising a hand in greeting.

Fenella froze, momentarily breathless.

She wouldn't have recognized him. The Din she vaguely remembered had been a quiet presence in the background of Max's boisterous personality—a shadow she'd barely noticed. The man waiting for her now commanded attention without even trying.

He was tall, with broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist. His dark hair was swept back, giving him a distinguished look that suited his strong features. He had high cheekbones, a strong jaw that was softened by a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes that even from this distance seemed to smolder when he looked at her.

"Bloody hell," she murmured. "He's gorgeous."

Jasmine chuckled beside her. "I have to agree."

For the first time in her life, Fenella was speechless, lost for words, and confused. Din was watching her with an expression that stunned her. He looked like a man seeing a ghost, or a dream come to life.

"Remember," Jasmine whispered as they neared the table, "you're allowed to be happy."

Easy for her to say , Fenella thought. Jasmine had found her truelove mate, her other half. She had a mother, a family, a place in this world. Fenella had spent half a century convinced she belonged nowhere and to no one.

And yet, as Din's eyes met hers, something inside her—something long dormant and carefully guarded—stirred to life.

He was real. He was here. And despite her best efforts to remain indifferent, Fenella realized with a jolt of alarm that a small, treacherous part of her wanted very much for this to work out.

The Tower card from Jasmine's reading flashed in her mind—upheaval, destruction, the breaking down of false structures. Perhaps the structure being dismantled was the wall she'd built around her heart.

As they reached the table, Din's smile deepened, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek that Fenella found unreasonably attractive.

"Hello, Fenella," he said, and his voice—deep, Scottish-accented, warm—sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

Fifty years was a long time to wait for someone.

As Din pulled out a chair for her with old-world courtesy, Fenella couldn't help but wonder if maybe he might have been worth it after all.