Page 33

Chapter

Twenty-One

PRIDE

I had picked the cravat carefully–even though my brothers were adamant that they were no longer in style.

I didn’t care. I enjoyed the ivory silk with subtle embroidery; it was refined, elegant, and appropriate.

Everything about my outfit was understated excellence, the quiet confidence of a man who knew precisely where his fork went in a place setting.

Unlike some of my brothers.

And I wouldn’t mess any of it up, because tonight was important.

Tonight, I was having dinner with Juniper.

The reservation was at the place I would have picked myself; somewhere sophisticated and deserving of someone like Juniper.

Elysium.

The vineyard was notoriously hard to get into, so I arrived early. Out of respect of course, and not because I was nervous.

Not at all.

I took a seat just inside the marble archway on the cold stone bench, the creeping magickal vines giving off small puffs of calming, serene energy. A waterfall fell neatly over top of the plants, completing the serene space.

The hostess gave me a sniff, then buried her nose back in her reservation book.

I waited ten minutes.

Then fifteen.

Doubt crept into me as I shifted uneasily. Did I have the correct date? The correct time? The place? I resisted the urge to tug at my cravat, which seemed tighter than it should. I also resisted the urge to check my watch. That would be tacky.

“Sir, your table is ready. I can seat you if you’d like to get started with wine, then escort your date once she arrives?”

I nodded and stood, my body rigid and tense. Perhaps wine would settle my nerves. I followed her as she weaved a path through the tables, her red ponytail bobbing as she swayed her hips.

She led me to a table next to large glass windows that overlooked the street below. The same vines from the front creeped down along the stones, reaching toward me.

Best view in the house . Too bad even the plants can sense my unease.

“Can I start you with something?” she asked sweetly.

The corner of my mouth twitched. “Just a merlot, please.”

She scurried away, and I settled in, trying to breathe as I closed my eyes.

Only minutes passed before my space was invaded with a flurry of giggles and the overwhelming scent of wildflowers, honey, and aggressively cheap perfume.

Don’t gag. Perhaps she’s trying something new .

My goodwill vanished when I opened my eyes and saw the offender was most definitely not Juniper.

"Hi!" came a voice far too sweet and irreverent. "You must be Pride. I’m Daphne!"

She slid into the seat opposite me without pause, her breasts defying gravity, in a dress so sheer my ears burned. She leaned forward, and a strategically placed vine wrapped around my ankle.

Nymph , I thought.

“I...I think you’re mistaken,” I said stiffly, prying the vine off my ankle with my other foot subtly under the table. Who was this woman? Where was Juniper?

“Nope!” she chirped. “Juniper said you were shy and repressed and needed a little help to get your...sin going.” She winked at me, actually winked!

Sinking realization and horror settled in my stomach, souring it.

I glanced toward the entry.

No Juniper.

Just me. And Daphne. And her overwhelming enthusiasm for touching things—including my arm, my collar, and at one horrifying moment, my knee.

Our waiter appeared with my wine and quickly took her order.

“Champagne, please,” she exhaled, even doing that salaciously. Once the waiter disappeared, she leaned in toward me, her voice breathless for no reason at all.

“So,” she purred, trailing a finger along the rim of her wine glass, “do you like nectar shots or body shots better?”

I choked on my wine.

“I beg your pardon?” I squeaked.

She laughed. “Aw, you’re cute when you’re scandalized.”

“I’m not scandalized,” I muttered, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin. “I’m...concerned.” I was a sin , for the sake of the gods, not some prepubescent!

“Oh, you poor thing,” she cooed. “You're like a baby unicorn—shiny and scared. That’s okay. I like a challenge.”

I wasn’t a challenge. I didn’t even want to be here!

Dear gods, strike me down. Or strike her down. Either would suffice.

I grabbed a roll from the bread basket, tearing into it viciously with my teeth. Even the perfect, fluffy consistency couldn’t quell my mood. Or the hot, rosemary butter inside.

It had to be a cruel joke on Juniper’s part, or possibly Lust. Yes, that was it. Lust was playing a joke on me, and Juniper was in on it. Lust had done things like this before, but pranks were usually more in Greed’s wheelhouse.

Still, it wasn’t unprecedented.

Yet...this tight feeling in my chest was new. It felt like an elephant on my chest, or worse–all five of my brothers at once.

With dawning horror, I realized I was fighting back tears.

Savagely I stuffed it all down, forcing a blank expression on my face. If Daphne noticed, she didn’t say anything or care. Her hand was cold as she tried to stroke mine, her perfume horrifically sweet; almost like rotting fruit as it tickled my nostrils.

I endured thirty-seven more minutes—yes, I counted—of suggestive fruit metaphors, nymph poetry that could only be described as ‘horny drivel,’ and at least two more accidental brushes of her foot against my calf, and a go at her hand in my crotch when she was ‘looking for the fork she dropped.’

Never mind we hadn’t even gotten our main courses yet.

Then I saw him.

Lust, leaning up against the doorway to our dining room, arms folded, expression amused.

Until he saw my face.

He blinked, and frowned, then crossed the room in a storm of silk and designer pants.

“Daphne,” he said smoothly, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I need to borrow Pride for a moment.”

She pouted. “But we need to order dessert after the main dish. I was gonna let him lick cake off my?—”

“Nope,” Lust interrupted, already pulling me from my chair.

I didn’t resist. Why would I? I still had my sin: my pride. Unfortunately.

He led me around the corner, to a quiet alcove lit with floating candles. He turned to me with a look I rarely saw on him.

Regret.

“You okay?” he asked simply.

I adjusted my cufflinks and cleared my throat. Lust had filled a caretaker role among us brothers, but it was always subtle, and certainly never this overt.

“Fine,” I coughed out.

Don’t fucking cry.

“Pride,” he chastised me.

“I thought it was a date,” I admitted after a beat. “With Juniper. I wore the ivory cravat,” I trailed off in a whisper, knowing how fucking pathetic I sounded.

I almost never wore the ivory cravat, for fear of getting it dirty.

“I know,” he said patiently. “She thought it’d be funny.” He hesitated for a beat before continuing. “And so did I, I must admit.”

“It wasn’t,” I argued vehemently.

“No,” he agreed softly. “It wasn’t.”

A pause stretched between us.

I stared at the floor, mortified. "She said I needed to loosen up."

“You don’t need to change who you are to be worth anyone’s time,” Lust said, his voice unusually firm. “Juniper crossed a line. I crossed a line. I won’t speak for her, but please forgive me.”

My throat felt tight. I didn’t speak.

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, gave it a squeeze. “C’mon. Let’s ditch this place. There’s a bookstore café two realms over. They serve tea in porcelain skulls and won’t talk about body shots unless it’s metaphorical.”

I blinked at him. “You’re coming with me?”

He grinned. “What kind of brother would I be if I left you to the nymphs?”

For the first time that evening, I smiled.

Lust and I had just sat down in the little café tucked between a pizza joint and a tax attorney’s office. It was peaceful. Quiet. The scent of old pages and bergamot tea hung in the air. I felt my blood pressure returning to something resembling normal.

The server brought us a pot of rosehip and wrathberry blend. Lust nodded approvingly and gestured for me to pour, which I did, because some of us have manners.

“You know,” Lust said, stirring honey into his cup, “you’re weirdly good at pouring tea. Like, aggressively competent.”

“I practice,” I said simply.

He smirked. “Of course you do.”

I was about to ask if that was sarcasm when the wind changed.

Or more accurately, the mood.

A swirl of golden pollen puffed through the door, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up like soldiers on alert.

“Oh gods, no,” I whispered.

Lust turned just in time to see her strut into the café—barefoot, glittering, and armed with an armful of lilies and what appeared to be a love poem written on a leaf.

“Found youuuu!” Daphne sang, practically dancing up to our table.

Lust blinked. “How...sorry, why did you follow us?”

“I was promised a date, you pulled him away, I am simply following him,” she said cheerfully, plopping down beside me and draping her legs across my lap. “You smell like shame and pine needles. It’s intoxicating.”

I recoiled. “Please remove your limbs from my person.”

“Ugh, you’re so buttoned-up. It’s adorable.” She twirled a finger in my hair. “Like a librarian who’s never sinned.”

“I am a librarian who’s never sinned,” I snapped back, pushing her legs away with as much dignity as one could while being used as furniture. Lust sipped his tea slowly, eyes flicking over Daphne with a look I could only describe as mild exorcism in progress.

Then I felt it.

A pulse.

Not from Daphne, who had given up on me as a bad sport and was now trying to get the tea server to do shots of hibiscus syrup—but from someone else. Someone trying desperately not to be noticed.

I turned my head just slightly.

There, standing half-tucked behind a bookshelf and a floating display of erotic fae novels, was Juniper.

Her arms were crossed. Her lips were pursed. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, were fixed on me.

I stiffened.

She was watching.

Different emotions warred in me. Had she been here this entire time, seeing the fruits of her labor? I wished for rage, but it wouldn’t come. Anger would be so much easier to deal with. Instead a gnawing emotion ripped a hole inside of me, too raw to be just sadness.

Heartache. Loss.

I couldn’t even be mad at her. Well, I was, but it was different than being furious with my brothers or when something went wrong in the Underworld.

Because you love her. That’s why.

Numbly I watched Daphne giggle and spill tea down her cleavage. I shrunk down in my seat, my cravat slightly askew, my dignity unraveling like a badly tied shoelace.

Lust finally stood, slapping his hands down on the table.

“Alright, Daphne,” he said, voice still pleasant. “Time to go.”

“Aww, can’t I stay? He was just starting to warm up to me.” She leaned toward me. “Right, sugar-thighs?”

I inhaled sharply. “I will set myself on fire if you don’t release me.”

Lust gave her a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “I mean this in the nicest possible way: get out before he does something legally righteous and emotionally repressed.”

Daphne pouted, but Lust held her gaze until she sighed, tossed a handful of petals into the air like a curtain call, and sashayed out. But not before tilting her head toward Juniper’s hiding spot.

“This is your fault. I’m telling all my friends.” She headed out.

Silence returned.

I smoothed my cravat. I couldn’t tell if the small amber speck on it was a dust mote or a drop of tea. I was terrified to check. I did not look toward the bookshelf.

Lust sat back down. “She’s gone.”

“Yes.”

“She called you sugar-thighs.”

“I am aware.”

He lifted his cup. “You okay?”

I hesitated. “She didn’t like me. She liked the idea of teasing me. Of pushing.”

“She likes what she doesn’t understand,” Lust said. “You’re not a puzzle to solve. You’re just...you.”

I stared into my tea. “And Juniper?”

Lust had gone quiet, sipping his tea like he wasn’t plotting ways to hex Daphne into a compost pile. I stirred mine without drinking it. Not because I didn’t want it—because my throat felt like it had closed up. I hated being embarrassed, and hated being a joke. And worst of all?

I hated that she saw it.

“Here she comes,” Lust intoned under his breath, but I didn’t need his warning. I felt her coming.

Juniper stepped out from between the shelves, boots soundless on the warped floorboards. Her arms were no longer crossed. Her face was...softer. Cautious.

“Pride,” she whispered.

I didn’t look at her, preferring to study the dregs at the bottom of my teacup. “You get a good laugh?”

She winced.

“No,” she said quietly. “I got a good look. And I didn’t like what I saw.”

That made me glance up.

She was fidgeting with nerves and regret.

“I meant it to be funny,” she said, stepping closer. “At first. You’re always so controlled, and I thought...maybe it would shake you up. Knock loose the stick I assumed you were born with.”

“Charming,” I muttered.

She sighed. “I didn’t expect you to get hurt.”

“Well,” I said, setting down my spoon with deliberate calm, “perhaps next time you play matchmaker, you can try not setting me up with a walking innuendo in flower form.”

“I deserve that,” she admitted.

There was a pause. She stood just beside the table now. Not sitting. Not intruding.

Just...there.

“I forgot,” she said, softer now, “that you're not just Pride. You're a person. A person who puts thought into his cravat and shows up early and cares what people think.”

My jaw clenched.

That was true.

“I think...I’ve been out of control of things for a while now. My life in general, the incident with Xavier, you bringing me back to life without me even knowing it...I guess, I couldn’t sort through all of my emotions and figured this was something I could control, as petty as it was.”

She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t weepy or theatrical. It was honest.

Lust looked at me over the rim of his cup, wordlessly giving me the space to answer—or not.

I took a breath.

“I don’t like being a punchline,” I said.

“I know.”

“I’m not a prude,” I added, quietly.

“No,” she said, lips curving into something small. “You’re just...afraid, I think?

Before I had a chance to respond to that bombshell, she continued on.

“I can make real reservations,” she said, placing it gently on the table. “Actual ones. No nymphs. No tricks. Just...dinner. If you want to.”

I wanted to. But dammit, I was my sin for a reason.

“No thanks.”

I stood and walked out of the cafe.