Page 46 of The Enemy's Daughter

Enola’s gaze focuses on a particular woman in the crowd—Annette. She’s seated near the front in the center row, wearing a black dress and a frown. Her hair is down and holds a soft curl around her shoulders.

“Remember,” Enola carries on, “there is much to be gained from this union.”

Like my secrets. Irritation spreads over my skin like hives at the reminder that that’s the real reason Tristan is keeping me here.

Enola nudges me back toward the doors, and I go with her,thankful she’s not suggesting we stay. Voices kick up behind us in our wake.

“She’ll betray us.”

“How dare she come...”

Vador waits for us in an empty side hallway, leaning against the wall. “All done?” he asks Enola.

“Yes.” She walks right past him.

Vador turns to follow her, a look of unruffled calm on his face. I slow to a stop. “Did you... did you know it would be like that? That Valerie would...” I pause as a chill moves up my arms.

Enola turns around and takes her time meeting my eyes. Despite her confidence in the hall, she now looks a little battle worn. “I didn’t know who would lead the charge, but I think you and I both knew a confrontation was likely to take place.”

“Which was why I didn’t want to come. You said you would protect me. And what was that speech? It sounded prepared.”

“Did it?” She grins sadly. “I suppose it was. But believe it or not, Valerie did you a favor. Because she confronted you, I was able to say my piece, and everyone in that hall was a captive audience to hear it. You also showed that you’re not the monster they have pictured in their heads. You’re a beautiful, strong young woman of character. We just turned every preconceived notion they had about you on its head.”

My gaze slides to Vador, whose mouth holds the hint of a proud smile.Blazing skies.I may have underestimated this woman. Vador and Enola lead the way down an empty hallway, then open a door on the right. I follow them, wallowing in regret for ever coming to this funeral, but halt in the doorway of the small room. There’s a round table and a few chairs taken up by Tristan, Ryland, and Samuel.

“What is she doing here?” Samuel demands.

Tristan glances up, his shock registering both on his face and somewhere deep in my chest. “Isadora.” He stands.

Ryland does the same, but more cautiously. “Is she going to faint again?”

Do I look that bad?

Enola tugs my arm, drawing me into the room. There’s another door across the way, and by the sound of it, it leads directly into the hall full of people. “Why don’t one of you three strapping stallions get her a chair?”

“No. Everyone out,” Tristan says. “I need to speak with my wife.”

A field of goose bumps erupts over my skin.Wife.

But then Tristan’s agitation showers me, landing like sparks that sear my skin. I fidget with the skirt of my dress as he brushes past me to close the door behind the others. I should have known he wouldn’t have wanted me here.

He faces me and pushes a chair in my direction, but all I can do is stare. His hair, the color of dark, rich honey, is parted on the side, and his jaw, which I’ve become used to seeing with days’-old scruff, is freshly shaven. With black pants and a matching formal-looking jacket, he’s more handsome than I’ve ever seen him. Especially with one of his white-collared shirts underneath.

“What happened?” he asks. “Tell me.”

My gaze catches on the cords of tight muscle that frame his throat.

“You were upset,” he prompts. “I felt it when you came in.”

He felt that? Wait. Is that why he’s upset?

He gestures again for me to take the chair. “Tell me. Or if it’s easier”—he holds out a hand—“you could always show me.”

Could I? “How does it work? I just have to touch you? Open myself up again?”

I imagine falling into his arms and pressing my face into the crook of his strong neck. Breathing him in and refreshing my memory of his scent—infinite forests and stupidly extravagant soap. Wouldn’t that be easier than explaining every horrible thing Valerie said and did?

It’s tempting. More than it should be.

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