Page 140 of Nine-Tenths

"Ah, yes, of course not," Simcoe says. "I would never presume to replace Jean-François Levesque."

I blink hard, because otherwise I might shouthow do you know his name? I don’t because it’s a stupid question–Dav told him last night. Besides, the minute I blipped onto his radar, Simcoe was probably handed a file of all my personal information, and like, I dunno, my grades and shoe size and copies of every piece of macaroni art I'd ever done in kindergarten.

"But if I may presume at least a sliver of a paternal relationship, you must forgive me," Simcoe presses. "Alva was sent to us so young, you understand. He was beloved of my father., and I have done my best to serve him after. As his Favorite, you will be as valued in my heart."

So, not at all?

Simcoe holds out his hand, clearly looking for a friendly parting hand-shake and, sulkily, I take it. He covers my offered hand with his other one, pressing our palms together, sliding the tips of his fingers across my pulse point. It's weird.

"Thank you." When he finally lets go, I resist the urge to wipe my hand on my jeans. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. I force myself to add: "Your Excellency."

He wasn't expecting that, and his eyes widen slightly. "Hmm," he hums to himself, and finally heads to the waiting town car.

Good riddance.

I expect to find Dav in our room, but he's not there. I'm antsy, so I decide to use that nervous energy to screw up my courage and take another flying leap off a different cliff.

I've made it clear to Dav's people that this is happening.

Now to do the same with mine.

Fam vidcall now pls?,I text the group chat, before I can chicken out.

A rhythmic thump catches my attention, and I move to the window. Dav is in the back, tucked around the side of the house, barely visible. He's swinging an axe with ferocious anger, plowing through a swiftly-dwindling pile of firewood, the remaining shreds of his shirt hanging off his arms. At least he's getting his frustration out in a productive—and very hot—way. Much better than burning the reception room.

I throw open the window and stick my head out.

"Hey! Sexy!" I call. Laughter floats up from the patio below me. I look down. Luiz and Sarah wave. When I look back up, Dav has the axe buried in a log and his hands on his hips, watching me. "He's gone."

"Am I allowed in?" Dav shouts back, aggrieved but not angry. "Or will you slam the door in my face again?"

"Come in, drama queen." I duck back inside before the peanut gallery can add their nickel.

My phone chimes, and I have just enough time to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace before the video call starts.

"Mo leanbh!" Mum says. "Hello!" She's in her back garden, by the look of it. Stu's in his own living room, and Gem is taking the call from somewhere by the water.

"Hi fam."

Gem sets down what looks like an iced coffee and says: "What's the emergency?"

"None, really. I just… um…" I fiddle with the pin on my shirt. "Uh, wanted to tell you that—"

"What’s that?" Gem shrills, pointing over my shoulder. I crane my head around, to find Dav crawling in through the bedroom window like a fucking gargoyle.

"What, the stairs were too much?"

Dav leers at me. "I thought I was a drama queen." He steps down onto the carpet, brushing the tattered button down off his arms, and tucking his wings away. His naked torso is on full display. "Who are you talking to?"

"Uh," I say, pressing my phone to my chest, which only partially muffles the laughing. "You… you may want to grab a shirt, babe. And then, um… come say hi to my family?"

Dav flushes up and dives for the wardrobe.

As first meetings go, this could have gone worse.

Once he’s decent, Dav wiggles his way behind me on the chair, his thighs bracketing mine, so he can hook his chin over my shoulder. He looks socute, his hair slicked back with sweat, smelling of rough labor, and pressed right up against my ass, and it isso not fair.

This dragon is going to be the death of me.

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