Page 77 of Even Angels fall
“Okay.” I’m tempted to ask Elhyor just in hopes that he’ll pick “truth” and that I’ll get to ask what went through his head to kissme like this during the wedding, but I’m not sure I actually want to know, and I have no idea of what to ask.
”Cassiopé, truth or dare?”
She fakes thinking for a few seconds, but says, “Dare”. I have no idea what to make her do and almost tell her to drink her rum like I was dared to do, but then Brice just walks near us and I have my idea.
“I dare you to convince your dad to play with us.”
“You’re a big meanie, Angie,” she says with a pout, but still, she puts her drink on the closest table and walks to him.
And just like that, Brice joins us in this stupid game that doesn’t make much sense.
It may not make much sense, but it gets us drunker and drunker, and the sun is starting to go low in the sky when Léandre asks me again.
”Truth or dare?”
More than tipsy, I answer, “Truth,” and regret it immediately when I see the devilish smile on Léandre’s face.
I’m going to hate his question for sure.
“Do you have feelings for Elhyor?”
Where the fuck did that question come from? I want to sputter and tell Léandre, “Of course not,” but Elhyor is right next to me and seems very much interested in the game now that Léandre has asked that question.
“Do you want me to answer that question when he more or less crucified me a couple of days ago?” I ask instead.
“Okay, okay. You don’t want to answer, I get it. Then I’ll give you a dare.”
“Wait, no. This counts as an answer,” I sputter.
“No, no, no,” he starts, and his voice is slightly slurred from the alcohol consumption. “Not an answer.”
I don’t fight him very hard. To be honest, he’s been distributing drinks as dares since the beginning of the game, andI’m not too scared, because it turns out that I’m pretty resilient to alcohol. Who knew?
“I dare you to kiss your husband.”
I freeze.
What the fuck is wrong with Léandre? I think he read too many romance books and is imagining things about me and Elhyor.
“You heard the dare,” Cassiopé says in a singsong voice.
She’s the only one who can’t really hold her liquor, and she looks like she’s been enjoying herself for quite a while now. I bet she’s going to have a hell of a headache tomorrow.
I turn to Elhyor, and he’s looking at me as if he fears what I’m about to do, but there is no way I’ll let it become like during the wedding, so instead, I approach him, put a hand over his chest, stand on my tiptoes, and just peck his lips.
There. I kissed him. I’m all good.
Léandre laughs from where he sits on the ground, pouring another glass of rum. Or maybe it’s whisky. He shredded most of the tags two dares ago, and I can’t recognize the bottles anymore.
“That is not a kiss. It needs to be a real kiss,” he says as he tips the drink to his mouth, and half of it spills over his shirt.
I hate you, Léandre.
Except there is no reason to hate him. Maybe I just hate myself because I want that kiss, and I know I can’t get addicted to Elhyor, and I feel like too many of his kisses might do exactly that. Get me addicted to them. And I still need to find a way to kill him if I want to save Léandre.
Except, with that logic, Elhyor will be dead before tomorrow night.
So, I can’t get addicted.
