Page 39 of Hexed
“Yeah, you know…you’re all big and bad andmanly. It…affectspeople.” Her elbows lean on the table when she speaks,her hand waving in my direction, and it pushes her cleavage until it’srightthere in my face, begging me to glance down and soak in every inch of her while I can.
But I’m not an amateur, so I resist the temptation.
My grin widens, and I rest my chin on my hand as I watch her. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
The server comes by, and Venesa orders a bowl of she-crab soup while I pick a shrimp po’boy with two Cokes, and neither of us really says much else until the food arrives.
I expect it to be awkward, the way it usually is with people you hardly know, but it feels like there’s a level of camaraderie between us already, and I lean into the feeling.
Itshouldmake me want to run the other way.
Comfort with someone is a red flag, in my experience, especially with someone I’ve only just met. I can’t afford to let my guard down in a regular situation, let alone with a woman who’s about to be family.
“You surprise me,” she blurts suddenly when we’re almost done with our meals. “I thought you’d have your minions here following your every move.”
The corner of my lip curls up, amusement filling my chest. “Myminions?”
“Yeah. You know.” She waves her hand through the air again. I notice she does that a lot, talks with her hands. The gestures are big and swooping, and if she’s really trying to get her point across, they’re even more pronounced.
“Your guys or whatever,” she continues. “Uncle T won’t go anywhere without his. He never used to let Aunt Ella or Aria out of their sight either.”
I frown. “Yet you show up unaccompanied and on a city bus.”
She smirks, but not before a hint of sadness flashes across her face, one I unfortunately recognize easily because I see it in my mirrors.
“I can take care of myself,” she says.
“Hmm.” I take a sip of my drink.
“What’s that mean?” she asks, her eyes flitting around the room before landing back on mine. “Listen, you don’t get to judge me, okay?”
I smile at her. “Are you always so defensive?”
“I…” She tilts her head. “I’m not defensive. I’m just…”
My brows lift as I wait for her to come up with a word.
“Overcompensating?” I throw in, remembering her jab at me from last night.
She scoffs, gesturing to her body. “Please, what doIneed to overcompensate for? I’mverygenerous with my gifts.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Generous with your modesty too.”
A small grin touches her lips, those dimples making the apples of her cheeks even more pronounced.
My heart jumps.
“So how did you and Aria meet anyway?” Her eyes aren’t on me; they’re on the spoon she’s slowly pushing through her half-eaten bowl of soup.
The reminder of Aria is like a wet blanket on chilled skin, dousing the moment in reality.
Doesn’t she already know?
I can’t imagine she doesn’t. Everyone knows how Aria and I met because it was all over the news. New York’s prince saved by a Southern shipping princess. The closest thing to American royalty, they call us.
The whole thing gives me a fucking headache.
I shouldn’twantto be in the spotlight; it makes it that much harder to do the things necessary for the family. But of course, Pops didn’t see it that way, so I ignored how uncomfortable it made me feel. And eventually, things you ignore grow roots too strong, their weeds all but impossible to dig out.
