Page 218 of Whispers of Wisteria
“Nothing.” I nodded.
No one spoke at first, not even when Miles wandered in halfway through the episode. Bryce kept grinning in a way that showed off the pointy edges of his teeth, and Uncle Gregory basically ignored us to read the paper.
Miles, however, had a lot to say.
The muscle-bound male lead had just given the heroine a lock of his honey-blond hair after they’d survived the Trial of the Fire Ring, and Miles was lecturing that no one should treat nearly burning alive like a marriage proposal, when Titus walked into the room.
He stopped in front of me and dropped a red dress in my lap. His attention flickered to the rabbit in my arms, and his jaw clenched, before he said, “We’re going out to dinner.”
“What?” Miles stood, indignant for a different reason now. “But I made a beef bourguignon!”
“That’s fine.” Titus didn’t look at him. “We’re going to have French food.”
Miles glared at him. “ThatisFrench food!”
Titus didn’t answer him.
“Um…” I was allowed to go out? I looked at Uncle Gregory and Bryce.
Uncle Gregory met my eyes, then glanced at Titus. After a pause, he returned to the newspaper.
“Don’t pick a fight at the restaurant,” he said.
“What?” Bryce straightened in his seat. “You tore into me for—”
“It would be suicidal for anyone to try anything around a newly mated dragon,” Uncle Gregory said. “Especially as he’s stopped playing games. She’ll be safe.”
“Oh, okay,” I replied, pulling at my sleeve. “I guess I can…”
“Put that on,” Titus said. “And let’s go. I have reservations.”
The restaurant washeavy with warm colors, crystal chandeliers, candlelight, and skylights primed to show off the starlight. Someone met us at the entrance, and we were shown toa private room with a small round table. On the other side of the room, French doors lead to a balcony.
Titus held out my seat. I sat and rubbed a black ribbon from my dress between my fingertips as he moved to his side.
He was quiet. We hadn’t been alone together since… everything. Was he actually mad like Maria had said he’d be?
He picked up his water and finished it in two giant gulps.
He was definitely mad.
“I’m not mad,” he said, lowering his glass. “I’m furious. And we can’t avoid talking about it anymore.”
Oh no.
My fingers curled around the edge of my seat and air caught in my throat. I knew this would happen, but… I didn’t care.
I’d do it again too.
Titus scowled.
I jumped as our tuxedo-clad waiter suddenly appeared, introducing himself. But I hardly heard his speech about wine pairings and specials over the buzzing in my ears.
Was he a necromancer, maybe?
My attention moved from him to the entrance of the private room. Where the heck did he come from anyway?
Did all necromancers move like ninjas?
