Page 152 of Forsaking All Others

“No, I guess not,” she says eventually, although I can see I’ve given her much to think about.

“Good,” I rise and offer my hand to help her from the cushions. “I look forward to introducing you to them tomorrow night.”

I lead her to the waiting dinghy and help her down into it, where a crew member waits holding the oars, ready to take her to shore.

“Oh, and my best friend will also be in attendance.”

“Falcon?” Her eyebrows arch. “You mean every woman’s favourite psychopath, Lord Falcon Dragonspur?”

“And his wife,” I wag my finger at her. “And don’t worry, he’s on strict orders. He’s not allowed to eat you either.”

“Well, that is a shame,” she sniggers as she leaves.

After she’s gone I lean against the mast and sigh heavily. I haven’t seen Falcon in person for close to thirty years, although talking on the phone, he doesn’t sound like he’s changed. And I haven’t seen Angie since our discussion in the kitchen of her castle before she was under hupotasso.

That was months ago.

I can’t help but wonder if the bite has changed her, and if she’s regretting her decision. Falcon said it was her idea to attend the dinner with my family to help dull their sharp edges. I expect she’s just doing her bit to try to get our friendship back on the rails now that I’ve almost fulfilled his ultimatum. I’ll admit, we both probably needed that push, but I need no incentive to see Angie. A part of me wonders if seeing me with Thorun and Cat might make her a little jealous. Or if conversely she might realise when she sees me with them that marrying takes me no further from her than time and distance did. But I know that’s just wishful and dangerous thinking, and beneath me.

I think back over Cat’s joke about Falcon, and shake my head. At the very least, seeing Angie with Cat and Thorun might give me some clarity over my looming choice of a partner.

115

Thorun grips my hand hard as we pull up in front of Jaguar’s family castle, complete with moat.

I’m impressed, and I can’t help but wonder why he speaks so disparagingly about it. It’s an early medieval fortress, perhaps tenth or eleventh century, a defensive stronghold. Over the years, I’d say during the French Renaissance and again in the 18th Century, it’s been turned into a luxurious palace.

Opposite us, Jaguar sits, his expression unreadable. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive over, answering Thorun’s many questions in monosyllables and drinking more than I expected, and his mood has flowed over to me. I think part of it must be due to having to eliminate Cherry last night, and part of it is because of his relationship with his family.

“It’s like a fairy tale castle,” Thorun sighs, pointing out the round defensive corner towers and the white swans sailing along on the dark green water in the moat, illuminated from underneath by a ring of lights in the moat walls.

On the surface it looks picture-perfect, but on closer inspection the water looks an unnatural dark olive colour, and a little foul. The lights give the whole thing a kind of extraterrestrial feel.

“Do you think their sewage goes straight into the moat?” I whisper. “Or just all the bodies?”

“Just the bodies,” Jag grunts, his eyes meeting mine.

I blush as he laughs harshly.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I told you I have exceptional hearing, Cat. Your whispers are deafening in the confines of this vehicle.”

“It was a joke,” I mutter.

He shakes his head and exits the vehicle, standing beside the door and offering a hand to each of us as we get out.

We’ve been dressed for this occasion in haute couture. Once again, we look like night and day. Thorun is wearing a knee-length shimmery silver cocktail dress, which hugs her Amazonian figure to perfection. Her blonde-white hair, now regrown to just collar length, highlights her cheekbones beautifully, and she’s pinned an exquisite little diamond clip, a gift from Jag, in her hair over one ear. She looks incredibly regal.

I’ve been dressed in black tailored pants and a black satin top. It clips behind my neck with a jewelled clasp, covers my scars, and drapes like dark water over my breasts, leaving my back, arms and sides bare. My hair has been styled in an elaborate French knot as some kind of homage, I imagine, to our location, but also allowing the viewers to appreciate the design of the top and its ornate deco-inspired ruby clasp. I was embarrassed when I’d first tried it on. It seemed like a tiny triangle of fabric, and I feared there would be glimpses of side boob when I walked. But special double-sided invisible tape holds the whole thing in place, and I feel relatively confident at this moment that I look great as I stand beside Jag, dressed in his tuxedo.

‘Let’s just hope his parents think so, too.’

“You both look amazing,” Jag murmurs as he hooks our hands through his arms and leads us up the stairs.

“I kind of imagined your family would come out to greet us,” I whisper as we finally reach the large, timber doors. They feature a giant circular bronze crest of a sabre-tooth tiger sinking its fangs into a wide-eyed unicorn’s neck.

Thorun frowns as she sees it and shoots me a worried look.