Page 61 of The Rust in Her Hair

"It's an improvement." I nudge the bowl toward him. "Try it before you judge me."

"I will not. I have standards." But he's grinning.

"A gentleman," I say, sliding the bowl another inch toward him, "always accepts what a lady offers him. I'd have thought you'd know that."

"Oh, would he." Owen laughs.

"He would." I hold the spoon out. "Go on. Be a gentleman."

He shakes his head, but he's already caving, I can see it. He leans across the table, opens his mouth, and lets me feed him the bite, chewing with the grave concentration of a man tasting wine he already suspects has turned.

He swallows, then nods. "Wow. That is genuinely awful."

A laugh bursts out of me, as I load up another bite for myself. "You," I say as I lift the spoon, "have no taste."

The front door opens.

My heart shoots into my throat and the spoon slides out of my fingers.The spoon clatters against the bowl, and my heart lurches up into my throat, every muscle going rigid at once.

They found me.

He's here.

For one terrible second I'm certain it's my father filling the doorway, come to drag me back. I blink repeatedly, trying to make my eyes focus.

Then a woman steps through the door, and the terror drops out of me as fast as it came.

She comes in without knocking, a set of keys spinning around one finger, sunglasses shoved up into shoulder-length hair so dark it's nearly black. It's the woman from the hallway photo, the one with the green hair and the beautiful smile. The green is gone now, grown out into this deep sleek dark, but it's her, unmistakably. She's got the same dark eyes as Nico, and the same easy way of taking up a room.

She pulls up short when she sees me, brows lifting, and a slow grin spreads across her face. She swings it toward Owen like a loaded question.

"Well." She drags the word out, delighted. "Good morning, Owen. Don't let me interrupt."

Owen goes a little pink. "Renata. It's not what you think."

"Hey, I wasn’t thinking anything." She holds up both hands, still grinning, and turns back to me. "Hello," she says politely. "I'm Renata."

"Lyra," I introduce myself, then my eyes catch on her arms. Both of them are covered, wrist to shoulder, in the most beautiful tattoos I've ever seen. Not the stiff, matched-set tattoos I've glimpsed on my father's security men, but something alive, flowers spilling into birds spilling into fine curling script, all of it flowing together like it grew there.

"Your tattoos are stunning," I say with a small gasp. "I've never seen anything like them. They're gorgeous."

Something warm flickers across her face. "Yeah?" She turns her forearm over to show me a spray of moths climbing toward her elbow. "Thank you. These are mine. Not just, you know, mine. But I drew them. And I even did the ink on half of them." She touches a vibrant pink rose along her forearm.

"You did these?" I lean in, in awe. "You designed them and put them on your own arm?"

"The ones I could reach." She smirks. "My buddy, Bryce, did the rest."

"That's incredible. Truly. You're an artist."

Renata has the most vibrant smile on her face, turning to look at Owen. "Okay, I like her," she announces before dropping into the third chair and stealing a marshmallow out of my unholy cereal bowl. "Wherever you found this one, she can stay."

Owen laughs, warm and pleased, clearly delighted Renata likes me.

"Renata is Nico's sister," he tells me.

"I can tell." I glance back at the she-alpha. "You look just like him."

Renata groans and drops her head back. "God. I know. I hear it constantly." She points a marshmallow at me. "For the record, he looks like me. I came first. But yeah, the whole lot of us are basically the same face in different sizes. You put us in a lineup, good luck."