Page 125 of Coveted

“Trying to disguise his voice?”

She shrugs. “I guess.”

In the dining room, candlelight from the chandeliers reflects on the long wood table.

I enter first so I can swap place cards, putting Sadie next to me. Being on her own during drinks was probably enough. I want her to feel comfortable while we eat.

“What are you doing?” she asks, shooting a look at the doorway.

“Dad has a rule about never seating couples together,” I say.

“Then I want to abide by the rule. He’ll think I’m weak otherwise. They all will.”

My hand hesitates over the place card. “Are you sure?”

She answers by standing behind her assigned seat. The determined jut of her chin is unbelievably fucking sweet.

On that freezing February night in the bar, when she spoke the most soul-breaking sonnet I’ve heard, she had that same resolve. Even though her voice shook.

Nobody could ever make me feel so protective.

“Alright,” I say, pulling out her chair as the other guests enter the room.

Damon and Adelle move smoothly to take the seats on either side of Sadie.

Why would Dad put them next to her? He knows I suspect them of the murders. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll mellow out, or maybe that Sadie will recognize something about Damon as the killer. Somehow I doubt it’s the latter.

The twins better behave themselves. If those creepy bastards are unkind to my girl, I swear to god, I’ll scoop out their eyeballs with my soup spoon. My hospitality can only extend so far.

With a dark cloud over my head, I stroke the back of Sadie’s neck briefly and step away from her.

CHAPTER 32

Sadie

Well, this is terrifying.

Am I sitting next to the man who killed Parker and Hannah, and tried to drag me into a stolen car?

Lucan’s opposite me, glaring at Damon while toying with a soup spoon like he’s seconds away from lunging.

My boyfriend.

I still can’t believe we’re together. Properly together, like the whole world knows.

My feelings for him are evolving from revulsion and resentment to something big and warm and scary. It’s new to me, for sure, but I don’t completely hate it.

Staff pour drinks and lay platters of elaborate food, but my nerves have throttled my appetite. I accept white wine in a crystal goblet and salmon cakes.

Lucan’s father, Alexander, surveys us from his place at the head of the table.

“Sadie,” he says. “You’re a writer?”

I swallow my mouthful of wine. “Um, yes.”

So articulate.

“What are you working on in class now?” he asks, slicing what looks like raw red meat on his plate.