She rubbed her eyes, loosening dried mascara and smudging it before tapping on her phone. “In Grayson-land it isn’t, but unlike you, I don’t spend years with everyone I date.”
The air churned with a low buzz and the bitter scent of charred beans.
As Emmy walked over to a hissing chrome machine sitting on the countertop, Grayson concentrated so hard on his pan that a groove formed between his eyebrows. “I don’t spend years with all of them.”
She held up her hand and bent a finger. “Val, two years. Susanna, one and a half.” Another finger went down. “That Icelandic transfer, whatever her name was, you dated her three full terms. Oh, and the Polish girl I really didn’t like, you stayed with her over three years.”
“How old were you when you started dating? Ten?” I found myself asking.
Emmy glowered at me. “You’re still here?”
I suddenly wished I’d signed on to Grayson instead of his hostile stepsister. She’s not a real mission; just a cover, I reminded myself. I didn’t actually have to spend any time with her.
“Stop being a bitch, Em.”
“You’re taking her side?”
“Right now, I am, because you’re being ridiculous. Naya isn’t to blame for your breakup.” He suddenly side-eyed me. “Right?”
I raised my palms. “I swear I didn’t know Adam until last night.”
“See?” Grayson hissed.
“The only thing I see is that she’s still sitting in my goddamn kitchen.”
I got up.
“Don’t go. Emmeline Rogers, apologize for not knowing your arse from your elbow.”
She scowled at him, then at me, then back at him. “It’s my house,” she grumbled.
“And it’s my omelet.” Grayson swung his blue gaze toward me. “Naya, please stay.”
I was already walking toward the front door. “Seriously, no worries. Whatever the pub was frying up earlier smelled really good.”
Through clenched teeth, Emmy gritted out, “The food’ll be better here, so just fucking stay.”
That sounded as tempting as a channel ride to Abaddon.
“If you leave, Gray’s going to withhold lunch from me, and I need lunch.”
I doubted he would.
“I will.” Had he been an angel, that would’ve cost him a feather, because a kid who cooked to make his mother smile was entirely too considerate to let his mood dictate his actions.
“I swear, it’s fine.”
“Please,” he said again, which won him a raised eyebrow from Emmy instead of the previous daggers.
Not wanting to make a scene, I retraced my steps and sat, and the tension in his jaw and shoulders slackened.
He pulled his omelet off the stovetop and folded it onto a plate. “After her second cup, she gets friendlier.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Grayson’s mouth curved, revealing all his crooked teeth. Not that I’d judged him for it before, but now that I knew the reason he’d never had them fixed, I found it added to his overall charm. When he caught me staring at his mouth, he shut it and rubbed his lips.
“And to answer your previous question, Gray here started getting action at the ripe old age of twelve.” She knocked her shoulder into his.
That was young. I hadn’t even seen a boy at that age, other than in one of the ophanim-approved films we watched on guild movie nights. My wing bones thrummed, making me realize I’d inadvertently—thank Elysium or I would’ve lost a feather—forgotten another place I’d seen a boy.
On a holo-ranker.
Raven had snuck me into the Ranking Room after she’d gotten her wing bones, and side-by-side, we’d perused the system, alternately stifling giggles behind our fingers or blushing to the roots of our hair when we came across pictures of handsome male sinners.
Of course, Mira, had caught us and reamed poor Raven for having shown me content unsuitable for children. Mira still coddled me to this day, which surprised most, since the guild matron coddled no one.
I wasn’t complaining. Where most fletchings barely saw their parents in the two decades they lived in the earthly dormitories, I not only saw both my parents on the regular, but I also had Mira, a grandmother of sorts.
Grayson pulled plates out of the cupboard, and I stood to help. “I got it, Naya.”
So I sat back down.
“Gray’s other flaw is that he’s way too nice.” Emmy shook out her napkin as she took her place at the head of the island, now set with flatware, glasses, and plates.
I ambled to the seat beside hers. “That’s not a flaw.”
“It is when it turns you into a pushover that every girl and her mother take advantage of.”
My desire to lunch at the pub flared anew, but one glance at Grayson’s pinched face and downcast eyes had me staying.
He tucked himself into the seat across from me and focused on his golden masterpiece, divvying it up with the wooden spatula. “It’s a good thing I’m a pushover, or you’d have spent the end of your bender lying face-first in your vomit.”
She scrunched up her nose, sufficiently chastised. “I didn’t mean it like that, Gray. I just meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
Emmy watched Grayson fill her plate. “On the upside, I’m going to be out of your hair for a full month soon. Imagine that.”
He frowned, gliding a golden sliver onto my plate, before serving himself. “Where are you going?”
“Venezuela.”
He set the serving platter down a little hard. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope.” She popped a piece of omelet into her mouth. “I was invited on a humanitarian mission a while back. I turned it down because of the internship. And Adam.”
“Invited on a—Who gets invited on a humanitarian mission? Did you sign up for it? And what exactly will you be doing in Venezuela?”
“Feeding the hungry. Building houses for the poor.”
“In Venezuela? The presidential republic turned kingdom?” Grayson had seized his fork but was hovering it over his omelet, too shocked to dig into his food.
“England’s a kingdom too.”
“Our country’s not ruled by a murderous tyrant, Em,” he growled. “Does your dad know?”
“Not yet, but imagine how proud he’ll be to find out his pathetic daughter has been tapped by the illustrious Circle Foundation.”
He set down his fork, and it clanked. “You’re shitting me?”
“Nope.”
He leaned back on his stool. “The Circle Foundation randomly emailed you to send you to Venezuela?”
She passed her phone over to her stepbrother. “Not randomly. I was recommended.”
As he read, his brows drew closer. “By whom? This doesn’t say.”
“Why does it even matter who recommended me, Gray? You think I’m not good enough to go help out?”
“I never said that. I just think it’s odd to be tapped for a humanitarian cause. People usually sign up for them.”
Emmy sawed through her omelet. “Do you think it’s odd, Naya?”
“A little. Especially if you didn’t sign up for it. How did they get your email address?”