Her eyes darted around the white church as if Luc’s friends might jump out at any moment to have a laugh. Luc was the only son of a gentleman, and though he never acted as if that mattered with Evangeline, the young men he kept company with considered her beneath them. Evangeline’s father had owned several shops across Valenda, so she’d never been poor. But she wasn’t from the upper tier of society like Luc.
“If you’re searching for the way out because you’ve come to your senses, I won’t stop you.” Jacks folded his hands behind his golden head, leaned back against the statue of himself, and grinned.
Her stomach dipped in warning, telling her not to be deceived by his dimpled smile or the torn clothes. This was the most dangerous being she’d ever met.
Evangeline didn’t imagine he would kill her—she would never be foolish enough to let the Prince of Hearts kiss her. But she knew that if she stayed and made a deal with Jacks, he would forever destroy some other part of her. And yet, if she left, there would be no saving Luc.
“What will your help cost me?”
“Did I say I would help you?” His eyes went to the cream ribbons trailing up from her shoes to wrap around her ankles until they disappeared under the hem of her eyelet dress. It was one of her mother’s old gowns, covered in a stitched pattern of pale purple thistles, tiny yellow flowers, and little foxes.
The corner of Jacks’s mouth twisted distastefully and stayed that way as his gaze continued up to the ringlets of hair she’d carefully curled with hot tongs that morning.
Evangeline tried not to feel insulted. From the brief experience she had with this Fate, she didn’t imagine most things found his approval.
“What color is that?” He waved vaguely toward her curls.
“It’s rose gold,” she answered brightly. Evangeline never let anyone make her feel bad about her unusual hair. Her stepmother was always trying to get her to color it brown. But Evangeline’s hair, with its waves of soft pink streaked through with pale gold, was the thing she liked best about her appearance.
Jacks cocked his head to the side, still observing her with a scowl. “Were you born in the Meridian Empire or in the North?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Call it curiosity.”
Evangeline resisted the urge to return his scowl. Normally, she loved answering this question. Her father, who’d liked to make Evangeline feel as if her whole life were a fairytale, had always teased that he’d found her packed up in a crate along with other oddities that had been delivered to his shop—that’s why her hair was pixie pink, he’d always said. And her mother had always nodded with a wink.
She missed the way her mother winked and her father teased. She missed everything about them, but she didn’t want to share any of their pieces with Jacks.
She managed a shrug instead of a verbal reply.
Jacks’s brows slashed down. “You don’t know where you were born?”
“Is it a requirement to get your help?”
He looked her over again, eyes lingering on her lips this time. Yet he didn’t regard her as if he wanted to kiss her. His appraisal was too clinical. He looked at her mouth the way someone might study wares in one of her father’s shops, as if her lips were a thing that could be purchased—a thing that could belong to him.
“How many people have you kissed?” he asked.
A tiny bolt of heat struck Evangeline’s neck. She’d worked in her father’s curiosity shop since she was twelve. She hadn’t exactly been raised like a proper young lady; she wasn’t like her stepsister, who was taught to always keep three feet away from a gentleman and to never talk about anything more controversial than the weather. Her parents had encouraged Evangeline to be curious and adventurous and friendly, but she wasn’t bold in every way. Certain things made her nervous, and the way the Prince of Hearts kept staring at her mouth was one of those things. “I’ve only kissed Luc.”
“That is pathetic.”
“Luc is the only person I want to kiss.”
Jacks scratched his sharp jaw, looking doubtful. “I’m almost tempted to believe you.”
“Why would I lie?”
“Everyone lies—people think I’m more likely to help if they’re after something noble like true love.” A hint of derision crept into his voice, chipping away a little more at the Prince of Hearts she’d imagined. “But even if you do really love this boy, you’re better off without him. If he loved you back, he wouldn’t be marrying someone else. End of story.”
“You’re wrong.” Her voice held the same conviction as her heart. Evangeline had questioned her relationship with Luc after his abrupt engagement to Marisol, but the question was always answered with months of meaningful memories. The night Evangeline’s father had died—the night her heart wouldn’t stop pounding or hurting—Luc had found her wandering the aisles of the curiosity shop, looking for a cure for broken hearts. Her cheeks had been tear-stained, and her eyes were red. She feared her crying would scare him away, but instead he’d pulled her into his arms and said, “I don’t know if I can fix your broken heart, but you can take mine because it’s already yours.”
She’d known she loved him for a while, but that was when she knew Luc loved her. His words might have been borrowed from a popular story, but he backed them up with heartfelt actions. He’d helped her hold her heart together that night, and so many of the nights that followed. And now she was determined to help him. Proposals and engagements didn’t always mean love, but she knew that moments like the ones she’d shared with Luc did.
He had to be cursed. As extreme or as silly as it might have made her sound to others, this was the only explanation she could believe. It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t at least speak to her, or that every time Evangeline tried telling Marisol the truth, she would open her mouth and the words wouldn’t come out.
“Please.” Begging wasn’t beneath her. “Help me.”
“I don’t think what you want will help you. But I do appreciate a good lost cause. I’ll stop the wedding in exchange for three kisses.” Jacks’s eyes took on an entertained gleam as they returned to her mouth.
A fresh surge of heat rose to Evangeline’s cheeks. She’d been wrong about him not wanting to kiss her. But if the stories were true, one kiss from him and she’d be dead.
Jacks laughed, harsh and short. “Relax, pet, I don’t wish to kiss you. It would kill you, and then you’d be no use to me. I want you to kiss three others. Who I choose. When I choose.”
“What sort of kisses? Little pecks … or more?”
“If you think that counts, maybe you haven’t been kissed.” Jacks shoved off the statue and stalked closer, towering over her once again. “It’s not a real kiss if there isn’t any tongue.”
The blush she’d been fighting burned hotter until her neck and her cheeks and her lips all caught fire.
“Why the hesitation, pet? They’re only kisses.” Jacks sounded as if he were holding back another laugh. “Either this Luc is horrible at using his mouth, or you’re afraid to say yes too quickly because you secretly like the idea.”