Chapter 17
When I return to my rooms, I find Tovian sitting in the center of my bed, flipping through a fashion magazine from the outside world.
“How do they make lifelike pictures like this?” he asks.
“They’re called photographs. Similar to the ones you can capture with your phone.”
He ponders this for a minute. “Are they real?”
“You mean, did someone take that picture and print it on paper?”
“Is it a true representation of what life is like out there?”
“More or less.” I perch on the edge of the bed beside him. My throat tightens at the sight of a press picture of me, Zosia, Lorcan, Cata, and King Rohan together, attending a ball in London. “We really did attend that event, and I did wear that gown.”
“You look so different.”
“I was wearing a lot of makeup.”
Tovian shakes his head, confused.
“It’s kind of like your paint.” I get up and pad into the bathroom, returning with a zippered case. “Women put this stuff on their faces to look prettier.”
“You don’t need that stuff to be pretty.”
He cups the back of my head and kisses me. I close the case.
“Charmer.”
A smile flickers on his lips. He returns his attention to the magazine. “Is that her?”
“Zosia? Yeah.”
She’s unmistakable. Dark golden hair hangs in a thick gleaming curtain to her butt. She’s tall and well-proportioned. If her hips are a fraction too wide for her slender frame, it’s the kind of flaw that a lot of men go crazy over. Her long, tan legs are on full display in a billowing pink gown.
Tovian examines the picture closely.
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes. She is.” More beautiful than me. Always attracting a ton of stares and compliments, not that Zosia ever cared. Hated it, actually.
Jealousy, my old familiar friend, hooks thorns into the most vulnerable parts of my heart. If envy is a shade of green, then mine is a weed bristling with sharp thorns. Impossible to eradicate from the garden of my soul.
Despite this, Zosia is my closest female friend. I only hope that Tovian isn’t getting ideas about dropping me for her.
Instantly, I checked myself. Tovian hasn’t even met her. He made a factual statement about a picture in a magazine, and I’m already anticipating that he’ll dump me for my best friend. I have got to stop comparing myself to Zosia.
“Was she always that unhappy?” Tovian scrutinizes the picture.
“She’s not unhappy.” But when I look closer, I see it. The tense, determined smile that doesn’t reach Zosia’s bright green eyes, her shoulders set as if she’s marching into battle instead of climbing the red-carpeted stairs to a gala in three-inch heels.
“Zosia didn’t particularly enjoy her public role as the face of Auralia.” I flip the page. Tovian turns it back and keeps studying the picture.
Makes me nervous as fuck.
“That’s your Lorcan?”
“Not mine.” I swallow. He looks so young. Scarred and strong, but vital.
