“Not everything is about you, Wade.” My voice strained under the weight of frustration.
“Maybe not. But I know how the game works and I’m playin’ to win,Chèr.”
For a moment, the room fell quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan overhead. I hated how his words lingered in the air, wrapping around me tighter than the sheet.
“Now, why don’ you be a good girl and come help me finish this sandwich, and we can have a nice right talk about the real reason you followed me here.”
Plopping back down on the bed, I asked, “How did you find out, anyway?”
“A little brat told me.”
“Cameron,” I groaned. “I should have known.”
“Gotta give the kid credit. He is the one with all the answers.”
“So, is that why you were in Rosewood?”
“No, I was there for a family weddin’. You were just a plus.”
“You watched me take the morning-after pill, Wade. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
He shrugged, taking another bite of the sandwich. “It is what it is. Can’t change it now.”
“And you’re not upset?”
“What’s to be upset about? I’m gonna have a kid.”
“Three kids.”
He froze, the sandwich halfway to his mouth, and I grinned, taking it from him. “Guess Cameron left that part out, huh?” I said, before taking a big bite. Moaning, I leaned back against the wall and sighed. “This is a really good sandwich. Too good for you. Hey, are you gonna eat those chips?”
When he said nothing, didn’t even move, I just grabbed the plate in his lap and finished the food for him.
No sense in letting good food go to waste.
Chapter Twelve
“Are you sure about this, boss?” Juju reluctantly asked. “’Cause Mademoiselle Moriarity ain’t gonna play no game wit’cha. You can’t go in there thinkin’ you can sweet talk her into tellin’ ya what ya wanna hear or she’s gonna put theGris Grison ya.”
“I agree, boss.” Donut hurried after us, munching on another bag of beignets. “My momma swears by Mademoiselle Moriarity. Calls her every Sunday after church to get her weekly cards read.”
Stopping, I looked at Donut and asked, “Is this before or after yourmômanprays to the good Lord at Sunday service?”
“Ain’t nuttin’ wrong with hedging yer bets, boss,” Donut muttered sheepishly.
“I gots me a distant relation back in Ireland and, according to my ma’ she believed in theAos Sí,that’s the fairy folk.Now the way my ma’ says it, this relation was real friendly with the localbanfháidh,that’s a woman who can see things. Anyway, my ma’ said thebanfháidhswore aDobhar-chú, that’s a water beast that kinda looks like an otter was after my relation’s soul.”
“Your mom was scared of a cute little otter?” Worm asked incredulously.
“Not my ma’, ya daft eejit! My relation from Ireland,” Braveheart grumbled. “Anyway, like I was sayin’, thisbanfháidhtold my relation to stay away from water, that theDobhar-chúwanted her soul.”
Grabbing another beignet, Donut stood, mesmerized by Braveheart’s story and asked, “What happened next?”
“Now as Ma’ tells it, my relation stayed away from all water.”
“Bet she smelled ripe as a peach after a few days,” Worm grumbled sarcastically, and Braveheart glared at him.
“Can we not get sidetracked by Braveheart’s riveting tales of magical otters?” I interrupted, casting a glance toward the looming house ahead. Its weathered shutters and ivy-cloaked walls did little to dispel the unease creeping into my gut. “I’ve got a real, living, breathing enigma to deal with.”
