Elodie and Lyra disconnect. Still teary-eyed, Elodie follows Jove, poking his massive bicep in hello. “Jove, hot as ever.”
My eyes narrow.
He hums, shifts both of her suitcases into one hand, and flicks her finger away from his person.
She pouts.
“That’s Lyra’s,” he says.
“Hello, Roman,” Lyra greets, coming up beside me. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
I rearrange my face into something a little less scowly to return the sentiment. “Elodie has nothing but praise for you. I once forgot to put ‘perfect’ in the lineup of adjectives that describe you and she had quite the fit over it. She loves you alot.”
Lyra’s cheeks warm under a smattering of golden star freckles, and her soft eyes find her cousin. “I love her a lot, too.”
The corners of my eyes crinkle.
“Lyra won’t mind if I have asmallfeel,” Elodie says. “A little poke. A mild appreciation of the finer things in life.”
Acid burns in my throat.
“Lyra-love, your cousin is harassing me again,” Jove tattles, swatting Elodie’s wandering hand away from his person.
The acid settles.
Lyra sighs. “El, you’ve got your own hunk of man to harass now. Leave mine alone.”
My shoulders straighten when Elodie spins on her heel, hair flying as she settles into a backward gait. Her nose wrinkles. “That’s not my hunk of man,” she protests. “That’sRoman.”
I flex my arms.
Elodie pretends to gag.
Jove ushers us into the house, showing us our room. “It used to be my brother’s,” he says, surveying the space. “It’s changed a lot, though.”
He sounds like I felt when I’d look at the space that used to be Ruby’s room after she moved out but before Elodie moved in. My heart pangs for him. There’s something about having a sibling move on that just plainhurts.
He clears his throat. “The trundle is made up, so you won’t be subjected to any unwanted tropes, and the bathroom in the hall is all yours. Lyra and I have one attached to our bedroom, which is at the other end of the hall.” He gestures behind him. “You can’t miss it. Our door is painted peach.”
“Peach is Ly’s favorite color,” Elodie tells me. “Also, I’m getting the bed-bed. You can have the trundle. And you can put it… there.” She points to a spot in the room that will allow us the most distance as we rest, and I grunt.
“I’m taller than you. I should get the bigger bed.”
“You’re a boy,” she counters. “Chivalry dictates I get to choose.”
“Politeness dictates you let me have the bed that isn’t going to leave my feet dangling off the end.”
“Manners dictate you take what you get and you don’t throw a fit.”
I glare.
She glares back.
We do not come to an agreement on the bed situation.
“Do you have plans for while you’re here?” Lyra asks, leaning against the doorjamb. Her eyes glide between Elodie and me, curiosity warring with amusement.
“A few,” Elodie answers. “Today I’m going to see Sol for lunch. Roman’s not invited. Do you think you guys could watch him for me?”
