11. Imogen

11

IMOGEN

I t's been two weeks.

Josie came to see me only a day after my and Nora's fight.

She wanted to know what happened from my point of view. But I couldn't say it all out loud, so I held out my hand and opened my mind to her.

The calloused pad of her palm slipped across mine, and I let her see it all. The first time Silas came to me, every time I tried to argue against him, and every time I gave up because he threatened the last family I have left.

"I'm disappointed, but I get it," Josie said with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," I replied.

"I know," she said, pulling me into a hug. "I forgive you. But Nora's forgiveness will be harder to earn. I think she wants to, though. She's a mess by her standards, Mo."

"Should I go to her?"

Josie shook her head. "No, she needs to see you on her own time. And some shit has gone down that we need to deal with first."

When she said that, I was given a spark of hope. But that hope has dwindled as I've sat alone with my guilt, night after night.

Is this how ten years of friendship—and four years of whatever else this is between us—ends? Do I have to mourn a relationship and a friendship at the same time?

I go back to wiping down the mountain of glasses stacked in front of me. The monotonous task keeps me busy behind the bar. But not even the revelry of the Den can help my mood; Leo keeps casting concerned glances at me as he works the room.

I could go help him— should go help him. But the thought of whispering influence in people's ears, of busying myself with the nonsense of cheating scandals and who ditched the last soiree, makes my stomach turn.

No, I belong back here. Where I can ensure every crystal glass shines as brightly as the jewels around my patrons' necks.

It's also the one task that allows me to indulge in my memories uninterrupted. It seems I'm a glutton for punishment, as I can't help but recall the night that led me here.

So much has changed since then.

I don't want Nora and Josie to change too.

4 YEARS AGO

"Don't fuck up tonight."

My mother stalks past me in her highest heels. Her long embellished gown, which should be glittering, barely shines in the dark of the Den.

The bar is only lit by a few houselights that dangle from the rafters. Somehow our construction team had forgotten the essential feature in their rush to finish the build. Leo and I had rolled up our sleeves and put on our electrician hats for a grueling eight hours trying to install them ourselves.

The three we managed to hang are working by grit and a miracle alone.

We have someone scheduled to come fix them all tomorrow; unfortunately, that doesn't do much for our opening tonight. The one saving grace is that it doesn't affect our patrons, only our prep and closing staff.

I continue wiping at the rocks glass in my hand, making sure there's no fingerprint smudge to be seen. Every detail needs to be perfect.

"I know how to run my own bar, Ma. I've been doing it for a while with Gallagher's," I say.

My mother rifles through her purse, pulling out her lipstick and reapplying it in the reflection of the mirrored shelves behind the bar. Her blond hair is styled similar to mine, fussed and pinned into perfect ringlets that make a fake bob around her collar.

"That's true," she says with a smile. She might sound like a hard-ass on the outside, but it's her way of showing affection. She saves the charm for her marks. "But this is different. If all goes well, this can be a main hub for your brother to exchange information with other Houses."

Gallagher's is a small, hole-in-the-wall-pub. House Lust has owned a few within our territory, but the Den will be the first of this size and caliber. It has the potential to attract the rich and powerful from every House.

We're the smallest of the seven Houses, and after watching Nora and Josie push House Pride forward, I figured expanding our patron-facing businesses would benefit us. I also wanted a project of my own, something to prove that the spare heir to House Lust could be as capable as the firstborn.

Access to more funds means more power. And it didn't hurt that the staff can be empath spies, as my brother had pointed out to my mother.

He doesn't mean to steal the spotlight from me. Conor sparkles as brilliantly and naturally as a star. I'm more akin to the gas lamps lining the street. My light is a softer, warmer glow. It's hard to compare us.

"Give her a break, Ma. She'll be fine," my brother calls as he exits the bathroom.

Conor runs his hand through his blond hair—the three of us are a golden trio—before hopping behind the bar. He steals the glass I was cleaning and pours himself a shot of vodka. I roll my eyes as he shoots it back.

I jab my thumb at him while turning to face my mother.

"Yeah, I might not be mister perfect over here, but I have some things going for me."

My mother laughs. "You said it, not me."

"You're not going to disagree?" I say with mock outrage.

"You're a little green, Mo," Conor snickers, wrapping one arm around me and pinching my cheek between his fingers. "You need to work on keeping your emotions to yourself if you want to take over for me one day."

"And what makes you think I want to do that?"

"Because I don't want to sire any crotch-goblins. Therefore, next in line is you."

I bat his hand away as the front door opens with a rush of spring air. In walks Leo and his mother, my own mother's Second.

"That's our cue," Conor says.

He pulls me back into his side by brute force. Conor is a lot taller than me, and I fit under the crook of his arm snugly. Squeezing me tightly, he shakes me back and forth. It's a silly little habit he developed when he was little to annoy me.

I might grumble at his antics, but I secretly love them.

"We should be back by one," he says, releasing me. "So hopefully, I'll be able to catch last call to celebrate with you."

A genuine smile spreads across my teeth. Conor knows how much this means to me—even if a lot of the operations are being hijacked by my mother and him.

"I'd love that," I say. "Don't get too smoked at the Royal's mixer though. I know they're not your favorite."

"Are they anyone's?" Conor murmurs, tone dripping with sarcasm. "See you later, Mo."

Then he's gone, hopping back over the bar, slapping Leo on the shoulder.

"Leo, watch over my little sister, will ya?" Conor says.

"Like she's my own," Leo replies with a laugh.

Conor leads our mothers to the door, swiftly opening it for them. He's a picture of the perfect gentleman, exactly what he was raised to be. I lean against the bar, waiting for a goodbye from my mother, but it doesn't come.

And as the door swings shut, I call out, "Bye, Ma!"

"Bye, baby!" she yells, not even peeking back.

The door closes.

The opening goes well; the bar is busy, and patrons are happily drunk. The band is a hit, and the dance floor is packed like a can of sardines. There are folks from every House present, and the houselights Leo and I installed never fall from their precarious perches.

All miracles in their own right.

And when midnight strikes, the front door opens again. My magic tunes into a dead frequency—a radio station playing static instead of the music of emotion. Her black hair bounces around her chin as she strides through the maze of patrons, eyes locked on where I stand behind the bar.

"Imogen."

Nora settles against the bar to my right, leaning over on her elbows. She's changed out of her standard uniform of dress pants and a blouse tonight, opting for a simple black dress. It is plain compared to the rest of the flapper-like frocks donned by the women on the dance floor, but the silk shines just as brightly against her pale skin.

"You came," I say, mouth ajar.

"Of course, we came," Josie says from my left. I twist to see her beaming, dimpled smile. "We couldn't miss this."

"We would have been here earlier, but I had to deal with Pride," Nora says, rolling her eyes. "You know how he is."

I know as much as they'll tell me, which isn't much, but what little I do know is nothing good.

"He didn't want you to come here?" I ask.

"No, he doesn't care about that," Nora says, waving a gloved hand in the air. "He wanted to lecture me about making smart choices now that I'm his Second. As if I don't already have Josie to do that."

"Hey—"

"I'm kidding. I love your lectures, Joze."

"Well, if you love them so much, why don't you listen to them?"

My grin somehow grows wider, my body buzzing with pride, happiness, and love for my friends. It all swirls together, a mix of emotions that bubbles up into tears. I swipe them away before anyone can see, Nora and Josie still bickering like an old married couple with me in the middle.

"You okay?" Josie suddenly asks.

I nod. "I'm just happy."

"Good," she smiles.

"Your brother around?" Nora asks.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Why? You want to ask him to dance?"

Her nose scrunches. "No. More like I want to make sure he knows he's not stopping me from dancing with you."

An excited shiver runs down my spine. Nora and I have this tension between us, one that's only grown stronger since the fateful night we first kissed. We've been tiptoeing around it ever since, having been pulled apart by our House duties.

Even so, a collision feels inevitable.

"He and my mother won't be back until later," I say. "So, you don't have to worry about him for the time being."

Nora and Josie share a glance, dual devilish grins spreading across their cheeks.

"Excellent," Nora says.

"Then it's time for you to stop working and enjoy your success a little," Josie says, reaching a hand out for me. Then she adds with a wink, "We already cleared it with Leo."

"He gave me a hard time. The man got two bits out of me before I realized he was playing us," Nora grumbles.

I let loose a cackle. "He made you play cards to give me the second half of the night off?"

"Yeah, I should have known better, given how good he was in college. But he knows how to push my buttons," she says. "He always planned to force you into some fun at the end anyway. Thoughtful little fucker."

"Either way, let's go dance," Josie says. She taps her fingers on the bar top, a nervous tendency I've noticed when we're in public places. "And maybe grab a drink first."

We each down a shot of liquor, and then I follow them through the throngs of people, falling into the elation around me.

And when the clock strikes one, then two, and my family doesn't show, I don't even notice, because I'm wrapped in Nora's arms.

They don't come home.

They didn't even make it to the party.

When I'm finished cleaning all the glasses, my staff promptly kick me out from behind the bar. They did it politely, handing me a glass of water and pointing to the empty barstool at the far corner of the u-shaped counter.

I grumble about being able to help with stock in the back, but they shake their heads and remind me that I'd already done that yesterday.

They're trying to help, in their own way. They know I'm tired of sitting in my apartment, sulking. But they also know I'm not ready to be working the room.

So, I sit at the bar, my finger circling condensation around the rim of my water.

I'm so consumed by my thoughts that I don't notice her presence at my back until her arms are reaching around me on both sides.

"Lust."

Her hot breath tickles my ear, my spine shivering on instinct. My breath catches in my throat when our eyes meet over my shoulder.

"You're here."

"I'm here."

I blink. "Why?"

"I want an explanation." Her eyes dart down to my lips. "So, I came to talk."

"Oh."

Time slows as we sit in this moment, our breathing in sync.

Nora shifts, pulling away from me and sitting in the empty seat to my right. The night has slowed, the bar empty given the late hour. The slow croon of the band has stopped, the musicians packing away their equipment. The staff have disappeared to the back room.

We're alone.

"I'm sorry—" I say.

"—I shouldn't have reacted the way I did," Nora says at the same time.

"What?" Shock jolts through me.

Nora clears her throat. "My words and tone the other day. They weren't kind. And I want to apolog?—"

"I forgive you."

"I didn't even say the words yet."

"You don't have to. It hurt, but I can't argue that your anger wasn't justified," I say, maybe too quickly. Nora is not the type to say it out loud. Actions are her language; the fact that she came to talk at all speaks volumes. "You're not the one who needs to apologize. I've wanted to— need to —make sure you know how sorry I am. I just didn't know if you wanted to hear it."

She sighs, resting her chin on her gloved hand. We're huddled close together, leaning into each other like two lovers.

Our bodies don't get the message that we're fighting.

"I'm still pissed," she says tentatively.

I nod.

"But I want to hear why," she finishes; the words are slow and gritted out between clenched teeth.

"Josie came to ask why too," I say.

"I know."

"Did she tell you?"

"I want to hear it from you."

I nod, looking down at my hands. They tremble, clenched together. I bite my bottom lip, tugging at the raw skin there.

"You remember when my brother died?"

"Yes," she says. And while I'm still staring at my shaking hands, I know her brows furrow from the question in her tone.

"It wasn't as simple as an automobile accident," I say. "Some Royal got upset that my mother had dirt on him. The party was a set up and their crash was planned."

Nora's huff of laughter is cynical. "Greed?"

"I'm sure he helped. The party was in his territory that night," I say. I clench my hands harder, nails digging into my palms as the anger about that night fuels me. "Silas threatened that a similar accident would befall Leo if I didn't answer any question that he had about you."

I tilt my head up, and we stare at each other. Both of our jaws clench as the seconds tick by.

"I can't lose him, Nor," I say, my voice breaking. "And I'm sorry. You know how racked with guilt I've been keeping this from you? But he's family. He's all I have left ."

I don't stop the tears from falling. It might not be fair to cry, but it's the first time I've said it all aloud. And it's too much.

I've spent four years suppressing my grief and this is my breaking point.

"There's no one who will beat me up about it more than myself," I say. "But the worst part is that I realized I can't lose you guys either. Josie held me as I cried at their funeral. You stocked my icebox and pantry so I would have something to eat as I figured out how the hell I was supposed to run my House. You both guided me through my sorrow. Leo's too. You were there for us because you knew what it's like to lose your parents."

I wipe at my cheeks, my hand coming away sticky with tears and stained pink from my blush.

"Silas forced my hand. He made me choose. But I don't want to choose anymore," I say. "You guys are my family too. I just didn't know what to do. I was stuck."

Nora sighs. It's one of defeat, where all the angry tension in her shoulders dissipates.

"Look," she says, scrubbing her hand over her jaw. "I don't want to, but I understand."

She swivels in her seat, staring up at the back bar. I follow suit, the mirror reflects the two of us between bottles of liquor.

"When I think about it logically, if the roles were reversed and Josie was threatened, I'd protect her the same," she says. "But I also would have tried to find a way around it. I wish you would have told me. Josie and I could have helped."

"I realize that now ." I huff a dead laugh. "But he's the king, Nora. Don't be foolish."

"Silas isn't invincible," she says. "Kings are only strong because of the pieces that surround them."

I shake my head. "Life isn't chess."

"Isn't it?" she asks. "Pawns and Houses. Knights and Sins. Kings and Queens." She shrugs. "They all sound pretty similar to me."

We lapse into silence, both leaning on our elbows and staring at each other through the mirror. We keep falling into each other's gazes out of habit, unable to stop the collision before it happens.

We've always been like this.

It happens slowly, the way her eyes can't help but run over my flat hair and the dark circles under my eyes. The few tears that fell have already dried up, their tracks tight on my cheeks. Nora's eyes land on my lips and darken.

She's probably noticed how chewed up they are; the metallic taste of blood blooms on my tongue as it darts out to lick over the ripped flesh.

"I told him off after you left."

Nora blinks out of her haze. "Silas?"

"Yeah."

"Good. He deserves it for being a nosy prick," she huffs. "Promise me, if he comes to you again, you'll tell me."

"I promise." I don't even have to think about it.

"And you'll politely inform him that if he has questions, he can talk to me directly."

"He won't like that."

"I don't care what he likes. I only care about you."

My head tilts down, heat rushing to my cheeks. Nora's hand enters my view, landing on my knee.

She squeezes.

"Part of me wanted to cut you out. But the other part, the one I can't ignore, can't let you go because of this. I've known you too long, gotten too close," she says. "I don't give second chances, Mo. But I want to give you one."

She rubs her thumb over my knee, back and forth. We sit still for a moment, each focused on the place where we're connected.

When Nora speaks again, it's soft and vulnerable, barely a whisper.

"You know I'm not good with this stuff."

This stuff. Relationships. Intimacy.

"But," she says, searching for the words. "I want to try." A finality steels her voice, and my heart soars. She clears her throat. "I would like for you to join me for dinner on Sunday."

My head snaps up. "But you never invite outsiders to family dinner."

I swear I see a tinge of pink bloom on her cheeks as she glances away. "Josie thought it'd be a good idea."

"She's a smart girl, that one," I say, quiet and dumbfounded.

"So, you'll come?"

I don't have to give it a second thought. "Of course, I'll come."

"Good," she says, then stands.

"You're not staying?"

Nora shakes her head, a fierce divot forming between her brows as she adjusts her long wool jacket. Autumn is waning, and soon we'll all need to don our winter caps and scarves.

"I have some things I need to handle tonight," she says, buttoning the jacket.

I narrow my eyes at her. "You're not going to tell me any more than that, are you?"

This elicits a real smirk from her. "No."

She steps into my space. Her eyes fall back down to my ruined bottom lip, full of restrained hunger; she reaches up and tugs at it with her thumb, the leather scraping against it sweetly.

"You need to earn the right to details again," she says.

Gooseflesh spreads down my arms.

"I like the way this looks," she says, thumbing my raw lip again. "But I want to be the one to do it next time."

"Okay." The word is hushed against her glove.

Then she leans down and places a chaste kiss on my cheek, as if she can't help but leave her mark on me.

"Goodnight, Imogen," she says.

"Goodnight," I murmur.

The burn of her kiss sears me, but I hold on to the pain. It's a comfort that I take to bed—a reassurance as I drift asleep that maybe we can rebuild what's broken between us.