14. Imogen

14

IMOGEN

W hen Nora said family dinner, I figured it was an intimate affair with Josie and a few select members of her inner circle. What I did not expect was an entire floor of her apartment building to have been converted into a sprawling dinner hall.

"Thank you for coming," Nora says.

She didn't say much as we waited for the elevator. And what she has said as the metal box slowly lifts us to the tenth floor has been far too formal. There's only an inch of space between us, but it feels like I'm wading through an entire ocean as I lean to the left, bumping my shoulder into hers.

"Of course," I say. An awkward beat passes, marked only by the groan of the elevator coming to a halt. "Is it bad that I'm nervous?"

"Don't be. Everyone loves you."

"They haven't even met me yet."

"The only one that matters is Josie, and she likes you more than me."

Nora shrugs as the doors slide open. She leads the way, striding off the elevator with sure steps before spinning on her heel. Nora looks me up and down, her lips twisting like she doesn't know if she should smile or frown.

"Trust me," she says.

Little butterflies flutter in my belly.

"Okay."

I step out of the elevator and the doors close behind me.

My steps immediately falter.

Nearly two hundred fae fill the space, multiple generations mulling around two rows of farmhouse tables pushed together. Nora grabs my hand—she doesn't intertwine our fingers—and pulls me through the throngs of people. At each turn, they vie for her attention.

"Boss, glad you made it this week."

"Frank. How are the girls?"

"Eh, you know how it goes. Can't ever say no to nothing with ‘em."

"Good luck with when they get old enough to realize they can take advantage," Nora snickers.

"Yeah, I know. Irene and I are in for a doozy."

"Hey, Pride, make sure to have the lasagna tonight. Nan made her special sauce," another man, younger than the last, speaks through a mouthful of bread.

"Thanks for the gouge, Chester."

"I got ya, Boss," he says with a wink.

"You're in for a treat tonight then," Nora whispers my way. "That woman may be pushing five hundred, but she still manages to whip up enough food for an army every Sunday."

Her hand tightens around mine, the leather of her gloves soft against my palm. She pulls me to three empty seats at the center of one table.

"Sit," she says.

She doesn't introduce me to anyone seated around us, but I don't think she needs to; recognition dilates each one of their pupils when they glance at our linked hands.

Those to my left smile and say a quick hello, then turn back to their own conversations. Everyone keeps their distance now that we're seated, but I'm still overwhelmed with the warmth of it all—the joy and respect radiating from each fae in the room. They're genuinely happy to be here.

"Are Hattie or Claude coming tonight?" I ask.

"Not tonight," she says, running her gloved hands over her trousers. "Josie should be here soon though."

Nora pours me wine from one of the bottles scattered across the table. Then, she fiddles with her napkin, resetting it on her lap a few times until it's laying just right over her thighs.

"Is everyone always so…" I drawl, not finishing the sentence.

I can't quite find the right word, but my meaning must translate because she finishes the thought for me.

"Normal with me?" she says, one brow quirking up. "No. It's the one time that I ask for status to be checked at the door. For everyone."

"I'm surprised they go along with it."

"It wasn't a hard sell. I was one of them before I was Pride. Grew up alongside them." She grabs a piece of bread from one of the baskets on the table, dipping it into a plate of olive oil and herbs. "Sometimes it's nice to slip back into being Nora. Even if they don't call me that anymore."

My lips twitch with a sad smile. Being a Sin's daughter always kept me separate from everyone else, but becoming one? That solidified a divide between me and my peers that couldn't be crossed—that they didn't want to cross.

Except for Nora and Josie, of course.

"I can understand that."

Nora's hand lands on my knee and squeezes.

"I know," she says.

We were lucky to find each other when we did. Nora and me, Leo and Josie—the four of us are a rare bunch of perfectly matched friends.

Younglings burst from the kitchen doors to a chorus of cheers; the teens, clearly conscripted into being servers, roll their eyes, while their younger counterparts beam crooked smiles. Large, round serving dishes full of pasta and seafood are dropped in front of us along with basket upon basket of fresh bread. Inhaling deeply, the scent of melted butter and roasted garlic makes my stomach growl.

"They've got you running with the younglings again, Wes?" Nora asks, snapping me out of my food-induced haze. "When you're done, you should join us."

The fae stands between our chairs, ruffling his red-brown hair. He doesn't look much younger than us, though he's on the lankier side. He's got his shirt rolled to his elbows and is wearing a stained apron tied around his waist.

"I figured I'd help Nan out. Like I told you the other day, she's been complaining about her joints." He leans in close to whisper, "Thank you for letting me keep that tonic. I've started slipping a drop in her tea at night. I think it's working." His smile turns nervous as he leans back and pats at his belly. "Also, I can't say helping out in the kitchen is completely selfless. I get to be the taste-tester."

Nora pulls apart a loaf of still-steaming bread, dropping one piece onto my plate and popping another into her mouth.

"Well, the offer still stands." She smiles, and it's the softest tilt of her lips I've ever seen on her. "Or you can go tell your grandma thank you for me."

"Of course. Will do," he says, turning away.

"Oh, and Wes?" Nora calls.

"Yes?" He jolts to a stop, wide eyes turned our way.

"Good job the other night. I'm adding you to the guard rotation human-side."

His smile is tight-lipped, rosy cheeks getting redder at the praise. I'm still watching the door swing back and forth when Nora speaks again.

"That's Claude's younger brother. Half brother. Their dad was a cheating bastard, but their moms raised them right." Nora begins serving herself food off the many platters. "He made a stupid mistake recently, but he cares about his family. He's overall eager to prove himself. And he's powerful. I don't want him falling through the cracks."

I nod, understanding.

Rising in the ranks of your House can hold a level of danger, bringing you closer to the powerful players in the city, Royals and Sins alike. But there are a thousand worse ways a kid can get lost, tied up in the wrong kind of trouble.

"So, you've taken him on as a protégé?"

She hums, her head bobbing from side to side. "He has potential."

"You care for him."

Nora's knife pauses mid-slice in the pan of lasagna. Her brows knit together.

"Yeah, you could say that," she says. "He reminds me of me."

"I think it's sweet," I say.

She doesn't respond, her attention trained on her knife stabbing into the layers of pasta, cheese, and meat. Her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, then her eyes dart towards me with a devious glint. A flirty mask slides over her face.

"You're sweet," she says.

"Charming," I snort, but my cheeks still heat.

She's in a good mood tonight. Hope tickles my gut.

I serve myself, using the tongs to deposit a heaping portion of the garlic and oil pasta with clams onto my plate. Nora cuts me a slice of the infamous lasagna and another piece of bread, telling me to use it to sop up the extra sauce.

We fall into a peaceful silence as we pass the family style dishes back and forth, filling our plates—though it's less of a silence and more of a lull in conversation. The room itself is quite loud, a symphony of forks and knifes scraping against ceramic and little oohs and aahs over mouthfuls of pasta. They are the sounds of contentment, so different from the overly animated screams and giggles I'm used to at the Den.

It's a new kind of intimacy to bear witness to.

I like it.

A child runs past us, hair whipping wildly around her face and arms tightly clutched around an entire basket of bread. Right behind her are her siblings, screaming for her to slow down. My chest shakes with restrained laughter—how many times had Conor and I chased each other around our mother's apartment like that when we were little?

As I twirl spaghetti around my fork, a curiosity finds itself on my tongue.

"Do you want kids one day?" I blurt out.

The blood drains from Nora's cheeks.

"What?" Nora sputters, nearly choking on the pasta in her mouth.

She coughs, face turning red as she pats at her chest. When she finally clears her throat—and after guzzling down half a glass of water—she takes a large steadying breath.

"Um. No. I don't," she says. "Why do you ask?"

"I was curious," I say. I twirl the rest of the pasta onto my fork and pop it in my mouth, swallowing down the garlicky goodness alongside a dallop of disappointment. "And the way you were with Wes before."

"I'd be a terrible parent," she says quickly, stabbing a piece of shrimp onto her fork. She waves it at me accusingly. "I think the food is making you see things."

"Oh? Is special sauce code for something else?" I tease.

"Wes's nan is definitely spiking it with something ," Nora mutters, popping the shrimp into her mouth.

"If garlic and butter are drugs, sure." I take a sip of my wine, the burst of fruity flavor complimenting my meal. "Though I have to say, I'm offended you haven't brought me to one of these yet. I've been missing out on stellar home-cooked meals all these years?"

Nora dabs her mouth with a napkin before setting it atop her finished plate.

"Like I said before, it was—" she's interrupted by a body falling into the empty seat at my side.

"Hey, Mo," Josie says, an exhausted smile on her face. She looks all kinds of rumpled, shirt wrinkled and flyaway hairs framing her face. She licks her lips as she deftly fills her plate with the scraps left from the meal. Her brown eyes, ever watchful, spy me from her periphery. "Glad to see Nora finally took my advice. You two hash it out? You good now?"

"Um…" My mouth pops open and my eyes cut to Nora. "I think so?"

She takes a second to answer, but I note the moment she commits to my forgiveness fully: her shoulders pull back, her eyes glint, and her red lips pull into her signature smirk.

"We're good."

The crushing weight on my heart lifts.

"Good," I say softly.

"So, our standing Friday nights at the Den can resume? Leo and I were worried you two wouldn't make up, and then we'd have to go to Envy's clubs." Josie fake gags. "As if I want to be Leo's wingwoman at a dance club."

"The Den has dancing," I argue.

"Not the same kind of dancing."

"I thought Leo was your wingman," Nora says. "He better be doing the job right, since he stole it from me."

"Does he help with my anxiety until I'm two drinks in? Yes. But after that, I'm good. I'm not eighteen anymore, Nor." She shoots us both a look that says we're both being idiots. She taps her temple. "He just likes that I can tell if they're into him."

"But he's an empath," I say. "Can't he tell for himself?"

"He says it's unethical for him to use his magic like that."

"Leo's unfairly attractive, and women throw themselves at him completely sober. I say you ditch him, and I take my rightful place back at your side," Nora says, utterly serious.

"Excuse me," I mock outrage, hand on my chest.

Nora throws up her hands. "It's simply a fact that he could pull anyone attracted to men."

"We do have an above-average looking friend group," Josie says through a mouthful of bread.

A beat passes between the three of us before we burst into laughter.

It's easy for us to fall back into our friendship.

"Actually, speaking of Friday night. We have Gluttony's opening this week," Nora says, pointing at Josie with her fork.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot with everything else going on." Josie throws her napkin onto the table and leans back in her chair. Josie's smile lights up her face, round cheeks prominent and squishable with two little dimples. Where Nora is all sharp angles, Josie is rounded. "We have a whole table reserved. You should come, Mo."

"Sure," I say. "I didn't realize Gluttony and you were close?"

"Not so much that we're close as we're experimenting on some new business deals." Nora's nose scrunches. She leans her forearms on the table, cocking her head and shooting Josie a conspirator's glance. "Josie over here took lead on the project, sourcing goods for Gluttony's chefs."

"It's a whole human-fae fusion concept," Josie says, red tinting her cheeks. "Utilizing rare human ingredients and pairing them with Faerie staples."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" I reach over and squeeze Josie's knee. "That's amazing."

"Thanks, I'm quite proud of it."

"I never realized you were so creative. You've been holding out on me. You should help out with our expansion."

The kitchen doors fling open again, revealing younglings carrying bottles of dessert liquors, coffee, and platters overflowing with cookies and pastries.

"Only if you want me to," Josie says.

"Why wouldn't I want you to?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Then it's settled," I say, lifting my glass. "To the first of hopefully many collaborations between our Houses."

Our glasses clink together, ringing out little chimes as Wes drops a plate of dessert in front of us that makes me salivate. Flaky golden pastries shaped like clam shells sit at the center and cookies line the edge. Some are sprinkled with pine nuts, some have thumbprint dips filled with jam, and others are dipped in chocolate. But all of them smell like butter and sugar and all that is good in the realm.

Nora taps my shoulder, and I'm once again jolted from a food-induced stupor. One of her black brows is cocked in amusement.

"What?" I ask.

"I asked if you will join me upstairs for dessert?"

I eye the platters of pastries, then her. I have to blink a few times before it registers that I'm not imagining the way her eyes darken with hunger.

"Only if I get a pastry after dessert," I tentatively tease.

"I already asked that someone bring some up for us," she says, a dangerous lilt to her words. "Though I'm not opposed to partaking in both kinds of sweets."

Josie snorts as both Nora and I shove our chairs back, the legs scraping against the floor and drawing the wide-eyed attention of those around us. But Nora doesn't pay any mind, simply grabbing my hand and tugging me from my seat.

And like so many times before, I find myself being pulled upstairs by Nora—but this time we're not drunk, not stumbling, and the voice at the back of my head is blissfully silent.