22. Saoirse

Saoirse

M orning light streamed through the bakery's sad excuse for windows, casting a disjointed glow over the room. I groaned, stretching as I woke. I looked toward the floor, but Vane was already gone, which may have been for the better. The events of the previous night played on a loop in my mind, even when I was dreaming, particularly that kiss. Had Vane been as affected as me?

I knew it was a distraction, a way to keep us from being discovered, but it had felt like so much more than just a fleeting kiss. The press of his lips against mine, his hands on my waist, the heat—it was vivid in my mind.

But it was a ruse. Vane had made that clear enough with his attitude the night before, and that's the way I wanted it. There was no room in my life for love, or lust, or whatever the hell that had been.

But I wondered. If we had met under different circumstances, not bound by the pretenses that had crossed our paths with each other. Would there have been a spark? Something to explore?

But in the end, it didn't matter. And it never would.

Before I could dwell on it any further, a loud knock at the door jolted me out of bed. I stumbled, pulling on some semblance of a presentable outfit, making my way down the bakery steps quickly. I'd told Vane never to answer the door, we could never be too careful. Undoing the latch, I threw the door open to find a young boy in a courier's uniform, a large package held in his smaller hands. Lightlace youth often worked menial jobs around the city, as a way to get real world experience, or so my father called it.

I called it free labor.

"Delivery for Miss Saoirse," he piped cheerily, handing over the package with a polite nod.

"Thank you," I replied, taking the package from him. Before I could blink, he'd already turned, disappearing down the still deserted street.

Curiosity piqued, I carried the package to the kitchen and placed it on the table with a thump. Vane was already there, seated at the table with a cup of tea in hand. He'd put his dreads up in a half up, half down style that accentuated his cheekbones, the sharp lines of his jaw standing out against his skin. He glanced up at me, his expression unreadable.

"Morning," he said casually, as if he hadn't just had his face pressed against mine the night before.

"Morning," I echoed, not bothering to keep the slight awkwardness out of my tone. I busied myself with unwrapping the package, revealing a collection of exquisite dresses in the Volari family colors of gold, red, and black. Each one was more stunning than the last.

"Xan must have sent these," I mused aloud, running my fingers over the luxurious fabrics. Each one of these dresses probably cost what the bakery produced in a month. Growing up, I'd only been allowed to wear servant garbs or clothes I'd thrifted in consignment shops on the rare occasions I'd ventured into the city. "I suppose she wants me to look the part for dinner."

Vane said nothing, his attention firmly focused on his tea. His indifference stung, nearly making me wonder if I'd been the one to do something wrong.

I picked up the nearest dress, a beautiful draping gold gown with intricately embroidered suns, and held it up against myself. "What do you think?" I asked, trying to gauge his reaction. It was a legitimate question; I knew absolutely nothing about fashion, and he was the only person around that I could ask. With how fashionably hopeless I was, any help was better than no help.

"It suits you," he replied, his tone neutral. "I'm sure you'll look great."

"Thanks," I said softly, disappointed and confused. If it'd been just a kiss for distraction, why was he reacting like this? Did he think I thought it'd meant more than it did? Irritation brewed in the back of my mind.

I put the dress back in the box, sighing as I glanced at my reflection in the tiny mirror hanging on the wall, getting a glimpse of my tangled mess of hair. What in Daer's name was I going to do with that?

Vane continued to sip his tea, calm and collected, driving my irritation up minute by minute.

I sorted through the dresses, trying to decide which one to wear. The gold gown was beautiful, so was the red one with its flowing skirts and delicate lace. The black dress was equally stunning, with intricate beading that caught every reflection of the light. I couldn't help but marvel at the craftsmanship of each piece, a pinch of gratitude toward Xan for thinking of me.

If left to my own devices, I would have had to scrounge in the shops for a used dress, my Awakening dress thoroughly destroyed and rotting in the garbage somewhere.

Fine by me.

"Seriously, which one do you think I should wear? I need help." I asked him again, holding the red one in front of me next to the black one.

"They all look good," Vane replied noncommittally, not even looking up at me. "You can't go wrong with any of them."

I huffed in frustration, slamming the dresses back into the box. "Would you stop acting so strange?" I snapped. "We both know it was nothing. Just a distraction, so why are you being so weird?"

Vane's eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for a moment, I glimpsed something raw and angry before his unreadable mask slipped back into place. He stood, pushing his chair back with a little more force than necessary. "Yes, it was a distraction." He muttered, his voice tight. He stilled, crimson eyes flicking to mine. "Wear the gold."

My heart pounded in my chest, a whirlwind of emotions at his outburst. "Good," I retorted, feeling completely childish as soon as the words left my mouth, but I turned away from him, back to the dresses. I didn't want to think about the kiss anymore, didn't want to dwell on the confusing feelings it had stirred.

That door, which should have never been opened in the first place, was irrevocably closed.

A knock on the door dissipated the tension, and I turned, relieved for the interruption. Reaching the door, I opened it to find the same boy, his green eyes slightly irritated, another package in his arms as he impatiently tapped one foot.

"Another delivery for Miss Saoirse," he stated, handing over the second package. "Sorry, thank you!" I called after him, but he was already gone.

I brought this one to the kitchen, my thoughts a jumbled mess. Vane was standing near the window over the sink, his back to me, his eyes curious. It seemed he'd finally let go of whatever it was he'd been holding on to, and I nearly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Another package from Xan, I guess," I said, my voice lacking its usual energy.

Vane turned slightly. "What is it? Open it," he said, his tone more subdued.

I carefully unwrapped the package to reveal a small velvet box. Inside was a delicate string of ocean blue pearls, with a depth of color I hadn't thought possible with the naked eye. They were truly beautiful, and likely incredibly expensive. It would be a perfect complement to the gold dress Vane had picked.

A small note fell from the box, and I picked it up, reading the elegant script aloud.

To Saoirse, a lovely gift it will be to see you tonight. -Len

My heart skipped a beat, my cheeks flushing hot. Len? Why would he send me a gift? I glanced at Vane, who wore a dark expression.

"Looks like you made quite the impression," he remarked, his voice flat.

His reaction bothered me, but I couldn't pinpoint exactly why. It wasn't as if I had asked the prince to send me this, or given any indication that I was interested in something with him. "He's just being friendly," I said, trying to downplay the significance. The other part of me wanted to scream how this necklace was the opposite of friendly and probably cost more than this entire bakery. "I'm sure it doesn't mean anything."

"Sure," he replied, turning back to the window. "Just a necklace."

With nothing left to say, I turned back to the mirror, staring at my tangled mess of hair. Even in the nicest gown, with the nicest jewelry, I was going to stand out if I went with my hair like this, and not in a good way. Reaching into a drawer I kept by the stairs, I pulled out the sorry excuse I used for a comb, trying to tug it through my curls and failing miserably. A cry escaped me as I snagged on a particularly offensive knot, and I gasped when firm hands pulled the comb from my grasp. The hint of a shadow snuck out from Vane's sleeve, just barely skimming my skin, gooseflesh rippling up my arms at the strange sensation .

"This is the worst possible way to your curls," he said disapprovingly, frowning at the thing I called a brush. "Have you never properly cared for your hair before?"

"What do you mean?" I turned, my brows knitted. "I brush it and wash it, just like everybody else."

"That's it?" His tone was shocked, his crimson eyes wide. "What is wrong with you?"