She hesitates, but not before I see the desire in her eyes. Oh yeah, she wants to wear my clothes. And I want her to wear my clothes. Thinking about her in a pair of my sweats and T-shirt shouldn’t be such a turn-on, but now my dick’s throbbing, and I have to get back into jeans, which is going to be difficult and uncomfortable.
“I shouldn’t. Everyone will know then.”
“Trust me, if Granny is here, and she is here, then everyone already knows.”
“Oh my god, no!” Elodie looks at me in sheer panic. She’s holding her jeans, about to jam her legs through them even though they probably smell like her from earlier, and god, that thought is enough to make it really difficult to put my own jeans on.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Maybe there’s a chance she wouldn’t have said anything.”
“They wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. The curse is of the utmost importance.”
Elodie clasps her bra on—something I never thought I’d watch her do—and pulls her sweater over her head. Then, she twirls her long hair into a tight bun and secures it with an elastic that I have no idea how she found.
“How do I look?” she asks, stepping back and twirling slowly.
I want to tell her that from her finger-raked, snarled hair to her swollen lips to the delicious and subtle scent of arousal still clinging to her that she looks thoroughly sexed up. But I think she’d have a breakdown if I told her the truth.
“Beautiful.” That’s the other truth.
It’s always going to be true, no matter if we’re old and wrinkled together. I find myself hoping we will get there, and even though it’s quite an extreme thought for someone who hasn’t really ever considered it—I’m more of a live in the here and now type of person—I don’t find it to be a bad idea.
Elodie’s face softens, and her eyes get this sweet, glassy look. I can’t believe all it took was a single word to erase her anxiety and put that adorable smile back on her face. Surely I’ve told her she was beautiful before, haven’t I?
Not like this.
“I’m ready then.” However, she sounds anything but sure.
I tug on a fresh T-shirt and swipe my hands through my hair before I even realize I’m doing it. I don’t want Elodie to be nervous, which means I should stop with my own anxious tells.
“At least we’ll face them together.”
Panic. That’s the only way I can describe Ell’s expression. Sheer. Freaking. Panic. “What’s our story then? I think we should get it straight, or they’re going to divide and conquer immediately.”
“This is my family we’re talking about. You know them and love them, and they know and love you. There isn’t going to be any dividing and conquering.”
“Oh really? Not even in good fun?”
“Shit. You’re right. Okay. Our story?”
We both fall silent, and I can see Elodie’s jaw tick as she thinks. Her eyes are narrowed, and she’s focused on one spot in the room, which happens to be my dresser. Her eyes are about sock drawer level, specifically.
“The curse made us do it?” she finally suggests.
“Yeah, I think we should stick with that.”
“But won’t that bring up a thousand other questions? Maybe we should just deny everything.”
“Maybe, but they know we’re up here.”
“They could assume we’re in different rooms.”
“Granny probably already poisoned that well.”
“I don’t think your grandmother is the poisoning type. What expression is that anyway? Who poisons wells? Like seriously, was it so common that it became used as one of those cliched sayings? And I don’t think your brother, sister, or cousins are wells. They’re people. Also, Ellis, Luna, and Lindy all have open minds, so you’re right. They’re probably here to support us.”
“More like congratulate us for falling under the curse’s spell and joining the leagues of the sappy and happy.”
“Sappy and happy?” she asks with a huff. “Do you really think about them that way?”
I hesitate because I’m sure she’s not going to like the answer, and honestly, over the past few days, I think I’ve pissed Ellis off more than I have in the past five years combined. “Sometimes, I think they’re a little over the top.” There. That shouldn’t make Ellis rip-roaring mad. It’s better than admitting the truth.
But she narrows her eyes even further, and now she’s crossing her arms. Shit. She only does that when she’s digging in for something important, like a lecture. “I already know what you think. You think all relationships are doomed, you think love is fake, and you think people can’t and won’t make it.”
“I don’t think that.”
“You do. Because your dad fucked you up. I know that. You know that. It’s okay to admit it. But really? Your brother? And your cousins? They seem really happy!”
“They are. At the moment,” I tack on under my breath.