Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)(51)

Iris turned to face Attie, heart thundering in her chest. This was unexpected.

“Should we flip a coin for it, Iris?” Attie whispered.

Iris nodded. From the corner of her eye, she could just discern Marisol, pausing to watch what would happen.

Attie reached into her pocket and procured a coin. She held it up to the light and asked, “Mountain or castle?”

Iris licked her lips. She felt parched. She didn’t know what she wanted, and the indecision felt like a knife in her side. Perspiration began to prickle her palms. “Castle.”

Attie nodded and flicked the coin, high into the air. She caught the tumbling copper in her hands and opened her palm, extending it so Iris could see.

It was the mountain side of the coin.

Attie would go, then.



* * *



Roman stepped into Monahan’s at ten till one, hoping to be the first to arrive. To his shock, Elinor Little was already sitting at their table, waiting on him.

“Roman,” she greeted him in a cool voice. Her blond hair was crimped, her lips painted blood red. She was dressed in a navy dress with a fringed shawl, and her blue eyes were cold as she watched him take the chair across from hers.

“Elinor,” he replied.

This was one of the finest restaurants in Oath, where Roman’s parents had fallen in love over a long candlelit dinner. The setting was dim and romantic, with black and white floors, vases of roses on every table, marble statues in the corners, and velvet-draped windows.

Roman had never been more uncomfortable in his life, and he cleared his throat as he glanced over the menu. Elinor seemed uninclined to talk, and he had no idea what to say to her. Thankfully, a waiter emerged to pour them each a flute of champagne and to take the order for their first course.

But then it was back to a stilted silence, and Roman glanced around the restaurant, his eyes eventually landing on two marble statues in the nearest corner. Lovers, entwined together, and so magnificently carved that Roman could imagine they were real. The wrinkles in their raiment, the give of their skin as they clung to each other, the flow of their breaths …

“So,” Elinor finally said, and Roman returned his gaze to her. “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoed, and when she held out her flute, he clinked his glass to hers. They drank to this strange arrangement, and Roman’s palms were slick with perspiration when he looked at his fiancée. “Tell me more about you.”

Elinor snorted. “You don’t have to pretend, Roman. I know you don’t want to marry me any more than I want to wed you. We can eat in silence, appease our parents, and then return to our separate lives.”

He blinked. He didn’t know what to make of her statement—whether she was performing or if she truly felt that uninterested in him. He was marrying her in three weeks, and she was an utter stranger to him. He knew nothing about her other than her name and that she had once played the piano. And that she assisted her father in his laboratory, creating bombs.

The first course arrived.

Roman decided he would keep quiet, as she wanted, and see how long the two of them could eat in complete silence. He made it through three courses before he couldn’t stand it. He raked his fingers through his hair and set his eyes on her. She had scarcely looked at him the entire lunch, as if he didn’t exist.

“Why are we doing this?” he asked bluntly.

Elinor’s sharp gaze almost cut through him when she glanced up. “It’s for the good of both of our families.”

“Is it good when it’s to our own detriment?” he countered.

Elinor held his stare. “There are things happening beyond us, Roman. Things that are bound to unfold. And we must prepare for them.”

“Like what?” he asked a bit loudly. “Dacre coming to Oath?”

“Hush!” she whispered, but her eyes blazed. “You shouldn’t speak of such things in the open.”

“Such as how you’re helping your father build bombs to send to the war front on my father’s railroad,” he said in an icy tone. “To allow Dacre to destroy innocent people.” He inevitably remembered the night he had paced, worried sick about Iris. His hands curled into fists beneath the table.

Elinor froze. Her cheeks flushed, but she recovered swiftly, granting him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Bombs? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I saw them, Elinor. A huge crate of them in my father’s office.”

She took a sip of champagne. He was amazed by how callous she was.

“They aren’t bombs, Roman,” she said at last in a condescending tone. “They’re something else. Don’t judge or speak of things you don’t understand.”

Now he was the one to flush, embarrassed. “Then what are they?”

“You’ll find out once we’re married.” She drained her champagne and gathered her shawl closer about her shoulders. She was ready to leave before the last course had arrived, and Roman watched her rise.

“You’re in love with someone else,” he stated, which made her pause. He could see her swallow, and he knew she was working to hide her emotions. “You should be with them, not me. Don’t you see it, Elinor? You and I will be miserable together.”

“We can keep to our separate rooms, until we need an heir,” she murmured.