“Well, you made it very clear you weren’t going to leave your mom. And I thought I was clear that I wasn’t leaving you.”
Giddiness had no place here. But she felt it. It wasn’t a promise of love forever. It was a vow to protect. Simple as that. It was nice getting caught up in the fantasy of being the regular girl she was yesterday, bound to a regular Quentin for love and not duty. A scary thought tore through the fantasy with its claws. Could she have any sort of love life now?
“Hey,” Quentin said, pulling her back with a finger tilting her face up to his. “You have a scared, distant look and the seneschal band is screaming you’re worried. Don’t be, I won’t let anything happen to you or your mom. I promise.”
Then he did what every girl wishes a guy like him would do—he stepped closer, wrapped his hands around her shoulders, and kissed her gently on the forehead. But he pulled back…too soon. She realized seconds later that even though he touched her, this time she didn’t feel his emotions. Not only did he take her breath away, he briefly muted her curse, which left her wondering the same thing she had a little earlier when they left her grandfather’s. How was it supposed to be between them? Technically, she’d only been Chosen for a day, but one didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know the two of them getting involved in any way other than a Chosen-Guardian arrangement would be very, very bad juju. They needed to have boundaries. Forced, necessary boundaries. Even if she didn’t want them.
“Food,” Grace said, sidestepping him to check the refrigerator for something to make for dinner, then checking the cupboards instead since he didn’t move. “I can make homemade mac and cheese. Sound good?”
“Sounds great.”
Rooting through the cupboards for ingredients, pots, and cooking utensils, she turned and bumped into Quentin as he still stood stock-still in front of the refrigerator. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, as she felt her cheeks start their familiar burning. She thought for sure she was getting her cheek-warming issue under control, but was reminded of its unwelcome presence when she felt her face heat up. Again. She averted her eyes to the shapes in the tile flooring. “I need to get the cheese and milk.” Still, he didn’t move, just stood there and looked at her with a slight smile on his face. “What?” she snapped self-consciously.
“Nothing, I just like it when you blush,” he said, and continued to stare at her as she studied the wall behind him. “It’s cute,” he finished.
“Um, thanks?” What else could she say? Sometimes Quentin was so easy to talk to and then other times he would get her all flustered and tongue-tied. Boundaries. She definitely needed boundaries. Clearly, he didn’t.
“You can go watch TV while I make dinner, if you want. You don’t have to stand in here and keep me company.”
As he grabbed the refrigerator handle, he talked and reached. “I’m actually pretty good in the kitchen.” He walked to the counter and put the milk and cheese down. He leaned against the Formica, arms and ankles crossed, looking back to Grace. “Now what?”
“So,” she said, loosening up a little. “Guardian by day, cook by night?”
“No.” His face was intense and serious. “Guardian always. I just have other things that I’m pretty good at too.” He smiled and winked. Boundaries, she sang in her head. Quickly, Grace whipped around, grabbing the pot to fill it with water and put it on the stove.
“What can I do?” Quentin asked again.
“Uh…grate cheese?” she suggested.
He smiled, making little wrinkles form at the edges of his steel-colored eyes. “I am an expert cheese grater.”
She leaned against the cabinets, smiling back at him, and rested her palms behind her on the counter.
“No really, I am.”
He smiled, and she smiled back. Neither moved.
“Just need a grater.” He snickered.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as she jumped away from the cabinets, leaping for the drawer where the grater was. “Here, sorry, I’m kind of out of it right now.”
“I understand. You’ve had a lot thrown at you. It’ll get better, I promise.”
As Quentin went to work on the cheese, she watched tiny bubbles rise from the bottom of the pot. She agreed, she did have a lot thrown at her. Her issue at the moment, strangely, had nothing to do with finding out what she was, and everything to do with what she was beginning to feel for Quentin. She knew what she was feeling. She felt everything he was feeling. Lines were beginning to blur. Boundaries, physical distance, strictly business—all lines she had to, for the sake of her own sanity, draw between them.
“Done.” Quentin had grated all the cheese in record time.
Grace nodded with approval. “Expert Grater, you are.” She laughed, and he chuckled along with her. As Grace finished with the meal, Quentin poured them something to drink and placed both in front of the chairs at the island.
“This is really good,” Quentin said a short time later, his face practically in his plate, mouth full of macaroni.
“Thanks, pig.”
“Sorry, I can’t help it.”
Grace beamed at the compliment. “It’s okay, I’m happy you like it.”
Quentin’s shoveling slowed and Grace’s nerves calmed. They talked about favorite movies, foods, places to see. When he learned they shared a love for The Godfather, his jaw dropped in surprise.
“What?” she asked innocently.
“Girls usually don’t like The Godfather, is all. They just don’t get it.”
“Well, those girls—”
A woman’s voice called from the foyer. “Grace? I’m home.”
Grace’s eyes widened as she stared back at Quentin. Her mother was home early. “Ready?” she asked softly.
Laney got up from the sofa. “Okay. Let me pack a couple of bags.”
Grace watched in shock as her mother made her way down the hall. “That’s it?” Unbelievable. “No questions? Just…okay?” She crossed her arms, her features pulled downward as her voice rose with her disbelief.
Laney paused and hesitated a moment before returning to the doorway of the living room. “Right now we need to get back to Christophe’s. Any questions you have for me, or I have for Quentin, can wait until we cross that threshold.” Laney didn’t wait for any more questions. As Grace listened to the shuffling of suitcases and pings of hangers hitting the walls of the closet, she knew her short reprieve of worry was over.
That was too easy. Her mother wasn’t telling her something.
Great, she thought. What now?
The reflection in her bathroom mirror didn’t seem any different than yesterday. Bending at the hips, Grace leaned over the sink for a better look. At closer glance, she couldn’t see any changes. She certainly didn’t feel different. Quentin said the sene-whatever band had changed completely, which meant she did too. But into what exactly? Chosen, she got that part. What was so special about being Chosen? The mirror still reflected the same Grace she’d always seen there.
Everything felt the same.
On the other hand, she did have angel blood coursing through her veins. How freaking cool is that? Chosen should feel different, not just the doom and gloom part of it. The pressure cloud hanging over her surely felt like change. How fair was it to have all the risk and responsibility, but no reward for the burden you bear for the sake of everyone else? There had to be more to this Chosen thing, she reasoned. With both hands, she pulled her face down, looking for changes in her appearance, other than the obvious long face.
“Why yes, Quentin, I’d love to go to dinner with you.” Nope, she didn’t sound different either. “Mo—”
“Hey, Grace?” Quentin tapped on her bedroom door. “You alright in there?”
Shocked, she squatted to the floor, gripping the edge of the counter. Why was she trying to hide? The bathroom door was shut, and so was her bedroom door. There was no way he could have seen her acting like an idiot in front of the mirror. Unless… Wrenching the bathroom door open, she stomped throug
h her bedroom, yanking its door open as well. A surprised Quentin stood wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“Can you see through walls?”
“Can I what?” His eyebrows drew together as he chuckled. “I’m not Superman.”
“Can you fly?”
“No.” He sounded completely unwilling to elaborate. “Are you almost done? You have school tomorrow and your mom has to get up for work.”
“Be there in a minute.” Relieved he didn’t witness her performance, Grace turned and surveyed her room. Not really wanting to pack, she stumbled to her closet, tossing clothes here, shoes there, and decided on bathroom necessities. With her suitcase dragging behind her, Grace returned to the family room. Quentin and Laney were both waiting.
Quentin reached for the suitcase. “Ready?”
“I got it.” The obnoxious hum of the suitcase’s wheels followed as she walked to the Jag.
Laney didn’t need to be told which room at Morgan Manor was hers. Every time their family had any gatherings that went too late in the night, she would sleep in the guest room at the very end of the hall from Grace’s. Laney and Quentin passed the doorway of Grace’s bedroom, a suitcase in Laney’s hand, and two boxes in Quentin’s.
Torn between being relieved her mother gave her no grief about moving and not wanting the homey feeling of the manor to be tarnished, Grace sighed and heaved the suitcase on top of the bed and started unpacking. Once she was done, she pulled some comfy pajamas from the dresser and went into her bathroom to get ready for bed. Mentally she gave herself a pep talk as she sat on the edge of the tub. She needed to talk to her mother to find out what else was going on. Why was Laney so ready to go and not surprised by the sudden urgency to get out of her house?
Quickly, Grace brought her hands down, slapping the edge of the tub with a loud whack. “Here goes nothing,” she said aloud as she stood up. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she strained to listen for voices. None upstairs and certainly none downstairs. The house was eerily quiet. She didn’t think that both her mother and Quentin would just go to bed their first night without saying good night. They could be somewhere in the house talking. She crossed her fingers and hoped they were.
Walking on the balls of her feet, she tried to be as quiet as possible. Maybe she’d get lucky and overhear what she wanted to know instead of having to face down her mother for the truth. Her mental switchboard was already running at full capacity and dangerously close to overloading. Tonight was not a good night for a Laney argument.
Grace twisted her fingers tighter, and sidled toward the aroma of coffee wafting from the kitchen. Heels and back against the wall, she leaned her ear closer to the door. She still didn’t hear anything, but she knew someone was in there. Peeling herself off the wall, she walked through the doorway. Laney sat on the far side of the breakfast nook table, Quentin on the side closest to Grace with his left elbow on the table, the right hanging off the back of the chair. Both were quietly watching her. Waiting is more like it, Grace decided.
“Don’t tell me, ‘the band,’” she added air quotes, “told you I was coming.” Grace grabbed a coffee cup from the cupboard, poured herself a cup, and sat at the head of the table closest to her mother and Quentin.
“Don’t mock the band, hater. I knew you were lurking outside the door,” Quentin said with a slight smile.
Grace took a quick sip of coffee. “How’d you know I was standing outside the door?”
“Well, it’s kind of like what I said to you about the band helping me know how you’re feeling. It also helps me sense where you are.”
“It’s a GPS tracker?” she asked as her mother remained quiet, but obviously visually engaged in the conversation.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what, exactly? Stop speaking ‘Quentin’ and just spit it out already.” This beating around the bush thing was going to drive her mental.
“The seneschal band links us together. I sense you, feel you. Your emotions run through my veins … fear, sadness, happiness. The whole gamut.”
Laney still hadn’t said a word and the look on her face confirmed to Grace she wasn’t surprised by anything she heard. Grace’s head swiveled back and forth between the two. “So, what you’re telling me is, not only can I be sensed by the others, but I can also be tracked by you?”
“Basically.”
“Great, my personal paparazzi posse is now complete. Yay, me!” She jerked her chin toward her mother. “And why do you seem like you already know about all of this?”
Laney cleared her throat. “After listening to you and Quentin back at the house, it seemed like the smart thing to do was leave with you.”
“Uh-uh, that’s bull. I know you, and you would have fought him tooth and nail. Especially since he’s a stranger.” Laney’s eyes searched out Quentin’s. Quentin’s locked on Laney’s. “Oh, come on. You two never met before tonight, right?”
“Grace, listen …” Laney said, as she reached for Grace’s hand.
Grace pulled away from the table, pulling her hands away and holding them in the air. “Right, Mom?” Her mother didn’t say a word. “I can’t believe this. You’ve known?” Grace shook her head slightly as the realization sunk in. “Why would you not tell me? Is there anyone, anyone at all, who hasn’t lied to me my whole life?”
“Please, Grace, you don’t understand,” Laney pleaded.
“I understand you’re a liar!” Grace shifted her eyes accusingly to Laney’s. “I understand Christophe was a liar. I understand my father was a liar, and now I understand Quentin’s a liar. I completely understand that I have been and still remain surrounded by liars!”
She tried sipping her coffee despite the emotion rattling her teeth against the cup’s edge. Things just kept getting better. The more she knew, the more she wanted off the crazy train that had suddenly become her life.
“Grace,” Quentin said softly. She couldn’t look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes and hands on her cup. He sighed loudly, but continued. “We couldn’t tell you. In fact, we weren’t even supposed to tell Laney, but your grandfather insisted.”
Grace’s eyes stayed fixed on her coffee. “Why couldn’t you tell me?”
“It’s the rules.”
“So you guys broke the rules to tell her, but not me? Obviously, the rules can be broken.” With the tips of her fingers, Grace twirled her cup on the table.
“I didn’t—” Quentin began, but Grace slamming her hand on the table stopped him from finishing his sentence.
“Grace,” her mother snapped. “This may be your house, but I am still your mother and you will stop being rude. We’re only trying to help you, trying to keep you safe.”
Grace stood from her seat, both hands flat on the table. “Mom, you’re right, this is my house…” ‘So get the hell out’ teetered on the edge of her tongue, threatening to fall from her lips, but she managed to bite it back. “But I shouldn’t be rude.” She looked Quentin in the eye. “Quentin, I’m sorry. I’m really tired and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Avoidance had been working for her so far, and she decided that it would be the best choice for her tonight. “I’m going to bed.” She poured out what was left of her coffee in the sink, and put the cup in the dishwasher. A thick silence hung in the air as she left the kitchen.
Grace slid her finger along the wooden banister as she slowly took each step one at a time. She paused in front of her grandfather’s door, wrapping her hand slowly around the knob, willing herself to turn the handle. Not finding the inner strength, she relented, and rested her head against the coolness of the wood. She closed her eyes and lifted her hand to press her palm against the door, wishing the memories of her grandfather could calm her. “I miss you,” she whispered, and tapped her fingers four times gently against the door before she pushed away and continued down the hall to her room.
Seconds later, she collapsed on her bed, blinking hard against the burning that threatened behind her eyes. It was a hard thing to swallow learning t
hat every adult she’d trusted, from the time she was a little girl, had lied to her in one way or another. She’d thought the day of her grandfather’s funeral was the loneliest she’d ever felt in her life. Boy, was she wrong. Curling into a fetal position on top of the bedcovers, she let go of both her brave front and her tears.
Quentin didn’t need to see her tears to know they were there. He felt each one of them fall. Every teardrop felt like a magnetic pull on his body. The pull so strong, he fought to stay put in the kitchen chair. She needed time and he needed to make sure their relationship stayed strictly Guardian and Chosen. Comforting her in the way he wanted would confuse his heart and mind even further. He rose from the table, walked behind his chair, and gripped its back so hard his knuckles whitened.
“She’s right, you know,” he said to Laney.
“How so?”
“We never should have told you.”
“Christophe thought it was the right thing to do and it was.” Laney pulled her chin up, meeting his gaze straight on.
The way Laney looked now, he could see where Grace got her stubborn resolve. “I’m not too sure it was. We’ve been keeping secrets from her since she was a little girl. It’s going to be hard to keep her safe, to keep her alive, if she doesn’t trust me and want me around.”
Quentin watched as Laney’s eyes narrowed into a threatening glare. “You’d better keep her safe, Quentin, because there’s nowhere I won’t go to hunt you down if anything happens to her.”
He met her eyes squarely as his lips twitched, knowing she wouldn’t find his amusement at all funny. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you, but you don’t need to worry. I will keep her safe.” Stubborn resolve was one quality Grace got from her mother; the courage he felt from her was another. No matter how much these two women butted heads, the same strength of character ran through their veins, making them more alike than he knew either would ever want to admit.
“Good,” Laney said as she stood. “Then you and I won’t have a problem. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m tired too.”
Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace) Page 13