And that mattered, Breen thought, for the simple respect.
“I don’t want to make this about you and me.”
“Well, we’re in it, aren’t we?” he countered. “I never wanted her the way I wanted you, and that was unfair to her. I don’t have time to want you now, and still I do.”
And that, though she might wish otherwise, mattered, too.
“I didn’t tell you all this because I wanted you to be angry with her, or make me feel wanted. Or only partly there, because I can be as petty and needy as anyone. But I felt such rage in her, and desperation and … ambition.”
“I’m aware it’s more the taoiseach she’s wanted than myself. I’ve always been, but what did it matter? Now it does. I’ll speak with her.”
“I’d be careful there if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me, are you?” he said simply. “Now I have work, and you need to change out of your nightclothes.”
When he walked away, she looked down at Bollocks. “Did that go well? I’m not sure it did. But I got it out of my system, so there’s that. Let’s go make ourselves presentable and find some breakfast.”
When she walked back into her room, she found Marco waiting, Bollocks’s bowls filled, the table ready for breakfast for two, and her bed tidily made.
“Well, hi, and …” She looked around as Bollocks made a beeline for his breakfast. “Who did all this?”
“Brigid and Lo. They’re assigned to look after us. Somebody spotted you out walking, and they came in like—what’s that thing?— dervishes. I don’t know what that is except it moves fast. I said how maybe you and me could have breakfast together, and bam.”
She went straight for the pot of tea. “Where’s Brian?”
“Back on duty.”
“Sit,” she ordered, and did so herself. “Tell all.” Then she lifted the lid off a pot. “I think this is porridge. We’ll give it a shot. All,” she repeated.
“We spent a lot of time next door.”
“No! Let me find my shocked face.”
Laughing, Marco spooned up some porridge of his own. “We talked a lot, too. And we did finally walk down to the village—cool place— had a pub meal, listened to music. Kiara was there with some other people, so we hung out for a little while. But we wanted to come back, and he stayed until he had to report in this morning.”
“You look so happy, Marco.”
“Girl, I’m stupid with the happy. I think I love him. I think he loves me.”
Those big brown eyes of his looked into hers, implored. “Can you just fall in love—the real deal—just like that? Because I’ve fallen in the lusties, and the guy is hot or fun or interesting—all that real fast. But nothing like this, not for me.”
“I don’t think love has a time clock. Fast or slow or anywhere in between, it just is. And you look happy.”
“When we’re together, everything else goes away. I gave him the bracelet. He said it would be like carrying me with him wherever he went.”
“I may fall for him myself.” She slathered a slice of brown bread with butter and jam, passed it to him. “Eat, Happy Boy.”
“So. What did you do last night?”
“Well, I wasn’t busy falling in love, taking romantic walks, or having a lot of sex, but I did exactly what I wanted. I wrote, had the quiet, and got a good night’s sleep. Oh, I also ran into Kiara again, and she wants to do my hair this morning.”
“I really like her.”
“Me, too! And I can’t figure out why she’s best pals with the Mean Girl. I ran into Keegan this morning, and that was interesting.”
Marco grinned. “Tell all.”
She told him all so they dished the dirt over breakfast. Then she kicked him out so she could dress.
“Wear the leather pants with the white shirt and the heathery V-neck black sweater,” Marco suggested. “Leave the shirt out so the bottom shows under the sweater.”
“I didn’t bring the leather pants—which I wouldn’t have bought in the first place if you hadn’t worn me down.”
“Which is why I put them in your bag when you weren’t looking. Wear the leather. You look fine in them. Kick-ass. Tuck the legs into the boots. Brian says the Judgment’s serious business.”
He shot a finger at her, then hurried out.
Mostly because it meant she didn’t have to think or second-guess, she put on what he told her to put on, then did what she hoped was serious-business makeup.
She’d barely finished when Brigid and Lo scurried in to take away breakfast, and Kiara came in with them.
“Ah!” Kiara pressed her palms together. “You look lovely and strong. It would be a mannish look, but you have such a fine form it isn’t.”
“Thanks. It’s hard to know what’s appropriate.”
“You’ve done very well indeed. Now, I’ll give you hair, for certain, that complements the rest.”
“I love what you’ve done with yours.”
Kiara flipped at her high, curly ponytail. “Very simple, as I’ll be helping to mind the littles.”
“You’re not going to the Judgment?”
“For some of it, aye.” She gestured for Breen to sit, then opened a case full of brushes and combs, pins and jars, bands and ribbons. “Some will bring their children, of course—it’s good for children to see justice done. But the littles go fussy, after all.”
She ran her hands through Breen’s hair as she spoke. “Ah, sure and there’s so much of it! And healthy. What a fine color. I saw your father when he came to the Capital. He was very handsome.”
“He was.”
“Oh, and I met with Marco and Brian, speaking of handsome. We had some good craic at the pub.”
She chattered away as she worked, about the music, the man she’d decided to fall in love with, about people Breen didn’t know and who flirted with whom, who was angry about what.
“Have you been to your mother’s home world?”
“I have, aye. It’s beautiful, all gold and blue—sand and sea—and the cities have great colorful towers. And the sun bakes so you forget what cold and rain are. But Talamh is home, and we protect it, and so protect all.”
She stepped back, gave Breen a critical study. “I’m after simple for this again, and I think it’s working very well indeed. If I can find even a tiny bit of time before the Welcome, I’d love to fancy it up for you.”
Kiara took two mirrors out of her case, held the first up to Breen’s face, the other behind.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll change it.”
Breen saw her face framed by a few wispy curls, and the rest worked back into a long, loose fishtail braid.
“I don’t like it, I love it. You made it seem so easy. I could’ve struggled for an hour and not managed this. I wore it straight for so long, and Marco’s been trying to teach me how to style it, but I barely fumble through.”
“He’s the gods’ own hair, doesn’t he now? And such a voice, and … But wait.”
Kiara stopped, frowned. “You said— You’re meaning you took out the curls? Now why would you do such a thing when they’re so beautiful, and look so well on you?”
“Long story.”
“Sure that’s one I’d like to hear when we’ve time for it. I love stories.”
“Thank you for this, Kiara,” Breen said as Kiara packed away her tools. “Is there something I can trade?”
“Another time, but this is a welcome gift.”
“Prettiest one I’ve ever had,” she said, and made Kiara beam. “Can I ask—about Bollocks. Am I allowed to take him to the Judgment?”
Kiara glanced down at him where he sat—as he had throughout the hairstyling. “Of course, and why not, as he’s so well-behaved. Look at that sweet face.” She made kissy noises as she rubbed it, and Bollocks thumped his tail. “But I’m thinking he’s a young one as well, and like the young ones might rather be playing than sitting and behaving. Would he come with me?”