when his fingers connect to a sheet pan.
I smile. Can’t help it. It’s not that often I get to see cool and collected Adrien so domestically frazzled. “Want some help?”
He looks up from the burnt quiches. For half a second, he stares as though he doesn’t recognize me, then he blinks and grunts, “Thanks for coming to my surprise party.”
My smile grows. The fact that Charlotte didn’t know he’d hate it increases my opinion about their lack of durability. “Not what you had in mind to celebrate the big 2-4?”
“Not even close.” He stares past me at the crowd thickening like the snow on his windowsills. “In all honesty, I was hoping the fake outbreak would throw a wrench in her plan, but then my father had to go ahead and mention how this virus—”
“Isn’t all that contagious. I heard.” I prop the champagne bottle on the bar.
“Most of these kids are my students,” he adds in a hushed voice.
“Your girlfriend is your student, Adrien.”
“No. She was my student. I never crossed that line.” He shoves a lock of gelled hair back with his bare forearm and reads the label on the golden bottle. His eyes snap back to mine. “That’s much too good to drink tonight. I’ll put it away for when we’re done with the . . . puzzle.”
“Ah, the puzzle.” I sigh as he sticks the bottle under the sink, next to a fire extinguisher and cleaning supplies. “I wish I’d already gotten my leaf.”
He smiles, but it’s wrought with tension. “I’ve been meaning to call and check how you were holding up after the other day.”
I grab a metal spatula from the thick ceramic jug above the stove and start helping him slide the salvageable quiches from the blackened parchment paper onto the serving dish. “I’m okay. And you?”
He pauses. “I ran into her mother. She was visiting my dad.”
I bite my lip, then release it to whisper, “Does she believe Emilie ran away?”
“No. She thinks someone kidnapped her. She hired a private investigator. Papa was trying to calm her down, but she told him to go screw himself and his virus. That if her daughter was out there, she would find her.” He runs a hand down his face, getting a little smear of charred crust on his jaw. “It’s so awful.”
I’m about to tell him about the black smudge when Charlotte bustles in next to him, whining, “Bébé, you’re missing out on your own party.”
“Hardly. Cadence and I are having a grand old time making sure your guests don’t start gnawing on my Tudor furniture.”
“Our guests.”
“Yes. Our guests.”
She hooks one skinny arm around his neck and drags his face down to hers. I flick my gaze away, freezing when my eyes connect with a set of very, very dark ones. And I’m not just talking about their color.
Crap.
Slate ambles over to the kitchen, Bastian in tow, collecting quite a lot of attention on the way. I steel my spine and cross my arms, trying to quiet my ratcheting heart. I shouldn’t feel guilty to have left his text messages unanswered or to have failed to extend Charlotte’s invitation, and yet guilt is precisely the sentiment bubbling in me. That, and a little lust, because the boy cleans up much too well. Even the yellowing bruise on his forehead doesn’t distract from his appeal.
“Aw, yay!” Charlotte spins away from Adrien and grins at Slate. “You managed to cancel your thing!” Her eyes go straight to the small crowd dangling off the carved walnut furniture Adrien inherited from his father’s side of the family.
“Nice house,” Bastian says, looking around before zeroing in on the floor. “Those tiles are amazing.”
I study the deep blue arabesque motifs set against creamy white backgrounds. “Adrien brought them back from Marrakech.” When I look back up, Slate’s displeasure slams into me anew. Is he imagining me cementing them alongside Adrien? Probably . . .
“Cadence, can I talk to you?”
I want to say no but that would be childish, and I’m trying very hard to act like an adult, so I nod and walk toward the other end of the kitchen. “What?”
He frowns. “How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I thought you might’ve missed my texts, but I’m guessing you chose not to answer them. The same way you chose not to invite me tonight.” His voice has an unmistakable bite to it.
Instead of cowing me, it makes me stand straighter, taller.
His eyes don’t stray off mine. “Is there a reason you’ve been avoiding me?”
The desire