“I’ll congratulate him on his new home.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re talking about revolution.”
“Why are you acting surprised?” Lucien asked. “You knew that was a possibility from the beginning.”
She threw up a hand. “This is happening too fast, Luce. We’re not prepared.”
“It already happened, Teffie. I drew the line the minute you and Cosmo sheltered Leah from anyone declaring their intentions at her Selection. Since then everyone’s been taking their positions on their side of the line. The Council will have to take that into consideration when they make their judgment.”
“You think they’ll roll over?”
“I think they must understand on some level that their traditions are antiquated and I’m counting on them being forward thinking.”
“And if they’re not?”
Lucien leveled his eyes at her. “You took your position on the line, Teffie, are you changing your mind?”
“When I chose my side, I didn’t know Leah.”
Lucien’s brows drew together. “And what does this have to do with Leah?”
He watched, surprised, as Stephanie’s face grew pale, her mouth went slack and her eyes slid from his.
“Teffie?” he prompted.
Her eyes slid back and she whispered, “You have to ask that? You?”
Lucien, unfortunately, chose not to respond.
So Stephanie kept talking. “What did the last Revolution have to do with Maggie, Lucien?”
Lucien felt every inch of his body stretch taut.
“We’re placing her in danger,” Stephanie went on.
“Leah will not be in any danger,” Lucien clipped.
“You’re so certain?”
Lucien moved forward a very threatening inch.
“Yes,” he growled. “I’m very certain.”
Stephanie watched him, her eyes not moving from his, something that looked like understanding finally flashing in hers.
Then, seemingly appeased, even now actually pleased, she nodded and looked over his shoulder.
“She’s coming back,” Stephanie noted and Lucien turned.
Leah was moving toward them, squeezing between the bodies with more small smiles and murmured pardons. He noticed immediately she’d reapplied her lip gloss.
She was wearing an orchid-colored strapless dress. Simple. Elegant. No adornment on the dress only a deep slit up the center front that stopped at the swell of her thighs and a short train, the weight of which dragged the skirt back exposing her shapely legs. She wore the pair of high-heeled, burnished gold sandals he’d bought for her when they were shopping.
Her hair was not simple however, it was elegant. She’d let it dry in natural waves, then pulled it up and back in a way that was stylish but messy, innocent-looking but sexy. Strategically placed in it, she’d affixed the dozen tiny gold-filigreed butterfly hair clips he’d bought her and at her throat from a delicate gold chain hung another larger filigreed butterfly. The ones in her hair, the wings were near to closed, the one at her throat the wings where spanned.
He’d bought her the jewelry because he liked it, he thought it suited her and he wanted a reaction. He’d been cautious with her ever since the night he threw the wineglass and she’d had her first dream. He’d backed off and used extreme patience, attempting to draw her out gently. None of which, incidentally, was working.
He’d given the jewelry to her the night before, right before they went to bed when he told her they’d be going out that evening.