something sour and slimy.
Keefe looked pretty miserable too as he slowly backed toward her bedroom door, giving the two of them as much space as possible.
Or maybe getting ready to flee.
She wouldn’t have blamed him.
This was why he’d made her swear she’d talk to Fitz before he agreed to start helping her. And even though she’d made that promise less than twenty-four hours earlier—and had lost most of that time to the Regent appointment process—that didn’t change the fact that she hadn’t held up her end of the bargain.
Plus, she was the one who’d chosen to hide everything from Fitz in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” she told both of them, glad her mouth seemed to be regaining the ability to form recognizable words. She even managed to hold Fitz’s gaze as she added, “I… should’ve told you sooner.”
“Then why didn’t you?” he asked.
She closed her eyes, scraping together the courage to give an honest answer. “Because… once I told you, then it’d be real. And I wasn’t ready to find out what would happen next. I’m still not, but…”
She forced herself to tell him everything. From the color of the gown she’d worn that day in Atlantis—teal, of course—to the names of her matchmakers—Brisa and Juji—to how close she’d come to vomiting when she saw the ugly red letters that would define her future if she couldn’t make them go away. And how she’d spent days hiding out, hoping Mr. Forkle would give her the information she needed to fix everything—but of course the Black Swan let her down. So now she was stuck going rogue with her own investigation, which Keefe was helping her with—but only because Ro had forced the information out of her. And even though her voice was pretty wobbly at that point, she ended with the theory that Keefe had come up with about Councillor Bronte, as well as their plan to find out if it was true, and the very mixed feelings she had about the whole thing.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated when she’d finished, squeezing her eyes as tight as she could. She definitely wasn’t ready to see the look on Fitz’s face as he processed all of those bombshells.
And then, it got very quiet.
The only sound was a bit of whisper-hissing out in the hallway from Grizel—Fitz’s bodyguard—who was also Sandor’s girlfriend, and who seemed to be less than thrilled that her boyfriend had kept her totally in the dark about all of this as well. And Sandor, being Sandor, was unapologetically defending his need to protect his charge’s secrets—which was great for Sophie. But was probably going to earn him another one of Grizel’s humiliating punishments involving tight pants and dancing.
“Anything you want to say?” Ro finally asked, and Sophie couldn’t tell which boy she was talking to. She still hadn’t worked up the courage to open her eyes.
Keefe was the one to speak up, and his voice sounded even farther away. “You get that the reason Foster went to the matchmakers was for you, right?” he asked Fitz. “And you know what a big deal that was for her, don’t you?”
Ro muttered something about foolish boys, which made it impossible to translate Fitz’s tone when he told Keefe, “Yeah.”
More silence followed, and Sophie went back to imagining which piece of furniture would be the best to fling through a window for her teleporting escape. And as the seconds stacked into minutes, she started to wonder if everyone had left.
Then she felt her mattress shift, and someone sat beside her on the bed.
“Okay.” Fitz’s voice was quiet, but she still flinched at his sudden closeness. “I don’t want this to be a big fight. So will you please just promise me something?”
She forced herself to look at him, needing several seconds for the world to blur back into focus. And her heart stumbled a beat when she found his gorgeous face staring at her without all the anger and betrayal she’d last seen in his expression.
He was the kind of handsome that made her eyes tune out everything except him, and her brain shut down—which was probably why she nodded without bothering to ask what she was promising.
“I just want you to remember this,” he told her, running a hand through his dark hair as he scooted even closer. He stopped when their legs touched, and that tiny contact between them felt like fireworks in Sophie’s veins. “I want you to remember me sitting here with you, not freaking out or causing