Legacy (Keeper of the Lost Cities #8) - Shannon Messenger Page 0,85

sat, he positioned himself a couple of extra inches away from them.

Sophie knew she could change the subject—demand they focus on the reasons they’d met up in the first place. But… Dex and Biana still didn’t know about her unmatchable status. And Stina and Wylie should probably be in the loop too, thanks to the potential Bronte ramifications.

“Fine,” she said, tugging out an itchy eyelash and making a mental note that the next time she had huge, life-changing news, she needed to gather everyone together and tell them all at the same time so she didn’t have to keep reliving the same stressful conversation. “There’s something I should probably tell you guys, and I really don’t want it to be another big, drawn-out thing. So I’m going to say it really fast, and then you guys each get to ask one question, and then we’re done talking about it. Deal?”

Stina’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. The Droolmonster’s bossy today.”

“That’s because she’s Lady Fos-Boss,” Dex said, flashing a smug, dimpled grin.

“And we’ll take the deal,” Biana decided for all of them.

Which meant it was time for Sophie to explain the whole messy situation again—though she was pretty proud of herself for condensing it down to one long run-on sentence. She blurted it out as fast as she could, then leaned back against Calla’s tree and focused on arranging some of the Panakes blossoms into a tidy circle.

She didn’t want to see how much pity was now being directed her way.

“All right,” she said, clearing the squeak out of her throat, “one question each. Who wants to go first?”

“I will.” Dex leaned closer, and Sophie braced herself for something especially awkward. But all he asked was, “Are you okay?”

When she looked up, she found his eyes shining with the kind of deep, honest worry that could only be found in the stare of someone who’d “been there.”

That’s when she realized…

Even knowing firsthand how much scandal and scorn came with defying the matchmaking system, Dex still talked about how he might choose to not register, as a protest. So… rough as the drama would be—it also had to be manageable.

And he must also believe he’d find someone who wouldn’t care whether or not his name was on their lists, or how the rest of their world would label their relationship.

She needed to remember all of that, in case the search for her biological parents spiraled into disaster.

“It hasn’t been fun,” she told him—but she actually felt like she meant it when she added, “but I’ll get through it.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” he promised.

“Thanks.”

He started to lean back, but Sophie reached out and pulled him in for a hug.

Dex lost his balance for a second. Then he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing as tight as he could. And when he let go a few seconds later, his cheeks weren’t red, and he didn’t look shy or nervous or fidgety.

He looked… like her best friend.

“Okay, my turn,” Stina announced, reminding Sophie that she still had three more questions to go. “And I won’t be getting all sappy.”

“Shocking,” Sophie deadpanned, leaning back against the Panakes again.

“You really think Bronte’s your biological father?” Stina asked, crinkling her nose like she couldn’t picture it—which might’ve been the best compliment she’d ever given Sophie.

Sophie added a few more blossoms to her flower circle. “I think there’s a strong enough possibility that I need to look into it—and not just because of the matchmaking stuff.” She glanced at Wylie, wondering how much more she should say. It seemed wrong to raise the horrible possibility when she could be on the complete wrong track.

But… if it was true, he could probably use some time to mentally prepare.

“The thing is,” she said carefully, still holding Wylie’s stare, “if Bronte was part of Project Moonlark, it makes what happened to your dad a whole lot creepier.”

Wylie straightened—and his voice was about fifty degrees colder when he said, “I want to know the second you find out anything.”

“You’ll be the first person I hail,” Sophie promised.

“Before you hail Mr. Forkle,” Wylie clarified. “If this is true, I want to be there when you confront him—make him look me in the eyes while he explains what happened.”

Sophie nodded. And when she saw how tightly his skin was stretched across his fisted knuckles, she added, “Remember: I’ve had wrong theories before.”

Wylie frowned. “Like who?”

Sophie hesitated, so he added, “That’s my one question.”

“Welllllllll,” Sophie said, shifting her weight as she tried to figure