Jonathan and I glance at each other, and he chuckles. He always says that a flower shop is the worst place in town for meeting cute guys. You’d have better luck at the library. Because the guys who come in here already have someone to buy flowers for.
“She’ll learn.” Jonathan laughs again with a merry tune, the tension between us melting away. The skin around his eyes wrinkles with his smile all the way up to the graying hair at his temples. I can’t help thinking that I won’t allow myself to grow old while waiting for my Prince Charming in a place like Ellis. My mom thought she’d found her prince once, but he’d hopped off like the frog he really was before I’d even been born.
As far as I’m concerned, no guy is worth waiting anywhere for, nor following, for that matter—prince or not.
“I’m ser-i-ous, you guys.” Indie grabs my arm through the balloons. “You have to see this or you will nev-er be-lieve me. Crap, where did I put my phone?” She drags me, with that red and orange balloon bouquet still in my hands, to the front with her. Jonathan follows, making a bemused humming sound. I hope he doesn’t think our discussion is over.
The first thing I notice is a long Hummer limousine idling in the no-parking zone in front of the shop entrance. But before I even have the chance to be irked by the illegal parking job, or wonder why or how someone had gotten a limo for the dance around here anyway, Indie jerks my attention to the flower cooler, whose motor is chugging and buzzing like it’s about to die any second. Or rather, Indie turns my attention to the back of the man who is standing in front of the cooler.
“See,” she whispers.
The shop’s fluorescent bulbs reflect off the back of the man’s leather jacket, and his boots are just as shiny. He wears dark wash skinny jeans that look far too tight for comfort. In fact, everything he wears looks stiff and perfect, like someone else picks out a new outfit for him every time he steps out of his house. Considering it’s ninety-eight degrees outside, that person hadn’t done a very good job. The woman next to him looks just as crisp in a black suit and a patent leather briefcase that coordinates with her glossy red heels. She clutches the briefcase to her chest as if she’s afraid one of the potted azaleas is about to fling itself at her.
I glance at CeCe, who is ringing up a bundle of red roses and baby’s breath for a very nonoriginal customer at the register. She shrugs to show she has no idea what Indie is going on about.
The leather-jacket man seems intent on a bunch of ranunculus blooms, which are wilting in the half-dead cooler. The glossy woman clears her throat. The man brushes his long, wavy hair over his shoulder and turns toward us.
Indie squeals. CeCe swears.
“It’s really him!” Indie says. “It’s the—”
“Joe Vince,” Jonathan says. He makes a move like he wants to block the man from my view with all three hundred pounds of himself.
I hold my hand up to stop him.
The man’s lips part into a cheeky grin. He winks at Indie and then looks at me. “ ’Ello, Daphne,” he says. “It’s been a long time.”
I let go of the balloon strings.
“Dad,” I say.
“What are you doing here?” Jonathan demands.
“Didn’t your mother tell you?” Joe says to me in his British accent, which must have once charmed my mom off her feet. “A judge granted me custody. I’m taking you to live with me in California.”
A loud bang echoes above my head as one of the red balloons bobbing against the rough popcorn ceiling bursts.
chapter three
HADEN
Rowan lies in wait for me in the antechamber beyond the throne room. I would not expect any less from him.
I slow to a halt and try to place my hand on the hilt of my sword to show him I am ready for any attack he has planned, but then I remember the weapon was taken from me by one of Ren’s guards.
Never mind. Hand-to-hand combat suits me just fine.
Several Underlords step around me, most gawking as they go, trying to get a good look at the king’s disgraced son, who is now the lone Champion for our year.
The Lessers, who are not allowed to wear armor outside of the ceremony, stop to remove their bronze breastplates and leather wrist cuffs before returning to their labors. I am not surprised to see Lord Lex standing near Rowan and a couple of other Elites who’ve congregated near the exit. My hands grow hot, prickling with energy, as I think of the things Lex suggested in the throne room.
Lex whispers something to the Elites that I cannot hear. Rowan nods and laughs, glancing in my direction. Fire rings gleam in his eyes.
I hope to the gods that Rowan issues a challenge now. It would be my duty to riposte.