My eyes water.
Jeb’s frown evolves into a grimace. “Why are you crying? Was Tae being straight?” His eyes blaze. “Did that jerk have his hands on you? Did he kiss you?”
Dang it. “No, it wasn’t like that. It’s just, maybe you can see now how I feel about Ivy. Why I’m hesitant.”
He squints. “That’s totally different.”
Looking down at my boot buckles, I scramble to say the right thing—to hurry and fix this so I can rush to my room and fix everything else.
Jeb steps onto the porch. “Al, it’s business. That’s all. And I already told her yes.”
My emotions do an about-face—from worried to indignant. “I thought we were going to discuss it.”
“She went back to Tuscany this afternoon and won’t be returning until the end of the month. I had to give her an answer before she left. This is for both of us—don’t you see? It’ll pay for our first year in London and then some. It’s real money—proof I’m not a loser.”
“Of course you’re not a loser.” I stifle the sob that climbs my throat. “You’re the most talented artist I’ve ever seen.”
“So are you,” Jeb says, pushing us apart to watch me closely. “No more tears, okay?”
I sniffle. “But you’re tired of painting me.” I’m so pathetic. Mom is somewhere across the other side of the world, and here I am crying to my boyfriend about being his model.
It’s just that right now, he’s the only stable world I have left. And I’m about to walk away from him, even though it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Tired of …?” A wrinkle bridges his eyebrows. “Are you kidding? I’ll never get tired of painting you. This dress”—he strokes the pearls and sequins across my ribs—“it’s inspired a whole new series: Fairy Bride’s seduction by moonlight. We’ll start it after prom.”
Right. My nonexistent prom. I bite my inner cheek to keep from screaming.
Jeb bends his knees so our foreheads touch. “I can’t wait, you know,” he says, his thumb skimming under my shoulder strap, leaving my skin tingling. “I’m going to check out the art studio Ivy’s renting tonight. It has a loft. I’m thinking it might be the perfect place for us to get some privacy after the dance.”
But I won’t be here, I ache to say.
The front door opens, stopping me from blurting out everything—the whole truth.
“Hey, lovebirds,” Jenara teases. She offers Jeb a cookie, then studies us, as if sensing she’s interrupted something. “Sorry, but Al’s mom showed up.”
“She did?” I ask.
“Yeah, she’s inside. She was in the backyard gardening and didn’t know we were here.”
The pulse in my neck kicks into overtime. She must’ve returned through the mirror. I have to find out where she went. “Wait … you left her alone with him?”
Jenara wipes crumbs on her fashionably ripped jeans, looking confused. “Who, M? He made a beeline for the bathroom before I saw her.”
A loud crash followed by Mom’s scream shatters the quiet afternoon. I drape my skirt’s train over my arm and leap across the threshold with Jen and Jeb on my heels.
Morpheus stands at my bedroom doorway, looking in with a studious expression. I step around him toward my mom, cautious. She’s on her knees amid a glittering spray of glass on the floor. My cheval mirror lies beside her, an empty wooden frame.
Tucking a necklace into her tracksuit’s jacket, Mom lifts her gaze to mine. I can’t even form the words to ask her where she got the key. She seems so small and frail, swallowed up by her tracksuit. The sun reflects off the broken shards around her, spattering the black fabric with prismatic dots of light.
I crouch down, careful not to get cut. “Are you okay?”
She keeps one arm behind her. “I was trying to move your mirror … it hit your dresser. The glass broke.” She watches our audience. “It’s his fault.”
At first I think she’s referring to Jeb, until Morpheus steps inside.
“That’s a wretched lie,” Morpheus says, then sits on the bed. “You broke that looking glass before I even came down the hall. I’d say you did it on purpose, though I can’t imagine why.”
“Hey …” Jeb’s the next to come inside, an irritated yet baffled scowl aimed at Morpheus. “Show some respect.”
Morpheus returns the scowl and stands so they’re eye to eye. “A person must earn my respect.”
Jeb’s lips curl. “You’re starting something you can’t finish, moth boy. You’re a guest here. Don’t forget that.” He pushes by, oblivious to the shadows of wings that lift behind his opponent.
Mom gasps, proof that she does see the wings, that she knows our guest is not who he’s pretending to be. I suspect she’s known from the moment she saw him in the doorway.
Jeb kneels and touches my mom’s hidden arm. “Can I see your hand, Mrs. Gardner?” His voice is noticeably softer now.