A Matter of Heart (Fate, #2)

“It’s fine, Chloe,” Jonah murmurs, taking the napkin away from me before I rip a hole in his jeans from rubbing too hard. It’s then I realize just how close I am to a place I definitely should not be rubbing in public. My cheeks erupt in flames as I slam back into my chair. Thankfully, he excuses himself to go to the restroom before I can wreak any more havoc or continue to feel him up in the middle of a restaurant. In front of his mother. And ex-girlfriend. And brother, who I have also felt up in the past.

This is clearly a nightmare of epic proportions. I want nothing more than to go home and crawl into bed. Find some more medicine for this headache. Gods, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I get rid of these headaches?

Astrid is embarrassingly sympathetic with her reassurances that everything is all right to me and the couple next to us before paging the waiter for yet another glass of water. “I, uh . . .” I stammer, thinking I ought to say something, but then I shut my mouth and decide silence is my best ally.

I need to go to the Library. Find out if what Jens said is true. I wonder if anyone would notice if I went to the bathroom and just didn’t come back?

“Family dinners are the best,” Callie says. To the waiter gingerly placing a noticeably smaller glass of water near me, she orders a bottle of wine. And then, upon consideration, doubles the order.

Astrid sighs and drops her chin into a propped up hand.

Jonah reappears five minutes later, jeans mostly dry. Everyone else at the table is drinking their wine, engaging in forced chitchat. I have assumed a statue pose, too afraid to move even though I’ve been plotting my escape. He’s just about to sit down when his eyes widen and then narrow sharply.

Kellan’s head whips around in the direction Jonah is staring. What are they—oh. They’ve noticed Jens.

Jonah closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he shoves his chair back in place and marches off towards Jens. “Jonah, wait—” I say, but if he’s heard me, he doesn’t care. Kellan stands up, and I try again. “Kellan, don’t—” But he’s no better than his brother.

“Talk about assholes,” Astrid mutters. “There’s the perfect example of one.”

Her daughter chugs the rest of her wine. I stand up. This is my battle, not theirs. I’m a first tier Creator. I don’t want people thinking I’m hiding behind others. “I should—”

“Do nothing,” Astrid says, laying a hand on my arm. “This is between Jonah and Belladonna.”

I hate to think this of such a nice woman, but . . . is she delusional? “It’s me Jens has a problem with! Not Jonah, and certainly not Kellan.”

“Chloe.” Astrid busts out her serious mother tone. “I must respectfully disagree with you. Now, please—sit down and try to enjoy your salad.”

“Mom always gets her way,” Callie tells me, topping my wine off and then pouring a fresh glass for herself. “Might as well do as she says and watch the fireworks.”

The room around us hushes; it’s common knowledge that Jonah and Jens have gone head to head before with Jonah coming out the victor. A rematch between the two of them would be something the gossips in Annar definitely would not want to miss. “You’ve been ordered to not come within a thousand feet of Chloe,” Jonah is saying. His voice is calm. Measured. “Did you lose your sense of distance along with your job?”

What’s this?

Jens’ smile is oily. “Somebody needs to keep an eye on her, Whitecomb.”

Jonah leans down, palms pressed against the table. “That somebody will never be you.” His voice lowers, but we all can still hear him, clear as day. “You are hereby officially banned from Annar until I decide otherwise.”

Gasps surface throughout the restaurant, including at my table. Jens, though—Jens looks like this is nothing.

Callie leans towards her mother. “He can do that? Just him, without a Council vote?”

I tear my eyes away from Jonah long enough to see Astrid nod. And I’m . . . pissed off, to be honest. That I’m sitting at this table, twiddling my thumbs, while Jonah is going to bat for me against one of the most influential Guard members in the last hundred years.

He’s your Connection, Caleb reminds me. Wouldn’t you do the same for him?

Of course I would—but I’ve been accused for so long of being weak, of being na?ve that all of this rescuing from the men in my life, sweet as it can be interpreted, grates against my fragile nerves.

“You think you can stalk Chloe for weeks and it not get back to me?” Jonah is saying. “Harass her? Put Trackers on her? Even though the Council has explicitly forbidden you to do so? Do you really think you’re so important, so clever, that you’re above the Council’s reach? Their laws?”

Jonah knew about the Tracker?

Jens remains silent. Muted whispers fill the restaurant. A few people have their cell phones out, videotaping this insanity. As for me, I’m fuming that I’ve been . . . what. Watched? Followed? By not only Jens’ lackeys, but Jonah’s, too?

“I’ve been tolerant, I think,” Jonah continues in that same, calm voice, “of these transgressions out of respect for the service you’ve shown the Guard over the past thirty years. But today . . .” He shakes his head slowly. “You must’ve known I’d hear about what you did at the park.”

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