Page 21 of The Orc's Protection
Kendra looks at me for a long moment.
“Maybe that’s not a warning sign,” she says. “Maybe that’s just what it feels like when it’s actually right.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
“Go get dressed,” she says. “What are you wearing?”
“The burgundy maxi dress. I thought it was appropriate without being—”
“Good. Wear the gold earrings, not the silver. And do something with your hair.” She stands up, brushing pastry flakes from her lap. “I’ll clean up in here.”
I’m halfway down the hallway when she calls after me.
“Riona.”
I stop.
“You’re allowed to let someone hand you a coat.”
I take longer than necessary getting ready, which is how I know I’m nervous. Normally I make decisions and move on. Tonight I change my earrings three times, and settle on the gold ones because Kendra said so, and she’s right about these things.
By ten to seven, I’m as ready as I’m going to be. I come back down the hallway to find Kendra on the couch with the bakerybox, the coat still at the other end, looking perfectly at home in my living room.
“You look gorgeous,” she says.
“You just want to stay and see him.”
She doesn’t deny it. “I came over to help you get dressed and provide emotional support. Seeing the seven-foot orc in whatever he wears to a clan gathering is simply a bonus.”
The doorbell rings.
My pulse does something inconvenient.
“I’ll get it,” Kendra says, already moving.
“Kendra—”
But she’s already opening the door.
The silence that follows lasts exactly two seconds.
“Well,” Kendra says, her voice admirably steady. “Hello.”
I can’t see his expression from where I’m standing, but I hear the slight pause before his formal, “Good evening.”
Kendra steps aside, gesturing him in with a sweep of her arm as if she’s presenting him to an audience. As he crosses the threshold, she turns to me over her shoulder and mouths the words “oh my god” with the intensity of a woman who hasseen something that has rearranged her understanding of the universe.
I give her my most warning look.
She responds by mouthing “hunk” and then arranging her face into perfect innocence before turning back to Vraag. “I’m Kendra. Riona’s best friend. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Kendra.” I say her name as though it’s a full sentence.
“All good things,” she adds, entirely unrepentant. “Have a wonderful evening.” She retrieves her bag with the efficiency of someone making a tactically perfect exit.
The door closes behind her.
Vraag looks at me.
