Page 71 of Fallen Court

“Romance?”

“You do know what romance is?”

I frowned as I finished reloading. “I have been around a little bit longer than you.”

“That doesn’t instill confidence,” he said. “You made that bargain with her, locked her up, forced her to go to all this weird fae shit, and, by some miracle, she seems to have fallen in love with you.”

“Yes, it is a mystery,” I said in a dry voice.

“Exactly,” he said, missing my sarcasm. “You two have never even been on a date.”

I glared at him. “We’ve been on a date.”

“Sex doesn’t count.”

“We have been on dates,” I insisted.

“You dragged her to the midnight feast and a handfasting and what else?”

I frowned as I tried to remember. “I took her to the bayou.”

Roark covered a smile with his hand.

“The bayou? Everyone’s dream date,” Shaw said, rolling his eyes. “Where’s the romance? You need to sweep her off her feet. Take her to Baptiste’s place. Buy her some flowers.”

“If Lach steps foot in Baptiste’s restaurant with a date, she’ll poison him,” Roark said.

“Then find somewhere else,” he said. “You broke the bargain, right?”

“I did,” I said, studying him. “How do you know that?”

“All I’ve talked about for a week is Cate’s brother, the Wild Hunt, and this bona fides spell. You think I didn’t hear about the bargain?”

I shot an accusing look at Roark. “They were going to find out,” he said with a shrug.

“My point is that you have nothing keeping her here,” Shaw said, reaching for his gun. He swiveled back to face the target and took aim. I hated that he had a point. Before, Cate had been bound by the bargain to return to me every night—whether she liked it or not. Now? “You better find a way to make her stay.”

For once, I agreed with my brother.

I was still considering Shaw’s advice as we left the shooting range an hour later, somehow feeling heavier than when I walked inside. I scowled as the afternoon sun assaulted us. Even the weather was in a better mood than I was. The shit with Cate was eating me alive.

“What if I bought her a car?” I asked the two of them. I’d never replaced the Volvo after its urban campfire.

“A car?”

“A really expensive car.”

Shaw shook his head as he drew a pair of sunglasses out of his suit pocket. “That’s not romance. That’s a bribe.”

“She needs one. It’s not a bribe.”

“Romance is about intimacy, learning about someone by peeling back layers, sharing things.”

I stared at him for a minute before shaking my head. “I’m sorry, but where are you getting this shit?”

He’d never even brought a date home.

“I know things,” he said defensively.