Page 201 of Darling Venom
“I heard how Kellan died when it happened, the publishing community being as small as it is. You’re doing a great thing for him.”
“I’m trying.”
“Helen mentioned she plans to send over an offer this week.”
I stilled. “Really?”
“It’s your book. Your choice whether to accept it. Let me know if you need help reviewing the contract.”
“Wow.” I meant it. Really. “Thank you.”
“Between us, I have a feeling you can push the envelope on the advance for this one.” She winked at me.
And suddenly, publishing Kellan’s book felt real.
I arrived home in a stupidly good mood.
Sure, Tate and I were interrupted before we could go all the way.
And yeah, I’d nearly lost my virginity on his doorstep, in public.
And okay, maybe I got flustered and bailed with a dumb excuse no one, let alone Tate, would believe.
You need to run to the dry cleaner’s before the rain stains your thrift-shop dress? You couldn’t think of anything better, Charlotte?
But I was one step closer to executing my vow to Kellan, and that had to count for something. And maybe if I fulfilled my promise to him, I wouldn’t feel like a sack of crap for doing all the things I did with his brother.
The door to Leah’s room creaked open. I didn’t even know she was home. Which was stupid now that I thought about it.
It was Leah.
Of course.
She was always home.
The good news was, if she ever committed a crime, house arrest wouldn’t change her lifestyle one bit.
I pretended I wasn’t super on edge in her presence, flipping through channels from my spot on the couch. She strode into the living room in a gold off-the-shoulder bandage dress and flawless smoky makeup. A hanger hung from each wrist.
One with a black blazer.
The other, a knee-length coat.
A question tingled my tongue. I held it back, plucking at my leg. Suddenly anxious, like only she made me.
My eyes shifted to the TV, drifting back and forth between rotten corpses on some detective drama and Leah dressed up for the first time in almost nine years.
Leah won out.
I couldn’t stop staring.
If we were talking, I would’ve run to my room and offered her my favorite hair clip. The one Mom bought me after I won the scholarship to St. Paul’s. It matched the shade of gold on her dress and paired well with the pea coat.
I sighed. Louder than I’d intended.
Leah’s eyes drifted to me.
I wondered when we’d chop up our beef and share the stew, but it didn’t seem like anytime soon. We hadn’t talked since I found the letter, and this—her looking at me, and me eyeballing the heck out of her eleven-out-of-ten getup—was the closest we’d gotten to acknowledging one another’s existence in ages.
