Phelan glared at her, then at me. I stared right back, tilting my head to one side, silently daring him to deny it—to say that he wasn’t lying, that everything was fine even though we all knew that it was pretty far from it.
Jacqueline just arched a brow as she started a second cup of tea, since she’d given the one she’d made in the first place to Phelan. “Well,” she said after a moment of awkward silence, “I don’t think any of us are going to be all that grumpy about having some help in that regard.”
Phelan winced and stared into his cup before he cast a hooded glance in her direction. “Thanks for backing me up.”
“Sometimes your well-being is more important than presenting some kind of united front,” she countered.
I fought back a smile. Sometimes, I didn’t think Phelan quite realized what he was getting into with Jac, and it was probably better that way.
Jacqueline turned her attention away from her lover and toward Aoife’s companion. “Who’s your friend, Aoife?”
“The better question would be who you are,” Aoife said, her voice careful, almost as wary as the appraising look she shot in Jacqueline’s direction. She’d definitely noted the byplay and the way Phelan didn’t quite defer to Jac the same way he did to me.
“Oh,” Phelan said, then cleared his throat, a little bit of color washing into his cheeks that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. “Aoife, this is Jacqueline. Jac, my sister Aoife.”
Jacqueline smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Aoife. Phelan’s told me a little bit about you.”
“Seems you’re miles ahead of me, then,” Aoife said, her gaze fastened on her brother. “I noticed that there wasn’t a full answer to my question in that introduction, Phelan.”
“You’re being impolite, Aoife.”
She smirked. “I prefer the term direct, brother mine.”
The man at her side sighed and offered me his hand. “Gray Miller,” he said. “My name’s Gray Miller.”
I felt a little bit of a jolt as I took his hand and from the look on his face, I could see he’d probably gotten the same sort of physical sensation—or something similar—when he touched my hand. I managed to smile. “Marin Astoris. I take it you’re a friend of Aoife’s?”
“Something like that,” he said, glancing sidelong toward her. She wasn’t paying attention; she was too busy glaring at her brother.
I wondered how long it would be before someone took pity on one side or the other—or on the rest of us—and broke the stalemate.
I decided it wasn’t going to be me.
