Queen of Nothing

13. Queen of Irony

I was glad Tristan hadn't shown up dressed to the nines because it made getting ready so much easier. I ditched my jeans and cardigan and changed into a wine-red halter dress and my favorite cropped leather jacket. I touched up my makeup and curled the ends of my hair, wishing there was a spell for it all the while. Daphne would probably think me shallow for asking, but I was starting to grow tired of getting ready the old fashioned way when I had magic at my disposal.

I'd chosen the dress specifically because it had a high neckline that concealed my charmed necklace. I'd learned my lesson from the last time Tristan and I had gone out, and wouldn't risk my life over fashion ever again.

Deeming my ensemble sufficient, I headed out to meet Tristan in the lobby. I thought perhaps that James had stuck around to chat with him, but the vampire looked to be long gone. A twinge of regret seized me, but I brushed it aside. No use sulking during my evening out.

Tristan ended up taking me to a musical at the Civic Theater. It was a strange choice of date, as I'm pretty sure I hadn't been dropping any hints that I enjoyed theater. What was even more baffling and a little eerie was the choice of show — Wicked. It couldn't have been intentional. Daphne had wiped his memory of the other night and I was pretty damn sure I hadn't done anything stupid like blurt out what I was. Regardless of the irony, I ended up enjoying myself and after the show was over we went to a nearby cafe for drinks.

"What did you think?" Tristan said as we made our way over to a high rise table and took our seats.

"It was fun. Some of the songs might get stuck in my head for a while," I replied.

"Yeah," Tristan said, smiling. "My first choice was to go see Hamlet at Tulane but I figured that'd be a pretty depressing choice for a date."

"Your first choice was to see a tragedy?" I asked, furrowing my brows.

Tristan shrugged, unable to formulate a response. I was starting to see a pattern in his interests. Metal music, ghost tours, Shakespearean tragedies... I'd think someone with dead parents would be a bit less morbid.

A waitress came by and took our orders. I asked for a cocktail made of orange juice and coconut rum. Tristan ordered a soda. He had given his chauffeur the night off, opting to drive us around himself. It was a shame, as it meant we were unlikely to engage in any backseat makeout sessions for tonight.

"What was the Duke doing down here?" Tristan asked after the waitress left.

"He was just checking up on me," I lied. Well, it wasn't entirely false but I couldn't exactly tell Tristan about the witchcraft.

"I didn't know the two of you were so close," he said.

"He's my godfather."

Tristan nodded, looking thoughtful. "What about your parents? Aren't they worried about you?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what my parents are thinking right now and frankly, I don't care. They always treated me more like an investment than a daughter."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tristan said quietly, glancing at me with eyes full of sympathy.

His expression struck me with an odd twinge of guilt. I laughed nervously in an attempt to shake the feeling off. "Sorry. I don't mean to complain about my parents when you..." It was hard to finish that sentence. If there was an inoffensive way to bring up someone's orphanhood, I didn't know it.

Tristan shrugged it off. "It's OK. It was a long time ago. Besides, I want to know more about you."

My mind suddenly went to all of the times I'd heard that line from men. I'd never encountered it with the earnestness Tristan conveyed in that moment. Normally, it was a ploy guys used to get me into bed. Useless, as I had no scruples about sex as long as whoever I was bedding wouldn't tarnish my carefully controlled image.