"Whoa, Edaline wasn't kidding about the whole 'Lady Sophie' thing," Keefe murmured, making Foster jump. Apparently the bodyguards hadn't warned her he was there.
He whistled as he walked towards her and made a slow circle around her. And frankly, he was grateful for the excuse to stare at her without raising suspicion.
She was always beautiful. Her clothes and hairstyle didn't matter.
But she usually hid behind neutral colors, not wanting to draw attention to herself.
And in a lot of ways, Keefe really liked that about her. She wasn't obsessed with her looks, she was too busy worrying about everything else. And the generic style of her clothes just made her natural beauty so much more apparent.
Not that he could tell her that.
But today, in that fancy dress and glittering crown, she looked...
Way too good for him.
Which of course, she was.
And he could feel his mood sinking as he asked if he was supposed to bow now that she was a member of the Nobility. She tried to joke around with him, probably to put both of them more at ease—and the way she ripped that crown off her head, leaving her hair a mess, was very endearing—but for once, he wasn't in a joking mood.
She stepped into her closet to change, and tried to explain all about what had happened. But it was mostly Ro who kept the conversation going.
He felt Sophie was slipping further and further away. Out of his grasp.
Not just her, but all of his friends.
He turned to look out her window, trying to regain his composure before she saw him. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his tunic—and then wanted to laugh—or cry, he really wasn't sure which—when she came out also wearing a gray tunic.
Probably just trying to remain in neutral colors again, but...maybe subconsciously matching him in his gray tunic?
Eh, probably not.
He perked up a little when she told him that Grady had tried to tell the Council that Keefe would be a better choice than Stina. Because Grady knew Foster trusted Keefe and worked well with him.
And there were few things Keefe cared more about than getting Grady on his side.
But of course...the Council didn't want him. Had dismissed him despite his close relationship to Foster.
Because of his mother.
Would he be forever tainted because of a family connection he'd had no control over?
Eventually, the conversation circled back to Foster being unmatchable, and he knew he had to share his theory.
She wasn't going to like it.
He told her as much, and she marched over to her bed, nestling in against her pillows as though they could somehow protect her from emotional harm.
He thought for a moment before deciding that she'd probably wind up needing him to keep her calm, so he joined her in her pile of pillows and suggested she turn off her enhancing restrictors, just in case.
Then, carefully, hesitantly, he talked about how the Black Swan had always intended her to be able to heal broken minds, and she'd have to be a Telepath and an Inflictor in order to do that.
And scooted his hand closer to hers as he theorized that the best way to make sure she manifested as an Inflictor—which was incredibly rare—would be to already have it in her genes.
He felt the moment when understanding caught up to her.
And before the panic could even really overtake her, she reached for his hand instinctively.
As he sent gentle blue breezes into her mind, he couldn't help but wish that those mental breezes weren't the only reason she reached for his hand.
"You think Councillor Bronte is my biological father." She said it so matter-of-factly, but he could feel the shock and dismay she was hurling at him.
"We don't know anything for certain," Keefe reminded her as she tightened her grip on his hand. He kept sending her soothing breezes, wishing he could do more to comfort her.
She sat in silence, but it was obvious that her thoughts were spiraling because her emotions were getting out of control.
For every soothing breeze he sent, another wave of panic took its place. He was barely keeping it at bay.
Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.
Honestly it probably suited him better if she remained unmatchable. Because he couldn't possibly care less about the match. He just wanted her.
But she wanted Fitz—at least right now.
And the happiness of his two favorite people was important to him.
So he reached out and pulled her out of her pillow nest, turning her to face him as he said, "I get it--this is huge. But try to remember that even if it is true--and we don't know if it is--it's also not bad."
"How can you say that?"
"Well..." He dragged his free hand down his face. "For one thing...Bronte's not a murderer. Or part of the Neverseen--and I'm not saying that to compare your life to mine--"
"I know," she said, squeezing his hand tightly.
Even in the middle of distress, she was kind and considerate and thinking of him.
This girl was everything.
But after a moment, she let go of his hand and scooted back, claiming if it was true—if her father really was a Councillor—then she could never tell anyone. That it would be impossible to let out the secret and turn the world upside down just to suit her personal life.
Meaning instead, she'd sacrifice her own wishes for the sake of protecting Bronte—and the entire Council.
Keefe looked at her for a moment, dumbfounded. "Okaaaay...but if you never tell anyone..." Then you'll stay unmatchable.
And I wouldn't care!
Just pick me and you wouldn't have to worry about any of this!
Nope, can't say that.
He seemed to be telling himself that a lot lately.
"I know," she whispered. "But...what can I do?"
Keefe had no answer.
And then her emotions started going haywire again, anger and frustration and fear and regret and longing and...wow, it was a lot.
"Hey," Keefe said, reaching out to hug her, but changing his mind and patting her on the shoulder awkwardly.
Why was this so difficult now? Friends can still hug, right? "It doesn't matter, okay? Like I said yesterday, no one's going to care about your matchmaking status--or no one who matters, anyway. And now you even have the Council promising to back you up if there's any drama."
"Yeah, because Bronte wants to keep his job," she grumbled. "And he's clearly hoping I'll make it easy on everyone and just stay single forever--like him. Ugh, that's probably why he thinks it's no big deal to expect that!"
She punched one of her pillows, but that didn't seem to be enough for her. She started twisting and tugging on it, clearly hoping to rip it to shreds.
Keefe gave her another reassuring shoulder pat, but when she flung the pillow aside and buried her face in her hands, he knew that wasn't enough.
"Screw it," he growled before pulling her into a hug. And a hug was exactly what she'd needed. She sank into it, her tears soaking his tunic. And he really didn't mind at all.
He couldn't just sit there and let her cry without doing his best to make her feel better. So what if holding her meant so much less to her than it did to him? He was good at comforting her—truth be told, he was probably the very best at comforting her, and in the end, that was what mattered.
Comforting his friend who was upset.
Regardless of the fact that he was—sort of—alone with her and she was—sort of—dating someone else.
Keefe's best friend. Who definitely wouldn't like seeing the way Keefe was holding her now, not if he knew how much that really meant to Keefe.
But he didn't, and he wasn't there, and she needed someone to comfort her until she found the courage to tell Fitz.
And then Fitz would take her in his arms and comfort her. Maybe even kiss her.
Feeling distinctly queasy now, Keefe pulled Sophie tighter. "All right, Foster," he murmured into her hair. "I think we're getting way ahead of ourselves here. So let's back it up and try to focus on the facts for a second, okay?" He waited for her to nod against his shoulder before going on to explain that they'd need to actually find out if his theory was correct before freaking out.
And then explained that even if it was true, it was still better to know, and then figure out how to move forward.
She sighed. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I am--how many times to I have to tell you I'm a genius before you start believing me?" He laughed. "Anyway, back to my brilliant facts--and moving on to number three! Once you confront Bronte--"
"Hopefully in a super-dramatic way," Ro cut in, making them both jump.
"Forgot you weren't alone?" Ro asked, raising her eyebrows as Keefe pulled away from the hug.
Honestly.
She said she was on his side.
And then she jumps in and ruins their moment.
Well...a moment where she was crying in his arms because she was worried about what being unmatchable would do to her relationship with another guy.
But at least she was in his arms.
And he was doing a good job comforting her.
She would remember that. Hopefully.
The bodyguards joined in the conversation, also imploring Foster not to panic until she knew the truth.
Ro even told her she didn't think Bronte was her father because he wasn't attractive enough. And Foster definitely seemed to have a spike of pleased curiosity when Ro called her a "blonde hottie" and Keefe very intentionally did not disagree.
He knew she wanted to know if that meant he agreed.
And while part of him wanted to scream "of course I agree and oh by the way I'm completely in love with you!!!"... the more rational part of him knew it would be better to just let it lie.
And he didn't mind, so much, having an excuse to take her hand again and send her more soothing mental breezes.
He loved that he was able to do that for her. He'd never even heard of that before. It was something special, something unique to the two of them.
Even more special and unique than being Cognates.
Ugh.
But as they continued discussing plans, she didn't seem to want to be soothed. She just wanted to be angry--it seemed to give her focus.
But when he half-heartedly cracked a joke about life at the Shores of Solace, she reached for him, pulling him into a comforting hug this time.
He could feel how tenderly she cared for him. Gratitude and affection were coming at him in equal measure, and there was a touch of indignation that he knew was directed at his dad.
But he was afraid to hug her back. Now that he'd calmed her down, maybe it was time to put up some boundaries. He'd told her that it changed things, her being with Fitz. He fully intended to keep close, to remain her friend, and hope that she'd realize he was who she really wanted...but until then, he needed to tread carefully.
And then she spoke.
"Thank you. I mean it, Keefe. I don't know if I'd be able to get through this without you."
Oh, he loved that. He could feel how much she meant it—how she felt like she needed him.
But it wasn't quite enough, and they were crossing into dangerous territory and he was not ready to put it all on the line.
So he decided to keep it casual.
"Yes you could," he argued, finally letting himself relax and lean into the hug. "You're Lady Foster. The Dire Wolf of Team Fancy-pants. And I gotta say, you look awfully cute in a crown."
He could feel her blush, but she seemed to think he was just teasing and didn't think much else of it.
Which was just what he intended.
Flirt, but not too obviously.
That way, if—when—she finally realized her own feelings, she could look back and realize that he shared them.
"And I know I keep saying this, but I want to make sure you don't forget it. No matter what happens with Bronte, or whatever else we learn about your biological parents, or whether you stay unmatchable or not, it's all going to be okay. I promise."
And she seemed to finally believe him--until someone loudly cleared their throat.
It was Fitz.
"You're unmatchable?"