Page 99 of Vengefully Matched

Agatha left the chamber with the awful hope that she had a good explanation, and the sinking feeling that even if it was a good one, it wouldn’t be enough to move her to forgive the woman she loved for her betrayal.

In the elevator afterward, she found herself alone with Priscilla, possibly because the other Council members had scattered like dandelion seeds in the wind as soon as the meeting was concluded.

She didn’t blame them; she wouldn’t want to be caught in this cross fire anymore either.

“I have a good reason,” Priscilla began.

Agatha held up a hand, shaking her head. “Please. Save it for the Council.”

When the other woman looked stricken, she softened a little. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Priscilla, but I have to be responsible. Presidential.”

That might have been the worst thing to say, but if it was, Prissy’s face didn’t show it. Her eyebrows were still furrowed, worry written across her face.

“All right,” she said quietly. “I understand. Can I ask you something, though?”

“I suppose.”

“I realize I don’t even know your middle name.”

“That’s not a question.”

Priscilla stared at her, searching. “What is your middle name?”

“I don’t have one,” she bit out.

“Oh,” said Priscilla. “Okay.” She opened her mouth and then closed it again, swallowing back goddess knew what additional important secrets, but Agatha found herself too tired to press.

She didn’t know what was worse, that Priscilla had lied by omission, or that she was being so responsible and mature about the consequences of it.

Agatha sighed, stabbing at the button for the lobby, and wishing she had something more than the promise of information in a week.

CHAPTER 33 Priscilla

For not the first time in her professional career, Priscilla Hart wondered whether it would be better to fall on her sword and preserve her honor or to discard the dreadfully uncomfortable thing.

She’d leaned on her honor to leave Evelyn the day of the wedding. It had been awful and embarrassing and ultimately, yes, freeing.

This was obviously not the same, but the honorable thing to do, despite Agatha’s insistence that she tell, was to put a pause on everything: the romance she’d been denying for so long now, the truth about her covert activity with the mayor, and the need to tell her person all the things going on in her head. She needed to do this right, even if it took patience, and more waiting than she wanted.

Agatha, inexplicably, after months of disdain and rivalry, was her person. And, as it turned out, Priscilla wanted nothing more than to curl up next to her and tell her all her problems, have her help sort out what to do and how to do it.

But obviously that was impossible, because Agatha was the object of her affections and of all her complications. And it was true, she realized, the older she got, that just because someone was her person didn’t mean that they were perfect. It didn’t mean that they would never turn away, or fail to communicate something important, or hurt her without meaning to. People were complicated, and putting two of them together in any sort of relationship, even more so. She had to trust that Agatha would still be there when she had done what she needed to do. It was a risk, that trust, but then again, loving someone always was.

She looked up from the document she was typing in, lazily, at half speed, not bothering to magic off the extended acrylics she happened to be wearing for the task. She preferred it this way, selecting individual letters as needed, her speed slowed down by the clack of the crimson spears against the keyboard.

Kevin lingered outside the door to Agatha’s office, leaning against the wooden frame in that manner of a man who thinks his doorway lean is enough to do something for a person.

Priscilla didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she told herself that a bit of espionage was good for the soul, and made her way to the water cooler closer to the door, pretending to be very busy recalibrating the spout and straw attachment of a bottle.

“That’s a very pretty dress,” Kevin was saying, in a voice laced with intentions. She didn’t look up to see Agatha’s face, but she did note that Agatha didn’t say anything, not even thank you.

Her fingers moved to snap—pants scorpions seemed so appropriate—but she remembered her promise to prove herself, which started with keeping pranking activities to recreational spaces, and not in the office. She flexed her fingers instead, and then busied them with filling the water bottle, and listening. As a little treat, she let herself look. She could always claim to have her eyes on the clock that hung above the door to the office.

“So, listen, Agatha, I’m guessing whatever weird little enemies-to-lovers fling you had with Hart is over now. I was wondering if, since I’m leaving my position as your assistant, you’d like to get a drink sometime. Or dinner.” He flashed a megawatt smile. “I just respect you so much, and think we’d look cute together, is all.”

Priscilla’s heart dropped, and she wondered if maybe someone had pranked her, because it literally felt as though the disobedient organ had attempted to shrivel, crack, and exit her body.

“No,” said Agatha coolly.