Chapter 56

This was the other side of Brenna, Quinn told himself, the part that had been an arts writer and worked for Vienne at New York Rumours, that had loved that world and lost it—or had been forced to relinquish it, same thing. But there was more to it than that. This was also a performance for his benefit, as if to say, “See, this is what you could have, what we could have together.”

He thought back to that dreadful night of Vienne’s party and the flower reading and something small that he had witnessed and forgotten but that seemed meaningful now. They were preparing to leave—laughing, chatting, if only he could go back and freeze that pre-lapsarian moment—and Vienne put a hand on Mal’s shoulder and gazed into his eyes with such longing that Quinn felt something he never had for her. He felt pity.