Prince Charmings (BOOK ONE)

37

There was a blood clotted handkerchief sat beside Dad's usual cup of coffee when I entered the kitchen. Jenny's car was already gone and Mom was outside, all but staring directly at the sun, a slowly bubbling pan of eggs still going on the stovetop. I turned off the gas and nudged the hot pan onto an unused burner. Rolling up my button-down's sleeves, I filled a mug with coffee just to give my hands something to do and walked over to the table.

Dad didn't look up. His eyes were trained to the newspaper splayed out in front of him as though it was just another normal morning. A few candid shots of yelling politicians with nameless faces to me graced the front cover, alongside an advertisement for beans and a gripping story of a lost kitten found in a well two states over.

"You're not going to eat something more substantial?" He asked and I jumped at the attention. Dad didn't look up, busy turning the page with controlled patience that only the barest tremor of his wrist gave away. He was in what Thomas dubbed his film noir suit, clean-cut and black, a matching trench coat neatly folded against the back of his chair. He'd shaved off his beard at some point last night. It was the most jarring part of hearing him say he was proud of me, last night, for standing my ground against Jeremy; I could actually see his smile for once, the way it stretched his cheeks and produced slight wrinkles. A slight dusting of stubble had quickly grown to grace his chin, void the area where a thin scar ran through the right side of his jaw. I didn't have to look down to know his shoes were freshly polished, unlike my own with a poorly concealed scuff-mark covered up with April's old liquid eyeliner. I stepped closer to the island in an attempt to hide them from his line of sight.

"Mom would kill me if I got grease on my shirt," I said, making a point of carefully pursing my lips around the rim of my mug. The coffee was lukewarm and bitter as it coated my tongue. I contemplated spitting it back out but Dad's throaty cough told me that doing so would end in reprimand. Why pour a cup just to waste it, I could hear the lecture coming. I swallowed and tried to hide the fact that part of my soul died at the action.

"There's always cereal," he said, and god did I feel like slamming my head into the kitchen island. I had never had a more stilted and uncomfortable conversation, and that was saying something. Talking to my dad was equivalent to chewing rocks at the best of times, but the loaded tension made things ten million times worse. He turned back to his paper, brows furrowing slightly as his eyes glanced over something.

"Anything interesting happen?" I asked when a few minutes passed and Dad made no further attempt at conversation. He knew I was dying to ask what the hell was with the President Snow worthy handkerchief, but unless he hedged that it was okay to do so, I was keeping my mouth shut. "In the paper, I mean."

"Your sister up?" he asked instead, rustling his pages in a way that oozed coolness. "I didn't hear any doors slamming upstairs so I assume she's still in bed."

I fidgeted with my cup, pressing it to my lips then drawing it back again. A rush of nausea hit me just at the scent of it. "I heard her talking on the phone on my way down." I frowned, squinted up at the ceiling as though I could see through the floorboards and into April's room. "She's probably doing her hair or something."

"Thomas said there's traffic on the main highway, but he'll make it before the ceremony ends." More newspaper rustling. "We should get moving soon."

"Right." I nodded, pointing upstairs sharply. I placed my cup next to the sink then reclaimed it, glancing out at my Mom who hadn't seemed to have moved at all. "I'll go check in with April."

Dad grunted, effectively ending the conversation.

I paused for a second, questions lingering on the tip of my tongue. The words never came out though, and the moment broken seconds later by the sharp rasp of my phone in my pocket. I cursed, pulling it free to see a harried message from Iris.