"So it's a Fae curse bound on Fae gold and not Mattie Linden's curse," Sean summarizes, after I've relayed what the will-o'-the-wisps showed me. "I have to admit, that's a new one. I didn't think you Fae had that much vindictiveness in you."
Breakfast has come and gone. Dorian's buyer has come and gone. Geraldo and our chef won't return until later this afternoon, with a reminder before we're expecting the guy who can get us falsified travel documents. Bound to the villa as we are, we've opted to make the most of the infinity-edge pool on our private terrace.
Leaning his head against the floating recliner chair, Sean stares up at the cloudless blue sky overhead. "But we don't know what the pearls are or if they're even relevant."
"That's about right," I answer, hanging lightly between his feet as we float about the pool. To my left, Dorian's head emerges above the water and his eyes sparkle with mischief. Then a predatory smile curls his lips.
