LORETTA

“Lo does NOT like him,” I hissed out.

The three musketeers seated around me only laughed, exchanging amused and sympathetic looks.

“I do not,” I pushed, even as heat flooded my cheeks for God knows what reason.

Zara closed my hand in hers. We were halfway through dinner, but we'd long forgotten our meals to talk. The laughter in her eyes softened, and from under her spectacles, her expression turned serious

“Lo,” Zara began, “Your face and your reaction say otherwise.” I opened my mouth to protest, to tell them that it was the wine that made my face flush red and nothing more, but Zara shook her head,...