Gwen’s heart thudded, and her alarm narrowed down to a single focus. “Fiora,” she provided. “What about her?”

Isobelle was looking down at the stone between them. When Gwen dropped her gaze, she saw their skirts pooled together on the rock, the moonlight blending them into one.

“You said you used to have a crush on her,” Isobelle said, evenly enough. “What made you stop?”

You.

The mental response was so quick that Gwen had to bite her lip furiously to stop the word from coming out. In actuality, it wouldn’t have been true anyway. She’d given up pursuing Fiora a year ago, long before she ever met Isobelle.

Not that you’re pursuing Isobelle now, her mind told her, biting back that moonlit pathway of thought just as furiously as she was biting her lip.

For one glaring moment, Gwen considered making something up.

Then Isobelle’s fingers shifted slightly. The balled-up fists were gone—her slender hands had turned to cup Gwen’s in hers. Isobelle’s skin was warmer now, warmer in fact than her own. And it was Isobelle offering her that warmth.

Gwen kept her eyes on those hands, not sure she could tell Isobelle the truth if she had to watch each shift of her expression while she did. This was not a story you told to someone you wanted to . . . someone you wanted to respect you.

“The girls at the tea party,” Gwen managed finally. “When they asked if I’d ever kissed anyone? When I said no, I was giving them Céline’s answer. Not mine.”

Isobelle just waited, while the wind and the trees and the moon formed patterns on her skin for Gwen to focus on.

“She was only interested in me when she was fighting with her boyfriends. I knew she was only trying to make them jealous, but I kept thinking . . . every time she came to me, I thought maybe it was different.” Gwen shook her head, as much to buy herself time to breathe as to comment on her own foolishness. “It worked every time. She’d always make sure to let them see her kiss me. And they’d come sprinting back.”

Isobelle’s hands had gone still under hers. “And where did that leave you?”

“Waiting for their next fight, I suppose. I should’ve been stronger and stopped letting it happen, but . . .” Gwen lifted a shoulder, a trickle of shame coursing through her, making it hard to speak. “I did overhear her explaining it to one of them, though, and that’s what ended things between us once and for all. Just a bit of fun, I heard her tell him. A little show.” Gwen paused, snatches of that ill-fated tea party with Isobelle’s friends flashing through her mind. Then, softly, she added, “She called it practice.”