Dragonfly Kisses by Sabrina York

move. She was a dead weight.
    “Uncle Dylan, are you going? Already?”
    He disentangled her and knelt at her side. “I have to, sweetie. I have to work in the morning.” He hugged her then, because he didn’t want her to see his expression. He hugged her long and hard. “Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered. “I’ll come back and see you soon.”
    He turned to leave but Dawn, being Dawn, had to have the last word. She followed him to the door and muttered, as he passed by her into the night, “It’s not your fault.”
    But it was.
    It was his fault.
    Lila was dead because he’d given her the gene that killed her.
     
     
     

Chapter Twelve
     
    “Darling!” Cassie’s mother wreathed her in a fragrant hug. Mother always wore this scent, something expensive and elegant. It clung to her like a cloud.
    “Mother.”
    “You’re just in time for dinner.” She patted her golden hair though, as usual, it was perfect, coiled into an intricate knot at her nape. “Do come in.”
    Cassie handed over the obligatory bottle of pricey wine and followed her mother into the sitting room, barely listening as she oohed and ahhed over the vintage. Though Cassie knew it would go into the wine cellar with all the other bottles she’d brought.
    “Merrilee and Dane are here,” Mother threw over her shoulder. “And there’s someone here for you.”
    Cassie’s steps slowed. Oh, hell. She hated when her parents tried to set her up with men. They always got it wrong, as though they didn’t really know her at all. Peter had been their choice, and look how that had turned out.
    She’d felt trapped, like a bug in a jar, every minute she spent with him. Then, one day, she’d snapped and broken it off. She’d never felt so free.
    She didn’t relish the thought of going back into the jar. The thought was particularly odious now. Now that she’d tasted wild bliss with Dylan.
    The last thing she wanted was a date with one of her parents’ puppets tonight.
    No, she thought, as she stepped into the sitting room and a dapper man in a perfectly pressed suit stood. The last thing she wanted tonight was a date with Gunter .
    He clicked his heels together and proffered a sharp, tight bow. Everything about Gunter was sharp and tight. He was a brilliant conductor—sharp and tight worked well for him on stage.
    But as a lover? Probably not so much.
    She knew he was interested in her. He’d made no secret of it. Apparently, when his advances had not been embraced, he’d applied to her parents for their assistance with his suit.
    He took her hand and pressed a cold kiss upon it, then glanced up at her from his bended stance. In his expression simmered a certainty he’d impressed her with his Continental Airs .
    He couldn’t have been more wrong.
    Her father saved her from Gunter’s languishing looks, folding her into a decorous hug. He kissed her on the cheek. “Cassandra. You look lovely.”
    “Thank you, Father.”
    “Cassie.” Merrilee and Dane nodded in tandem from the settee. As children, she and Merrilee had been holy terrors. But over the years, they’d learned decorum. With great gentility and placid determination, Mother had squeezed every defiant thought from them. Molded, perfected, sanitized their lives. Restrained their spirits.
    Why, oh why, did Cassie feel this sudden burning urge to flout decorum? Perhaps pummel it to bits?
    “Sherry, darling?” Without waiting for her response, Mother crooked a finger to Winters, who brought her a delicate crystal goblet on a silver tray. Cassie took a sip before she remembered she hated sherry.
    They sat in the elegant drawing room sipping sherry and chatted about unimportant things, like the weather and the South of France and a book of poetry Merilee was reading until Cassie wanted to scream. She fought off the temptation to toss back her sherry—such a breach would launch Mother into a fit of vapors, no doubt, and at the very least result in a lecture which Cassie could