I forgot to write a disclaimer in the first chapter, so here it is: I am not Libba Bray. I'm just not.
Anyway, I was writing the chapter after this one in econ, and I started to feel really bad for Gemma. I mean, I knew she had Kartik, but Felicity didn't, and it made me kind of hate Fee. So I wrote this little filler chapter so Fee knows that Gemma doesn't love Simon. Yeah. Enjoy. The next chapter should be up really soon. :)
"I can't marry Simon," Gemma confides to Ann and I. She passes the bottle to Ann, who leans forward to take it, then slumps back against the cave wall.
"Why not?" I ask, not caring that I sound too interested.
"I love someone else," she proclaims, seizing the bottle back from Ann and swallowing the last of the whiskey in one gulp.
Ann sits up straight. "Who?"
Gemma just smiles, twirling a loose lock of hair around one finger.
"Yes, who?" I ask impatiently. "Do tell us, my dear."
"I shouldn't tell you," she says, sing-song. "It's dreadfully improper." Ann giggles, then hiccups. I blow lightly on the candle flame and watch it dance, feigning disinterest now. Even if Gemma does love some gypsy, she will not leave Simon for him.
"Oh, do tell us!" exclaims Ann.
"Kartik," Gemma breathes. "Brother of Amar, former initiate of the Rakshana." She laughs a humorless laugh. "He's Indian."
"The man you kissed?" I wonder. "That night in the gypsy camp."
She nods. "Kartik." Her voice seems to caress his name, and I am reminded forcefully of Simon saying, "Fee."
"Brother of who? Former what?" Ann is asking, but I am not interested in details. If anything, this confession has made Simon and Gemma's impending marriage more real to me. Gemma cannot marry an Indian. I know this, and she knows it too.
"I must break it off with Simon," Gemma is saying now. "Grandmother will be horribly disappointed, and Father and Tom. But I just cannot marry him! I cannot!"
"You must," I say, and my heart splits in two.
"Tom," sighs Ann. "Why doesn't Tom love me?"
We ignore her. Gemma says, "No, I love Kartik. We will run away to India. I love him, Felicity. I cannot marry Simon. I cannot!"
"You've had too much whiskey," I tell her.
"So have I," says Ann.
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