Page 165 of Hateful Games

Collecting myself, I open it, expecting to see Nova. However, it’s Teresa with a knowing look in her soulful eyes. The fat and ugly tears return and I break down.

“Oh, honey!” she whispers, stepping inside and pulling me into her arms. “Shh, let it all out.”

I sob, unable to understand where all the emotions are coming from.

Have I held them in all this time? Was I this broken and I didn’t know?

The family I’ve been conditioned and taught to hate is accepting me with open arms. Nothing is making sense. The roots my world is built on is crumbling.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m cr-rying,”

“It’s normal, love. Your whole life has been uprooted and it’s always hard. Doesn’t matter if it’s a love or arranged marriage, it just is,” she consoles. “But you’re not alone. You have all of us by your side.”

Leaning back, I brush my cheeks. Tugging me to the marble sink, Teresa dabs my face with tissue.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah!” I give a tentative smile. “Thank you.”

“Stop thanking us, Rosalie,” she scolds teasingly. “You’ve said it so many times, I’ve lost count. You’re family now. None of that.”

I laugh. “Okay!”

“Nova and you will stay here tonight.”

“We can’t impose.”

“It wasn’t a request. You can go back tomorrow after breakfast.” Mischief flickering across her beautiful face, she bribes me by saying, “I’ll show you Nova’s embarrassing baby pictures that I told him I got rid of.”

Yeah, Nova is definitely her son.

Chapter Forty-three

Rosalie

The cozy bed I’m lying on shifts, disturbing my peaceful sleep.

I tighten my grip, as though it will stop the movement. When it moves again, I assume it’s Nova jostling and grumble, “Don’t annoy me, Nova.”

The shaking stops and I bury myself harder against the warmth. The bedsheets have never smelled so nice and hypnotic. I never want to leave. Sighing in pleasure, I doze off again. And feel the bed hug me back.

Hmm, strange.

No idea how much time passes, but tingles spread over my back when something brushes my spine. It’s like a teasing caress, lulling me into a trance. I arch, pressing closer into the touch. It instantly stops.

I wiggle in protest until fingertips rub me back and forth.

It’s enough to cut through my sleepy haze.

Opening my eyes, I find myself cuddling my husband. Yet again, I’m wrapped around him, lying halfway on his chest with my breasts smashed against him. I’m at my nemesis’s parents’ house, in his freaking childhood bedroom. The rest of the events of the previous night come crashing in.

The dinner.

The breakdown.

A night cap with Nova’s mom, where, as promised, she showed me Nova’s photo album filled with so many pictures of him in embarrassing states to some downright adorable. I might’ve asked her to send me a few.

Perfect blackmail material.

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