Page 35 of The Runaway and the Rugged
Using the back of my palm, I dried my eyes. The last thing I wanted was to influence her emotions.
“I’m so sorry, Greta.” I tried to sound as sincere as I could, because I truly did hate this. “I know planning all this wasn’t easy by any stretch, and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin this moment for you, but I can’t go through with the wedding. I can’t marry him.”
If anyone had the best poker face, it was Greta. Her posture was stiff and unmoving, while everything else seemed to lack any sort of response. I’d rather her yell or scream at me, honestly anything other than how she was looking at me right now.
Even Garth appeared bothered by her response as he cleared his throat.
“Okay,” Greta finally responded, her tone coming off as disconnected.
I cast a sideways glance at Garth.
“Okay,” she repeated, this time with a deep, restorative breath that sounded anything but controlled.
“Greta…” Garth leaned toward his sister, who continued to nod and breathe in a rhythmic motion.
“It’s okay, Garth, I’m okay.”
Clearly, she was anything but.
“I just need a second to… process everything.” She planted both palms onto her knees and rocked slightly forward before rising to her feet.
The empath in me immediately went to stand, but Garth quickly intervened with the sharp shake of his head and an “I can handle this” look.
“All right, go ahead and process it, but don’t overdo it,” Garth went on, and immediately I gave him a hard look.
Was he trying to set her off on purpose?
“What Garth means is, take all the time you need.” I hoped my words would stop her pacing and bring some more color to her face, but instead, her feet came to an abrupt stop where her expressionless eyes collided with mine.
Her gaze was unwavering, cold, and after a few moments had passed, she did something I hadn’t expected.
She laughed.
“Take all the time I need?” Her tone was anything but amusing, and instead, sounded mockingly artificial.
“Greta, don't," Garth warned in a low growl.
Her head jerked in his direction.
“I don’t think you both realize what I’ve had to deal with over the past… however long Emelia has been missing.”
Although her tone had softened from her previous fierceness, it was evident she was a mixture of annoyance and wounded feelings. I didn’t blame her, though, whatever she was feeling, she certainly had every right to feel.
Even if she was a bit intimidating.
“I have never been so terrified, so pissed off and revolted in my whole life,” she admitted, and instantly my mind wandered to Nathaniel. I knew exactly where this was headed. “Trying to reassure your fiancé… sorry, your ex-fiancé that you didn’t leave him took some fuckin’ years off my life.”
A burst of heat shot up my neck as a wave of discomfort fell over me. I was very well acquainted with the wrath of Nathaniel Bettencourt, almost overly to the point I’ve become perversely immune. It wasn't uncommon for him to lose his composure in front of others, and when he did, it was typically in the presence of close colleagues who possessed the same, rich-guy temper as he did.
Well, that was until now.
God, what her opinion of me must be.
One word: weak.
“Luckily your friend Clarke jumped in before I showed him what a true Texas cowgirl is capable of.” She rolled her shoulders with the tickle of a smile appearing on her face.
A joke. She was making a joke during a situation that certainly should not be funny by any means, and yet I didn’t seem to mind. Not when I was picturing a less-than-athletic Nathaniel attempting to defend himself from the fury of Greta.
