Page 50 of Ghosted in Arkadia
“You’re going to do great. Act like you belong and you’re halfway there. Yes, some mated women are quiet, but not all of them. Katherine certainly wasn’t. Don’t be worried about saying the wrong thing, no one will think twice of it if you defer to me. You’re going to do great, princess. And you might even have fun.”
I fake a gasp. “Fun? Me? Never.”
“Finding your soulmate doesn’t change who you are. Just be you.”
I roll my eyes, knowing who I am will make waves inside the mated district. “Be me, but a me that’s utterly, totally, andcompletely enthralled by you.” I bat my eyelashes, giving Killian a puppy dog look even Rex would be jealous of.
“Oh. I don’t think it will be all that bad.” Killian smirks, one side of his mouth tilting higher than the other. “But we might need to work on your flirting skills.”
Alfredo
Isit in the passenger side of the silver city rental. Killian sits in the driver's seat, though there's no steering wheel to speak of. A bruised, purplish-gray sky presses down. The heavy clouds appear to scrape the rooftops, while the icy air frosts the windowpanes. There's an almost imperceptible shift as we drive into the mated couples' district. City lights appear on both sides of the road while the car hums almost silently.
I miss the purr of the hellcat.
Killian, without his mirrored glasses, looks in my direction. His missing eye is hidden by a black patch. It makes him attractive, in a rugged way, but reminds me I have to stick to a fabricated story for the evening. Killian is Thomas Wayne, and I am Jessica Wayne. We work in production and Thomas lost his eye in a freak accident involving a forklift.
It’s easy to remember my character. I’m just not thrilled to have to play one. Killian opens his mouth, but I press the car’s screen and turn on the radio instead. Soft instrumental music floats through the speakers, filling the space with unspokensuggestions. I turn to look out the window and watch couples walking hand in hand down the sidewalk. They cling close to one another, like they couldn’t bear to be separated for even the slightest moment.
Billboard screens shine, showing couples enjoying products made just for two. Even the benches outside storefronts are made with just enough room for two and curve inwards so those seated don’t have to take their eyes off one another. The whole thing makes me feel uneasy. Like a society trying too hard to pretend it’s perfect. As a mateless, I know all about the dark side of the world the mated couples refuse to speak about.
We are their dirty little secret. The stain on their otherwise utopian society.
It feels like the city is watching us. Like it knows we don’t belong.
The car pulls up to the curb ofL’Effet.The building is black with elements of stained wood. The sign's elegant, flowing gold script hums with subtle energy, its letters glowing softly. A couple stand flanking the doors, wearing a matching suit while their eyes watch us through the car’s window.
Killian tilts his head in my direction, keeping his tone low. “You’re doing great, princess. Youalmostlook like you don’t want to punch me.”
I smile, tilting my head to rest on his shoulder while I look up at him as if he’s my soulmate. “You’re lucky this dress doesn’t have pockets, or I’d have your balls in them by now.”
He laughs, cupping my cheek with his palm before leaning down to plant a simple kiss on my forehead. Just enough to sell our lie, but nervous flutters start in my stomach, regardless.
“I’m going to come around and open your door,” he whispers, and I nod.
I can feel the eyes of judgment, evaluating my every step. The way I get out of the car and step on the hem of my new dress.It’s the fanciest thing I have ever worn, black like the night, with glistening sparkles to reflect the golden hues of the lights. It goes all the way to my feet, barely missing the floor, but allows me to wear my boots. The full sleeves of the dress keep me warm despite the weather, but the low back exposes enough skin to send shivers down my spine as the wind whips past. Killian places a steadying hand on my back, warming me slightly with his touch while shepherding me toward the entrance.
Maybe this wouldn’t feel so weird if I went out to dinner more often.
We are led to a small table with just enough seating for two. It matches the other tables around the room. I wonder how Roman means to rub elbows with the other aristocrats of the city until my eyes land of the man in question. I’ve seen him before, in pictures, but none of them had captured the foreboding but wickedly captivating energy that emanates from him.
Bill Roman is tall.Reallytall. Even seated, it’s obvious he would tower above me like the looming dark clouds outside. He isn’t large, he’s lanky. Made entirely of limbs, but they move with a loose confidence. His face is unsettling, but in an almost alluring way. He has high cheekbones, sharp and striking, and a long nose that wouldn’t work on most people but does on him. His eyes are ringed in dark circles, wide set and seem to mirror back an untold horror. He looks like he’s seen the kind of horror that doesn’t scream, it hums. The kind that doesn’t make blood curdle. It makes it freeze.
His glass is half full of red wine, and he sips it between a full set of lips that are unexpectedly soft for his otherwise angular face. Like he would whisper sweet nothings in your ear right before he slits your throat.
The seat beside him is empty.
I peel my eyes away, looking back at Killian, who is studying his menu as if we hadn’t spent the past month doing that inpractice for this moment. I use both hands to pick up mine, forming a makeshift blockade before whispering. “Where’s his mate?”
Killian’s eye slowly looks up at me. There’s a simmering fire inside of him, but his tone comes out low and hushed. “Some people like to know their soulmate is safe by keeping them at their side. Others like to lock them up inside their fortress.”
“Which one are you?” I ask, raising a teasing eyebrow.
Killian narrows his gaze slightly, but before he can answer, the server arrives and asks for our drink order. I want to get adrinkbut know I can’t. Or at least, Jessica can’t. She just got the okay to have a kid. A martini might send the wrong message.
“By my side means my ego thinks if I’m there, I can prevent anything from happening,” Killian says as the server walks away from our table. “And the only type of locking up I like to do is in the bedroom.” He winks.
“Don’t I know it.” I say, a little louder, just hoping someone is listening.
