Page 48 of The Invite
@thedeviluworship: Why wasn’t I invited for dinner?
Right then, the doorbell rings.
@thedeviluworship: Better save the entire dessert for me, little prey.
@thedeviluworship: I don’t share.
The doorbell rings for the second time. I swallow thickly as I shove aside my phone and take a calming breath. Composing my features, I stroll down the hallway and unlock the door.
Ace’s elegant and handsome face fills my doorway and I force a smile on mine.
“Hi,” I softly greet, and hurriedly lie to explain why it took me so long to come to the door. “I was upstairs when you rang the bell.”
“That’s okay,” Ace replies and grins. “I figured.”
“Please come inside.” I shift to the side to let him pass.
Meanwhile, I scour the street for signs of Augustus but see no one for miles. How else will he know Ace has come over if he isn’t here himself? Ace has inadvertently saved me from my sinister monster and he doesn’t even know it.
Maybe Augustus will leave me alone tonight.
Highly unlikely, but I still hope.
Stepping back, I close the door and lock the deadbolt with the new key until I’m satisfied no one will break in. Behind me, Ace whistles impressively at the sound.
“That’s quite a lock.”
A little embarrassed he’s seen how overboard I’ve gone, I face him and shrug. “Better safe than sorry.”
Ace’s outfit for the evening is a mix of casual and stylish. He wears a navy blue shirt with the sleeves rolled to show off his veined forearms, and an expensive wristwatch on his left paired with dark denim completes his look.
His glasses are a dark shade of blue today, matching the color of his jeans, and his hair is styled back over his forehead. There’s no doubt Ace is handsome. He’s got that brooding—when he’s not smiling—and hot teacher look going on. However, his down-to-earth nature is what makes me like him.
In his hand, I notice a bottle of wine.
He notices where my attention went and offers it to me. “Just a housewarming gift. Hope you like red wine.”
I don’t drink. But I keep that tidbit to myself, not wanting to offend him.
“Oh, you didn’t have to,” I murmur, taking the bottle from him. “But thank you.”
“I would be a terrible guest if I didn’t,” he says. “My mother would roll over in her grave if I forgot my manners.”
The revelation breaks my heart and I soften my gaze. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs, pocketing his hands.
“What about your dad? Are you close with him?” His features tighten and I immediately regret asking, knowing I overstepped my boundaries.
“I never knew him.”
I feel mortified. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“You didn’t know,” he replies calmly.
“My parents passed away recently too,” I reveal, wanting to share something personal in return. “That’s why I moved here for a fresh start.”
Empathy and sadness cross his eyes, and he hoarsely murmurs, “I’m very sorry to hear that, Nessa.”
