Page 10 of Bullied Pretend Mate
But everything was so hard.
Stuffing those memories down and out of the way, I circle the room once more, finally having lost Annette, when I see a flash of green on one of the upper balconies.
Of course—that’s why I haven’t seen her.
Turning, I hurry up a staircase to my right, taking the steps two at a time and doing my best not to knock over one of the servers, who is doinghisbest to keep the champagne on his platter from spilling everywhere.
“Sorry,” I breathe, hitting the top of the staircase and turning right, following my intuition and my nose. My heart thumps like I’m hunting, my wolf delighted by this sudden, exhilarating chase.
When I turn the corner, it’s just in time to see her stepping into an elevator, her dress swooshing from side to side as she moves. She hasn’t seen me. What would she do if she did? Throw champagne in my face?
There’s no time for me to think about it, to even consider it, because I’m already basically running toward the elevator, watching the doors slide shut.
I am not about to let her out of my sight again.
Chapter 5 - Maeve
This was a mistake.
Obviously, coming to this party was a mistake, but it’s like a little baby mistake, a small Russian nesting doll inside the much larger one, which was coming back to Silverville in the first place.
What the hell was I thinking? Did I really delude myself into believing my grandmother might have actually left me something—strings-free—in her will? For part of the drive over here, I had the ridiculous thought that she might have left me a heartfelt note, or even a video of some sort. Apologizing for everything.
Somehow, someway, I deluded myself into thinking coming back here might be some sort of resolution for me. A way to close the Silverville chapter of my life for good.
Or, at the very least, that my grandmother would have left me some money out of guilt for the way she treated me. And that I could use that money to finally get my business up and off the ground.
Instead, I’m dressed like an idiot, all puffed up for a party that nobody wants to see me at. I could tell the moment I got here that it was a mistake. When I couldn’t find Phina—or anyone else who was friendly, for that matter—I came up to the balcony and sat down in a chair for twenty minutes, sipping on my drink, resigning myself to finish the champagne, then make the embarrassing walk back to my rental.
I’ve put it off long enough, and when the elevator dings to take me downstairs—I have no clue where the stairs are, and no desire to try and walk down them in these shoes—I step inside,sucking in a deep breath and getting ready to brave the walk through the party.
But the elevator door doesn’t shut.
Instead, a hand smoothly slides between the two doors, and I can’t stop myself from gasping—it looks like the doors won’t stop, and their hand is going to be sliced clean off.
But then, it’s not. The doors open, and he slides inside, grinning broadly at me.
“Felix,” I breathe, unable to stop myself. I’d known there was a chance that I would see him. I knew, coming back here, that I could easily run into him on the street or at the store.
But I couldn’t have anticipated what it was going to feel like to actually be standing across from him in a space like this, his scent all around me, my heart racing at just the sight of his crooked smile.
He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off.
I should be telling him to go fuck himself, to get lost. I should be treating him to any number of the comments he made to me during our time in high school. I should be showing him what it feels like to smile like that, and to have someone wipe it off your face in a second.
If only there were a single thing about him that I could pick on.
For him, there was always my weight, my awkwardness, the too-big, draping clothes I’d wear to cover the body I hated.
But Felix is perfect, even if his hair is shaved a little too close to his head now, just a little forest of stubble. My hands itch to reach out and touch it, skim over it, see if it’s soft or rough.
I will not—I should have learned my lesson about my urges over Felix Rana.
But when I speak, I don’t tell him to fuck off. In fact, I don’t say anything that I should say to him. Instead, I fall back into our roles from childhood.
“You could have lost your hand,” I say, throwing my hand out toward the door, eyes wide. “What in the hells were you thinking?”
“I thought it was you,” he says breathlessly, as though he didn’t hear what I just said to him. “I didn’t know you were back.”
