Page 51 of Bullied Pretend Mate
I may not be the most perceptive man in the pack. I may not be the smartest, or the most organized, or the perfect leader.
But I can see the way she feels in the way that she looks at me.
“Maeve,” I say, reaching out and tucking a stray piece of hair away from her face, scooping it so it rests behind her ear.
“Yeah?” Her voice turns breathy, and even though we’re surrounded by dozens of other dancing couples, it feels like we’re the only two people in this ballroom, staring at one another, moving slowly through the space.
“I…” I clear my throat, eyes settling on hers. “I want you to stay.”
She laughs. “I am staying. We have a hotel for the night.”
I laugh, too, feeling loosened up by her joking. “No, Maeve. Like, I want you to stay in Silverville. Here, with me. Maybe we could find a place together.”
Her eyes snap up to mine, widening, a million questions moving around behind them. Then, at once, she seems to get what I’m saying, and she smiles, squeezing my forearms.
“I’d like that a lot,” she says, tilting her head. “Maybe we could get a cat, too.”
My smile feels impossibly wide. “I will get any pet you want. We could look for something near the downtown area, since I know you like being close to stuff.”
She agrees, and we continue on like that for a while, talking about our plans—where we could live, what we’ll do. My heart inflates like a balloon, getting lighter and lighter as the conversation goes on.
Maeve wants to stay in Silverville. Maybe she was already thinking about it, planning on telling me at some point. I hold her tight and whisper in her ear as we move around the dance floor.
And when we get to a corner of the ballroom, where it’s relatively dark and secluded, she drops her voice to a barely audible whisper, her eyes moving back and forth quickly.
“Where is he?” she asks, volume so low that I have to focus to hear her, have to replay the sentence in my head to make sense of it.
“Where is who?”
She glances around again, bringing her lips to my ear so I can hear her more clearly, “Mr. Stone.”
My mind whirs, trying to figure out why in the world she’s talking about that old lawyer right now, then it clicks.
The other day, when I threw her ice cream away. When I boxed her in against that brick wall, kissed her, tasted the strawberries on her lips. When I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.
All so the lawyer would see, so he would buy that we’re serious together.
“No, Maeve,” I say, unable to keep the desperation from creeping into my tone. I swallow, clear my throat, and pull her forward. “This—this isn’t a show. The past two months have been the best of my life. And I—I’m in love with you. You’re the person I want. I want to make this thing real and build a life together.”
She lets out a sound between a cough and a laugh, blinking at me as she takes a step back. “W-what?”
“Maeve,” I say, letting my voice drop, knowing we look strange standing on the edge of the dance floor but no longer dancing. I don’t want someone to come over here and think it’s an opening to talk to us. “I feel like this thing between us has always been there. Andhavingyou, for the last two months, it just made me realize—”
“No,” she says, taking a step backward so fast that she nearly trips. She’s shaking her head, her breath stuttering in and out. “No, Felix, that’s—this was just a deal, remember?”
“Yeah,” I raise my arms up, palms out, like a surrender. “At the start, but you can’t tell me you don’t feel this, Maeve. Haven’t you been happy?”
There are tears in her eyes, and she’s blinking rapidly, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah, but that’s—I’m not taking a mate, Felix. Remember? And there’s a good reason for that.”
The way she says it is likeI’mpart of that reason for that. Like, I have something to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to take a mate.
Why did I think this was going to make her happy? Instead, she’s backing away from me and acting like I’ve threatened to hide her in my basement, keep her trapped there, a prisoner of Silverville.
“Maeve, wait—”
She’s turning on her heel, starting to walk around the edge of the dance floor. I should lower my voice, try not to make such a scene, but the panic is bubbling up in my stomach, making it hard for me to think.
“Maeve,wait,” I call, stumbling after her, accidentally bumping into another pair of dancers. They give me a bewildered look, and I apologize, turning and finding her strawberry-blond head, forcing myself to focus on it as we dart through the room.
