Page 132 of Iris
“But this ball is a good idea. And I’m glad you’re getting involved. I’ve been wondering if I’ve been too lenient on you, given you too much freedom. But this ball is a good way to keep you focused on the Season.”
I clench my jaw to prevent myself from lashing out, and god, is it hard. I don’t know how Violet did this last year. All this shame and pressure…
But I’m not Vi. And this is my life. Mine.
“We need to secure a mate for you as soon as we can. I’ve got this for you.” Heath pushes a piece of paper to me. “I’ve secured several walks, dates, and group get-togethers for you. These are the Alphas, written in order of their status and potential. Some aren’t from here, some from the mainland, some from overseas, and some you know. Learn all there is to know about them and…” He pushes another piece of paper to me. “These are acceptable subjects to talk about, including the answers.”
He’s kidding. He’s got to be kidding. “I’m not stupid.”
“Then don’t act like it.” He checks his phone. “Mom and the girls will be home soon, so you can talk to Mom about the ball and…other things.”
“Like my heat?” I ask sweetly.
Heath turns brick red. “Other. Things.”
“Like?”
His eyes narrow into slits. “Things.” Then he clears his throat. “Go and wait for Mom.”
My temperature rising, I take the papers and pretend to look them over. But my vision is blurring as anger taints my vision. Part of me wants to yell that this is pointless, that he can take his list and shove it where the sun don’t shine because I’ve found a mate already—well, mates. And I just so happen to like them…a lot. But I know where that will lead.
So, instead, I crumple up the papers with trembling hands and throw the ball at him. “You’re a grade-A asshole, Heath.”
I stomp out, feeling like I’m the bad-tempered version of Rue, but I don’t care. I race up the stairs, my eyes stinging with pending tears.
In my room, I curl up on my bed, pulling a pillow into my lap to hug.
My room is plainer than my sisters’, but it suits me just fine. Mostly white, red, blacks, bold colors that once reflected the posters I had on the walls. No frills, no soft touches, just the basics with a pop of color.
I pull the mini from my pocket and message Xavier.
Consider it penciled in.
I sign it with a small kiss emoji.
Kisses, smiles, holding hands, and a flower.
Such a sanitized thing would normally annoy me, but a secret little thrill races and tumbles in my blood at now.
Mr. Scarsby writes back, and I want to squee.
Xavier
If I can be so bold to steal that kiss in person, it will make my night at the dance.
You can’t steal what’s given.
Xavier
Cupcake, the kisses from you are so priceless, they feel like stealing.
Oh. My. God.
I’m melting fast.
And then my phone buzzes with a new text. I pick it up.
Killian.
