Page 81 of Alpha-Ex Wedding Ruse
A few more dramatic minutes passed—her voice rising and falling as she ranted into the phone, pacing the space like a disoriented peacock. When the call finally ended, she looked murderous. Her jaw was locked, lips drawn into a thin, furious line.
“I have to go to the boutique,” she snapped, snatching her purse from the table.
Internally, I sighed in relief. That was a crisis I didn’t mindwatching unfold. I’d just dodged what would’ve been an excruciating evening—Elena draping herself over Luca in public while I pretended not to exist. I felt victory bloom faintly in my chest.
But then she kept talking. And just like that, the tiny flame of relief was snuffed out.
“But you and Luca can go ahead. So many things are already going wrong, and this art gallery walkthrough cannot be one of them.”
I stilled.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the movement of Luca leaning back with ease, a lazy smirk unfurling across his face.
God, I hated the smugness curling on his lips right now.
“Um, Elena…are you sure?” I blurted, grasping at straws. “We can totally reschedule for when you’re free. I mean—wouldn’t you want to choose the pieces yourself?”
She waved a hand like the whole thing bored her. “I trust Luca to handle it. He has good taste.”
Then, with an air kiss toward Luca, she added, “I’ll see you later.”
He offered her a noncommittal smile, barely bothering to rise from his seat.
And then she was gone. Leaving me.
With him.
And the colossal elephant now stretching its legs in the room.
The moment her footsteps faded, silence wrapped around me—thick and suffocating. Dread twisted in my chest like a coil tightening with each breath. I could feel him without looking.
It wasn’t just the kiss.
It was the fact that I liked it—every stolen, breathless second of it. My wolf liked it too. She stirred even now, clinging to the warmth of his touch, aching for more.
And by more, I didn’t mean another kiss—I meant the whole damn thing. Him. Us. Again.
That’s what terrified me.
I didn’t trust myself around him. I needed walls—thicker, higher, unscalable walls.
Luca stood.
“Let’s go, Leila. I’ll drive you.”
I looked up, already bristling. “I can get there on my own perfectly fine, thank you.”
“I don’t have the patience for that. My weekend has already been ruined by a certain someone.”
My eyes narrowed. “I’ll take an Uber.”
He exhaled slowly, that deep, infuriating sigh that said I’m done playing games. “Leila, get in the car. Don’t make me ask again.”
Then he turned and walked off, just like that. No waiting for permission. Straight toward the driveway, like the decision had already been made.
I stared after him, then yanked out my phone and opened the Uber app, more to prove a point to myself than anything else. The nearest driver was fifteen minutes away. And that was without the ten-minute walk to the Moreau estate’s front gate. Twenty-five minutes total.
Damn it. He was right.
