Page 79 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“Is there a problem here?” Ivy asks sweetly, but there’s steel in her voice.
Thorne appears too, looking exhausted but alert. “Everything okay, Juliet?”
“Fine,” I manage, but my voice sounds shaky.
Patrick smirks. “Just peachy, right Jules?”
Uh, Iloathethat nickname. It’s a thousand times worse than Ace, the one I made Hunter quit calling me. At least Hunterlistens. And he’s not even my real fiancé!
Thorne steps in, looking menacing. “I think you’d better get lost, loser.”
“Loser?” Patrick barks a laugh. “You'd better watch who you’re calling names, Alex. At least I’m a hockey player. This bitch is just a wannabe puck bunny.”
“Shut the fuck up! How about that?” Ivy jeers. “I need you to leave, stranger.”
That’s when Hunter walks in, which surprises me because he wasn’t supposed to be here. He must have gotten four hours of sleep maximum, but he looks amazing in dark jeans and a fitted henley that shows off his arms. Even though I absolutely should not have been hoping for Huxley to save me, relief floods through me at the sight of him.
“Sorry I’m late, babe,” he says. He walks straight to me and pulls me into a kiss that makes my knees weak.
“So, Hunter.” Patrick smiles at Hunter. “Do you know any high-end consignment boutiques around here? I figure you must really love used goods. I mean, since you’re set to marry Juliet and all.”
Hunter goes absolutely still. I can feel the tension radiating off him as he lunges for Patrick’s throat. I grab him by the shirt. He stops, but he’s glaring daggers and lobbing f-bombs at Patrick like grenades.
“You want to say that again, fuckface?” Hunter snarls. Rage is rolling off him in waves.
“Hunter, don’t,” I hiss, still gripping his shirt. “Please.”
“He just called you used goods.” Hunter’s voice is deadly quiet.
“Let it go.”
“Like hell I will.”
I realize cameras are appearing. Local news crews covering the charity event, phones coming out, people recognizing Hunter.
Hunter seems to realize it too because suddenly he’s switching gears, wrapping his arm around me and speaking directly into a camera.
“Actually, I’m excited to announce a wedding date. Juliet agreed to marry me this February. We’re getting married right after Valentine’s Day. I can’t wait for her to beMrs. Huxley.”
“You two are disgusting,” Patrick spits.
“Disgustinglyin love,” Hunter says, needling Patrick. “Isn’t that right, baby?”
“Yes?” My answer comes out as a question, but neither man is really paying attention to me, anyway. My eyes widen as I stare holes into Hunter’s face. Where does he come up with this shit? Announcing a wedding date that will never materialize? I dig my nails into his arm.
Hunter looks at me, smirking, and leans down to whisper in my ear. “Relax. It’s just for show, Firecracker.”
I shudder. Hunter’s name for me coming from his mouth sounds sweet as pie. Too bad I want to throttle him right now.
Before I can process what’s happening, the Havoc’s social media guy and a cameraman materialize at my elbow like vultures scenting fresh drama.
“Juliet, perfect timing,” he says, already waving the camera into position. “We’d love a quick clip about the engagement. You and Hunter have such amazing chemistry.”
He glances toward Patrick, who’s lingering far too close, then back to me with a smile that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. The camera swings up, the ring light flares, and suddenly I’m trapped between Hunter at my side and Patrick watching from a few feet away.
The interviewer leans in, mic ready. “So, Juliet, tell us what it’s like to be engaged to Hunter Huxley. Especially with such a history between the three of you.”
My smile feels frozen in place as I hear myself say, “It’s been… incredible. Hunter is amazing. I’m so lucky. We’re, uh… going to get married this winter, like Hunter said. It’s going to be a private ceremony, of course.”
