Page 43 of A Bridge to Nowhereland

Ugh. I grimaced for her. If I was this woman’s friend, I’d be screaming to run as far and fast as she could. This man wasn’t going to be her white knight. He never would. He was telling her point-blank that this was it.

“I didn’t say I was unhappy with our situation.”

I could just imagine her clinging to his arm as she spoke. I backed up, thinking better of walking in. I’d hightail it up to the bedroom and wait for someone to come and find me, whenever that might be—an hour, a week, whatever.

I turned to escape and the floor creaked—loudly. They’d been silent as it happened, too.

Fuuuuuck.There was only one thing to do: walk into the middle of the wreckage. I strode into the kitchen as if I hadn’t heard a thing.

I forced a surprised look on my face as I saw them. Sawher, Kaden’s girlfriend. She was slender, finely boned, and the kind of beautiful you usually only saw after a lot of filters and Photoshopping. She had a presence about her that made it clear she knewexactlyhow stunning she was.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company. I’ll come back,” I said.

She smiled like a viper. “Not at all. I’m Antoinette, a close friend of Kaden. I’m here enough to hardly qualify as a company.” She hadn’t called herself his girlfriend, but she was trying to get the point across as loudly as possible, short of screaming it.

She hadn’t liked me before she met me, and now she hated me even more for some reason. I could see the venom dripping as she stared my way.

She needn’t bother. He was all hers, or as much as he’d allow her to have. How anyone could tolerate a relationship like that was beyond me. I didn’t care how attractive he was.

Not that I found him attractive.

Kaden merely nodded in my direction and walked out of the room, leaving me here. Alone. With her.

“I’m so happy I could lend you something. Kaden said you were in rough shape.” Her gaze lingered on my hair.

I reached up, smoothing down the out-of-control mass as the length of the silky pajama pants made sense. I felt like a munchkin with puffed cheeks staring at the cheekbones of a face that could make a cosmetic company a fortune.

“Would you like a pastry?” she asked, holding a plate out to me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking a croissant. I’d been starving a few minutes ago, but now I was just trying to get along and be polite. Clearly this was a relationship that was going to need some work, if I ever saw her again. If she was dating Kaden, it was likely.

I nibbled at the corner of the pastry. “Tasty.”

“Take the rest of them as well. I don’t know why Kaden gets them. Neither of us eat that kind of food.” She smiled as her eyes dipped to my hips.

Curvy hips ran in my family. It didn’t matter how thin I was or how many croissants I skipped. The hips curved. The butt popped. That was my fate in this life.

Just get along.

She walked over to a chair, where I saw my jeans.

“Kaden had your clothes laundered, but I’m not sure they did a good job,” she said, running her hand over a spot on my newly cleaned shirt. “See? Look what they did. It’s like they scrubbed them with rocks or something. They should have to replace them, they’re in such bad shape. I have plenty of old things lying around here I won’t wear anymore that are better than this if you need to borrow something.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re fine.” I grabbed my stuff off the chair before she could find more fault with them, me—everything. “Hopefully Kaden can point me in the direction of how to get back to the outpost and I’ll be getting out of your hair.”

“I’ll make sure to tell him you’re waiting for an escort back. Lord knows he’s not good at being a host, probably from lack of trying, but we all have our weaknesses.”

“Well, thanks,” I said, retreating to the guest bedroom before she could verbally slice me up any more. I wasn’t coming out until this woman was long gone.

Kaden stood in the door of the guest bedroom.

“You look better,” he said, walking in and his eyes running the length of me.

I was already back in my own clothes, but even clean, I felt a little rattier.

“What time is it?” I moved to the window, looking down on the town below. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen in a tourist magazine.

“About nine in the morning.”

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