Page 17 of Fake Fae-Ancée

For the first time in a very long time, I didn't feel like Officer McKenn, powerful guardian of law and order. I felt like the useless little brat Aunt Gytha had always told me I was.

I turned my head.

My collection of ancient and modern weapons were sitting on shelves and boards, filling the entire wall to my left. Swords, shields, rapiers, crossbows, firearms in all forms and sized. Five halberds, one morning star, an abundance of daggers, my collection of ancient shuriken.

Once I had mastered a weapon, I could not part with it. I just had to keep it, cluttering my room some more, as if proving to myself that I was stronger than them, whatever the hell that meant.

I swallowed down the panic that was bubbling up inside me again and rolled around on the mattress, facing the right wall, where my other collection was hibernating quietly and untouched.

Dresses…

Sigh!

Up to the ceiling they hung on racks, rows and rows of dresses, one more expensive and exquisite than the next. Modern cuts. Classic cuts. Party dresses. Ball gowns. Petticoats. Cocktail dresses. Skirts balled like fluffy clouds, silk shone lazily in the morning light.

Every month I blew a huge chunk of my salary on fashion. Charly often teased me that I hoarded my dresses like a dragon hoards its treasure. And I laughed, as always, and ignored the twinge in my heart.

"It's all wasted on you, girl."

Whenever I had lingered in front of a shop window for too long, Aunt Gytha had frowned and tugged little-girl-me away.

"None of this is for you."

None of my friends knew that whenever I wore one of my dresses I felt like a fraud. So I preferred more practical clothes in my day to day life, clothes that came with less complicated feelings. My uniform. Or sweatpants and giant shirts. Way easier than wondering why I was spending so much money on expensive fashion I never wore.

I heaved myself up and pulled out the dress I had prepared for the wedding — a backless, purple a-line to match the rest of the bridesmaids, even if I wasn't one of them myself.

I quickly changed, tossing Kalinin's enormous shirt into the corner, finding myself some new underwear and slipping into the dress.

More uncomfortable questions popped up. What had happened last night, anyway? Had he seen me naked? Had he put that shirt on me? Had there been more going on than just sleeping next to each other? What else had he started?

Or — horror of horrors! — hadIbeen the one starting something?

How long had it been again since I had last been laid?

And where the hell were my panties?

No! Focus!

I frowned in the mirror, critically examining my hair — a godawful mess, also my side-cut was in desperate need of a touch-up — when there was a faint knock on the door.

"Are you okay?" asked Charly, poking her pink head in.

I flashed her a smile, yet something in my chest churned at her question.

Of course I was okay. What else would I be? I was Kai, the funny best friend, the big-mouthed weirdo. I wielded swords and cussed and laughed too loud and needed my energy drinks and slayed zombies on my PlayStation.

For a long time that had been okay. Life had been okay. Being the funny sidekick had been okay. But lately it kinda wasn’t. I didn't want to think that way, hated myself a little for it, but that was how things were.

More and more often lately, I found myself feeling like the third wheel. Or fifth wheel, in our case. Even our weekly Pasta Night dinner had turned into an endless double date that I watched from the sidelines…

"Sure I'm okay," I muttered and turned back to the mirror, running both hands through my hair, trying to smooth it out.

Charly slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind her.

"Need help with that zipper?"

"Yeah, thanks." My gaze had dipped to my hand, more specifically to that damn ring, and I closed my fist just fast enough so Charly couldn't see it as she stepped closer. But before she could get hold of my dress to zip it up, she gasped.

---