Aye,in a church.
But I don’t. Outside, even though we’re alone, and I don’t have to pretend anymore, I don’t let go of her hand.
Fallon stays quiet on the walk back to our building. “Do you…have any other friends, Fal?”
She makes a thinking face. And something fragile cracks in her expression. “No.”
My chest tightens. A cold, mean twist of guilt snakes up my spine. “Real friends are overrated,” I murmur, and press a kiss to her knuckles.
She exhales like a balloon deflating. “I guess.”
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m glad it’s over,” she says. “I don’t really like those people very much anyway.”
Relief loosens my chest that they weren’t really important to her.
“Good,” I say gruffly, tightening my fingers around hers. “Maybe I’ll let them live.”
Chapter 24
Fallon
I’m floating as we walk back into our building, my arm looped through Rhys’s. His body leans into mine, his chin held high. Like he’s proud to be with me.
Proud to be mine. Proud that I’m his.
“Another Friendsgiving is over,” I murmur into the silence, puffs of air coming off my lips.
“You still got one friend right here.” His grip tightens, and he smiles at me.
Rhys had carried the heavy glass tray to the church. He ignored every wandering hand that tried to brush his arm in the buffet line. He even brought me the entire tray of everyone’s favorite cupcakes, like a knight returning from battle with the heads of my enemies on a silver tray.
The way our lips touched as he fed me the cupcake, I nearly passed out from the endorphin and sugar rush.
“Thank you for coming with me this year,” I say before I forget.
A grunt saws out of his throat. “I wish you had told me how rude those people are sooner, I never would have let you come here alone.”
“Some people just need someone to bully.”
Rhys stops and faces me. “Were you bullied?”
“Sure,” I say. “When you’re different like me, you get bullied. Were you ever bullied?”
He’s silent and pensive. “No.”
“Of course not,” I groan out a laugh. “Who would bully you? Or your cousins? You all are strong and powerful.”
Rhys pins me against a cold brick wall, but his body radiates warmth. “How exactly do you know what I do?”
My face goes hot. Confession time. “That letter I sort of stole a while back.”
He stops. “The one from my mother?”
“It was already sort of opened,” I say, blushing. “I read it. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sort of not mad,” he jokes with me. “However, I can’t believe my mum put any of that in writing.”
