Other women—women I’d grown up with, women like my grandmother—would have given anything for that opportunity.
Ilikedthe bonbons and the endless orgasms, don’t get me wrong. I just… It kinda rankled to know I was agreeing to spend the rest of my life as a glorified pet. I had skills, I had goals, I had…
I had a plan. While I was getting dressed today, I looked myself in the mirror and gave myself a peptalk.
“You can be successful without working. You’ll start a charity. Or you’ll work with kids on the island. You’ll volunteer or something. He can’t object to that, right?”
Right.
Being Garrak’s Mate didn’t mean I would be stuck in a one-bedroom condo for the rest of my life. I could get out and do shit. Right?
I needed him. Needed to be with him. And if we were Mates, maybe one day he’d understand what I’d been trying to tell him—showhim all this time.
I needed to be needed, too. I wantedhimto needme.
I reached the wall and turned, twisting my ankle in the process. “Shit,” I hissed, grabbing my skirt. “Stupid heels.”
I knew this game, hosted at the LeClair Mansion, would be a Big Fucking Deal, and I’d tried to dress appropriately…but I wasn’t the most graceful or experienced when it came to strappy heels.
Balancing on one foot—and holding onto a table with a flower arrangement on it—I rotated my ankle, making sure nothing was really broken. I winced. It was sore, but nothing bad enough to sit down. If Garrak were here, he would’ve scooped me up and?—
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.
Garrak took care of me; he couldn’t help it. And I could admit that when something like this happened, I wouldn’t mind him swooping in and pampering me, even if I didn’t really need it.
What if he doesn’t come?
The insidious little thought had been creeping around my head for days.
What if you left, and he realized youwerejust a fucktoy like his friends had said? What if he thinks you betrayed him on your father’s behalf? What if?—
“Stop it,” I hissed to myself, trying to keep my voice down so none of the LeClair goons thought they’d put a crazy lady in the salon. “He’s your Mate.”
Right.
Right, he didn’t love me, he didn’thaveto love me. Mating was…a biological thing. We were connected, and maybe one day he’d come to love me the way I’d fallen desperately in love with him. But hewouldcome tonight, and wewouldhave time to figure that out.
Right?
Oh God, I hoped so.
Again resisting the urge to run my sweaty palms down my dress, I resumed pacing.
The door to the foyer was open, and my first indication I wasn’t alone was the click of a man’s heels on the tile. Breathless with hope, I spun around?—
And completely deflated when I saw it was my father.
Trevor Hendricks looked good in a suit, and he knew it. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed artfully, and he even wore a gardenia in his lapel.
I hated gardenias.
I also hated the way I drew in on myself, my shoulders hunching, trying to look smaller, as if I could escape his notice.
Of course I couldn’t. The man was striding across the room beaming, his arms open for a hug.
“Stephanie! There’s my favorite girl!”
When he embraced me, I didn’t cringe, but only because I had a lot of practice. “Hi, Dad,” I said dully, knowing I’d only been allowed into the mansion because of his name on the list.
