He smiled almost like he didn’t expect me to give in.
“May I know your name?”
“Elowyn Ashgrave.”
“Well, Elowyn Ashgrave, I am Lord Philip, but you may just call me Philip if you’d like.”
He stuck out his hand. I hesitated, then slipped mine into his. A strange pulse of power snapped through me, faint, familiar, unsettling. His grin widened when he let me go.
“I look forward to our date.”
“Ifwe run into each other again.”
“Whenwe do,” he corrected me and turned away, leaving me standing in the line by myself.
I couldn’t help watching him go. Women’s gazes followed him as he passed; men dipped respectful nods. He carried himself like a man who got whatever he wanted.
And gods help me, he would make sure we ran into each other again.
The worst part? As stupid as it sounded… It felt like I was betraying Abram.
I looked at the flowers in the cart and suddenly didn’t want any. My vision blurred as tears pooled behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. Abram. Every memory of him clawed its way to the surface, ruthless and unrelenting. Loma got everything I had ever wanted. Why was she so much better for him than I was?
I bolted through the crowded streets, my hood clinging to my damp hair as I pushed through throngs of oblivious people. My chest ached, every heartbeat sharp and heavy as I fought to keep myself together until I could reach the sanctuary of my cabin, tucked deep in the woods where no one could follow. The rushing river beside the path swallowed my first sob, but it did little to calm the storm inside me.
I wasn’t paying attention. My foot caught on an exposed tree root, and I went down hard onto my knees. The earth smelled of wet leaves and pine, grounding me, but it did nothing to stop the sobs that finally tore free. I didn’t want to feel like this anymore. It had been a little over a week without Abram, and I had a lifetime to go. I was living in my own fucking nightmare.
I closed my eyes, letting my mind torture me further. The thought of Abram and Loma together, the things he had done with me now shared with her, pressed against my chest like a boulder.
A sharp, unforgiving noise jolted me upright. My breath caught, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. Was it the wind? Or something else? I froze, straining to hear.
The noise came again, something being thrown, something colliding with wood or stone. I rose cautiously, glancing around. Then I heard a woman. At first, I thought she was crying, but the tone was sharp, almost furious.
Silently, I crept through the thick forest, the pine needles biting at my ankles, until the trees opened to a small clearing. There, a woman with bright red hair was flinging objects ata dress staked to a tree. Her movements were furious, and something about the scene drew my gaze as if I weren’t meant to look away.
The woman muttered as she worked. Was she talking to herself, or to the dress? I wasn’t sure. I stepped forward cautiously.
She paced, spinning around, flipping off the dress, and maybe the heavens themselves.
“Are you alright?” I asked softly.
The woman froze, then whipped around. Her pretty face fell into surprise. Her light brown eyes widened as they met mine. She was short, curvy, and stunning, every movement sharp with frustration yet somehow graceful.
“I thought I was alone.”
I took a hesitant step closer and smirked. “Can I ask why you are so pissed off at a dress?”
She glanced over her shoulder and laughed, a sound both bitter and musical. “It’s morewhogave me the dress that makes me hate it.”
I cocked my head as I stepped forward. “Who gave it to you, an ex?”
She shook her head. “My husband.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I glanced at the dress again. It was beautiful, expensive fabric, and yet the woman fidgeted nervously under my gaze. Her blue dress now wasn’t nearly as fine.
“Forgive me if I am wrong, but shouldn’t you like gifts from your husband?”
She smirked, sharp and unapologetic. “Not if you hate your husband.”
