Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for a second. I haven’t spoken since we left the ballroom, but I know I have to.
Grey squeezes my knee. “You okay, Princess?”
“No,” I answer truthfully but give him a small smile. “Thank you for tonight.” I look at Misha and then at Oliver. “Thank you for not letting them ruin my life.”
“We never would have. You know that, Bug.” Misha says with a sad smile of his own.
“I’m just… I feel bad,” I admit, voicing my regret.
“Why would you feel bad for those fuckers?” Grey asks, his hold on my knee tightening.
“I don’t feel bad forthem. I feel bad for me. Somehow, I imagined myself walking out of there with my head held high,” I admit.
“Yourarsewas pretty high at some point there.” Misha shrugs with a grin tugging at his lips.
“Misha,” Oliver hisses, his brows furrowing in concern as he shoots him a reproachful look.
A laugh bursts out of me, and I can’t stop, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting me.
Grey carried me out of there and slapped my arse in front of London’s upper class.
The others chime in with small chuckles, dissipating the tension in the car.
“I guess that counts as something,” I say when I’m finally able to breathe again. “Also, that wassounnecessary,” I tell Grey with a mock frown.
“Debatable,” he dismisses me easily, his expression impassive but with a hint of amusement in his eyes. Then, in his typical no-nonsense manner, he asks, “What about that is bothering you?”
“I don’t know. If this is the big break, the big cutting ties, shouldn’t I have a final say? Shouldn’t I have stood up to them and told them how they hurt me to have closure? To move on?”
“Do you think you need this to move on?” Misha asks.
I think about it, about how much better I was in Seattle, how often I thought that just never picking up my phone again and acting as if they didn’t exist would have been the best thing I could do for myself.
“I don’t think so, but that sounds unhealthy, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Oliver says gently. “Sometimes, no contact and no explanation can help you heal and be healthy. Believe me, I know. If you really want to in the future, you can still seek that talk when you think you’re in a good enough place. But for now, if leaving it behind without a word feels right, then that’s what you should do.” He reaches out to cup my cheek. “You could always write them a letter if you want to let them know how you feel without giving them the chance to talk you down again.”
Oliver’s way of coping. Which is beautiful, but it isn’t mine.
“I can’t,” I lean into his touch. “I told them all my life that this wasn’t the life I wanted to live, and they never respected it. And tonight… they didn’t care about how I felt. A letter wouldn’t change that.”
Theyare the problem.
But not mine anymore.
Grey strokes my knee, a silent support, and I lean back into the seat, feeling a weight lifting off my shoulders.
A little while later,we arrive at the hotel. The guys clamber out of the car, and Grey extends his hand to help meout. I stand, and a sharp pain shoots through my feet, causing me to grimace and plop back down onto the seat.
“What’s wrong?” Grey asks, concern etching his features.
I gesture toward my feet, wincing. “Just my feet. These bloody high heels are murder.”
His lips quirk into a smirk. “I can carry you again.”
I point my finger at him accusingly. “No, you don’t.Again, that was unnecessary.”
With a mischievous glint in his eye, he playfully nips at my finger. “Oh, it was entirely necessary.”
