“Fine,” I mutter.
My eyes shift to Damian who is standing a few feet away, not looking at us. Likely pretending he can’t hear anything we’re saying, but I know he can.
“I’ll mingle like a good boy if it’ll make you happy.” I brush past Rosalie, but then turn to her and reach out my hand. “Would you like to join me?”
Rosalie eyes me from head to toe, her face a bit flushed.
She looks back to the bar, then back to me. “After I get my own drink.”
After about an hour of talking to people as a couple, Rosalie breaks off from me to talk to people on her own. It’s natural enough, no one seems to question it, but it leaves me to my own devices. Which means another drink.
The bartender looks almost concerned when he sees me for the third time tonight.
“I’m surprised you’re still on your feet,” he tells me with a slight chuckle.
I feel fuzzy, and a little floaty, but most importantly, the pain is still there. The several drinks before didn’t quite get rid of it. Ifat all. The physical manifestation of it in my body is gone, but I can still feel the ache of anxiety and sadness.
It weighs heavy on me tonight. Still, I force a woozy smile. “All good,” I insist. “I can handle one more.”
He narrows his eyes at me for a second. “Alright, but after that I’m cutting you off. You’re having a little too much fun.” The way he says this is pointed. As though he’s really saying the opposite. I’m just sober enough to recognize the tone of his voice.
My hooded eyes flick away from him, because the eye contact feels uncomfortable.
“Another whiskey?” he asks.
“Just a single.”
That is much faster than a triple, and I’m not even sure I could handle one anyway.
I take the whiskey down again without much of a burn this time, and sigh. Surely this will help.
Before I have much breathing room, there’s someone standing next to me, and they seem to want my attention.
“Alessio Dresvanni, is it?” the tall and blonde older man asks me.
I nod my head as I slide my empty glass back toward the bartender.
“That’s me,” I tell him, my words a little bit slurred.
He chuckles. “I thought so… I can’t believe you’re married.”
I look to him again, trying to figure out why he’s talking to me so casually, but then I remember who is he…
Politician Gregor McHadden.
“Gregor,” I say slowly. “It’s been…”
“Four years,” he smirks and steps closer to me. “You know, you never contacted me.”
I have to admit, the man is handsome. I always had a thing for older men, but…at the time getting involved with Gregor would have complicated things for my family.
“Just the way things go,” I tell him. “You know how my family is.”
“Ah, yes I do,” he nods and taps his fingers on the bar like the bartender should already know what he wants.
Surprisingly, he does.
A rum and coke is slid over to Gregor and he sips at it slowly.
