She walks straight to him, all smiles and sunshine, plucking the bouquet from his grip and burying her nose in it. His arm snakes around her waist, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“These are so cute. But you know I like roses, you silly man,” she teases, beaming. “Still, I appreciate them.”
She presses a kiss to his mouth. Barely a second. But it’s enough to make my heart squeeze so painfully I have to place a hand over my chest. I don’t know why it hurts so much. That’s her fiancé. She’s allowed to kiss him and take his flowers. Even if she doesn’t know that they mean beauty, strength, luxury, and rare elegance. She has every right. I’m the one who doesn’t.
The parasite.
“Blair, you look…” he starts, but Abby cuts him off.
“Doesn’t she look amazing? My baby! I did that.” She rushes to my side, tugging on my dress even though it’s already perfect, pulling it lower, probably to show more cleavage.
“Abby, stop. It’s fine,” I snap.
I should’ve stayed home. I feel like a third wheel with bitterness rising in my throat.
“How are you going to meet someone if you don’t show off the goods?” she teases.
My gaze flicks to her fiancé. He was pretending to be on his phone, but the second she mentioned me meeting someone, his head jerked up. Our eyes lock. His narrow to slits.
He has the nerve to look pissed.
Smirking, I press my breasts up a little more. “You’retotally right. I definitely need to leave with a new man tonight. Maybe…”
“We should leave, we’re already late as it is,” Calvin growls, cutting me off.
I smile.
“We’re fashionably late,” Abigail says, hooking her arm around his. “And we look fabulous, so you’re welcome.”
The walk to the car is mostly filled with Abigail chattering, while Calvin and I hum and grunt our responses. Once we’re in the underground garage, we pile into the car. Calvin deliberately positions himself between us.
Of course.
Once the driver pulls off, I grab my phone to distract myself from their flirty conversation. I can’t stand the sound of her giggling when I’m trying to hold myself together.
Then I feel it.
His hand. On my thigh. Bare skin on skin. His pinky dangerously close to…
I panic.
My eyes snap to Abigail, but she’s still talking about the wedding, oblivious. It’s dark in the car, too dim for her to see what he’s doing.
I clamp my thighs together, trying to keep him out, but all I manage is trapping his hand between them. He squeezes.
Hard.
It almost pulls a moan out of me.
Last time we were in this car… I can still feel him. His words. His weight. The way he made me feel like I belonged to him.
God, I’m so stupid.
Because a part of me actually believed him. That soft, naïve part that wanted to think we’d somehow make it out ofthis twisted mess with something real. That we’d be a couple, that somehow, we could have all that without hurting Abigail.
How ridiculous.
