Page 91 of A Cruel Kindness

The conversations around us dwindled, knowing exactly what this meant. The Greene’s attempt at betrothing me to Ambrose was well known.

“Bellamy,” Ambrose said, bending at the waist to greet me. He was tall and rail thin, all his energy that would otherwise be dedicated to building muscle channeled into his horrid personality. “You are looking spectacularly well. I’ve missed you.”

Soren’s champagne flute snapped in half, the stem falling to the floor. I knew what he was feeling. I’d almost broken a poor nurse’s wrist from the same sensation. The apology note I wrote her was hard enough to get out.

I slipped my hand over Soren’s back, pulling him closer. Everyone in this ball would know that we belonged to each other if it was the last thing I did. “Thank you, Ambrose. How have you been?”

He didn’t respond for a while, his leering gaze pinned to the lack of space between me and Soren. So improper. “I must say it is interesting to see a Match as strong as yours in person. How far you two have come from your torrid history.”

Oh, wow. He really was as horribly bold as I pegged him to be. People who had no idea what had gone on behind the scenes were standing within earshot.

It was Soren who answered. “I fail to see how that involved Bellamy at all.”

Such different words from the welcome I’d gotten at the beginning. A testament to how much Soren was willing to own his actions and change.

I respected that tenfold.

“Ambrose!” his father snapped clearly having heard what he said from off to the side. “Come here.”

Hanging his head like a chastised little boy, Ambrose walked over to his father.

Once we were alone, I turned to Soren, patting him on the chest then straightening his tie. “You know, I’m very proud of you. I expected you to blind him.”

“I might. Just under the cover of darkness.”

A laugh jumped out of me, inappropriately loud. I slapped a hand over my mouth while Soren tried and failed to hide a smirk.

Something is wrong, the Bond managed to break through, sending small trickles of panic through me. I had been feeling unsettled, but I thought it was just nerves.

I sent back a promise to be cautious, but I always was.

The swarm stole us again shortly after, enough so that we were pulled apart.

I found myself in the corner of the room, desperately trying to eat something, when I felt a tug on the bottom of my dress.

I looked down to find Flora Greene, Ambrose’s baby sister, staring up at me with wide eyes. “Hi, Bellamy.”

A wide smile broke across my face. “Flora,” I said, crouching down to hug her. When I stood again, she wouldn’t let go of my hands, causing me to slouch a little while we spoke. “How are you, sweetie?”

“Good!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her heels. “I turned five!” She held up one of her hands to demonstrate.

“That’s wonderful, Flora. I’m sorry I missed your party.”

Before Flora could respond, my mother approached. “Sweetheart, if you are going to wear that dress, at least stand up straight while doing so,” my mother said, her voice as sweet as honey. She breezed right past me, that comment as menial to her as the soft brush of wind.

I straightened, not even realized that I’d slouched that severely while talking to Flora.

Shame, hot and biting, flooded my cheeks and brought with it a host of self-doubt that every ounce of confidence I’d fought so hard to earn wasn’t worth a damn.

What was poise even worth if it wasn’t supported by anything underneath it.

That little slice that my mother had cut let insecurity sneak through, bringing with it duplicitous thoughts that people viewed me as silly and overconfident, pretending like I was someone people could admire or love, when in reality there was nothing to praise.

Why would she have pointed that out? The Bond asked in my head, voice full of confusion.

She—I started to answer, before cutting myself off. What was the purpose of pointing that out? To belittle me? To force me even further towards perfection?

The Bond’s voice cut off my own thoughts, letting my practiced beliefs set back in. I reminded myself that I shouldn’t place any weight in the opinion of someone who believed that a momentary slip of posture represented my worth or my beauty.