But I could probably work a sewing machine…maybe figure out a way to get it to do the job all by itself…
As my brain sparks with ideas, I step into the room and come to a stop. The gown hangs from my closet door. It’s the darkest of blue, with a hint of shine in the fabric.
“It’s technically a sweetheart neckline,” Nicole says, coming up behind me, pretending she didn’t just fall apart in the kitchen. “But the scoop neck lace overlay on the bodice keeps it a little more modest. I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“It’s pretty,” I admit, staring at the hem, terrified it’s too long.
“I ordered it in petite,” Nicole continues, “but you’ll still have to wear heels.”
“Either that or send it back and order something from the children’s section.”
She laughs and motions to my chest. “You’re not quite proportioned right for a child’s size dress.”
And there’s the problem.
I push her out of the room so I can try it on, not needing her to witness the awkwardness. After quickly undressing, I pull the dress from the hanger and slide it on. While holding onto the front of the bodice, I use my magic to coax the zipper up.
It’s…not bad.
Other than a little bit of fabric pooled on the floor, it fits well.
I open the door and hold out my arms. “What do you think?”
Nicole’s eyes light with satisfaction, and she nods. “It looks great.”
I frown at the floor. “It’s a little too long.”
She passes me and pulls a seldom-used pair of heels from my closet. “Try these.”
“They’re black,” I say. Even I know that’s a faux pas.
“You can pick up a different pair tomorrow,” Nicole says, waving her hand. “Just try them on so we can check the hem.”
I do as I’m told, feeling a little wobbly.
“See.” She sets her hands on her hips. “It’s perfect.”
Sure enough, the hem almost skims the floor, but not quite.
Nicole pulls me into the bathroom, forcing me to look at my reflection. I eye myself, and my nerves grow.
“I’ll do your hair,” she promises. “And your nails.”
“This isn’t a good idea. There will be members of the Entitled there—I’m certain of it.”
“Just act casual. It will be fine.”
Famous last words.
8
Heels are not my friends. They used to be, long ago when I cared about looking taller, long before I started slouching around the house and connecting with my inner hermit—but they certainly aren’t now.
I wobble a little as I accept a glass of champagne from a handsome waiter. He’s got a killer smile. I’m no Griffon, but if I had to guess, I’d say he’s a Peacock. He just has that handsome, vacant look to him.
He gives me a wink before he moves on, making me wrinkle my nose.
“He totally wants you,” Nicole says through my earpiece.
I glance around the ballroom, taking in the hundreds of snooty, well-to-do Aparians loitering about the space. How am I going to carry on a conversation with Nicole without looking like I’m talking to myself?
To these people, it’s bad enough I’m a Squirrel—I don’t need them to think I’m a crazy Squirrel on top of it.
Discreetly rubbing the bridge of my nose to hide my words, I say, “More like he wants a tip.”
“Have you found your Bunny yet? I haven’t seen him.”
“Not yet. I haven’t spotted anyone from the team.”
I stand here, feeling completely out of my element. Why did I let Nicole talk me into this? It would be different if she were actually here. Then I could hide behind her, let her do all the talking.
“Chloe,” a man says behind me, making me cringe. I wipe my expression clean as I turn to face Peter.
The Entitled elder stands behind me, sporting a crisp black tux. He’s tan and handsome, and he wears a friendly, easy smile that puts people at ease. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was a nice person.
He’s not.
“Hello, Peter,” I say, trying to hide my nerves. We haven’t spoken face to face since the incident in Vegas, but I know he’s not happy with me. If anyone were to suspect what happened was no accident, it would be Peter.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, his eyes scanning my dress with a smile. “You look beautiful.”
I force a smile, unsure how to respond. Lamely, I say, “You look nice too.”
He steps closer, motioning over a server with a tray of champagne. He accepts a flute, takes a sip, and turns back to me. “I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you. I’m glad you came tonight.”
The last thing I want is Peter cornering me alone.
“Should we step outside?” he asks before I can think of a way to excuse myself. “The bride and groom haven’t made their appearance yet.”
Finn and Maisy’s wedding was beautiful, as expected. The ceremony was scented with hundreds of white lilies—a little overwhelming if you ask me—and they released doves after the vows were exchanged.
I kid you not. Doves.
Nicole cackled in my ear during the whole thing, and it took everything I had not to laugh out loud several times. She was the only reason I was able to stay awake through the two-hour ceremony.
Okay, she wasn’t the only thing keeping me awake. I also happened to have a good view of the back of Eric’s head. He sat next to Madeline, his arm casually resting on the pew behind her shoulder.
The closeness surprised me—all right, it made me see a little green—but when she turned her head to cough, I saw the agitation on her face. I’d heard a rumor that she and Finn had dated, but I assumed it was nothing but idle gossip. Maybe that was why Eric was offering her comfort—though why it was him and not Rafe, I don’t know.
The Obsidian Knight sat next to her, stiff as a board, watching the ceremony as if it were a lecture he was going to be tested on later. The Obsidian Queen and her knight have an awkward relationship.
“Chloe?” Peter says, drawing my attention back.
“Don’t you think it’s a little cold outside for a chat?” I hedge, reluctant to go anywhere alone with him. If he were to learn the truth, I would be as good as dead.
He laughs. “I’ll lend you my jacket.”
Dang it. If I argue, it will only rouse his suspicions.
“All right,” I say nonchalantly. “As long as I don’t miss dinner.”
We know each other well enough—I’m sure he already assumed I was here for the food. Why else would I suffer through this sort of thing? It’s not like I know anyone. People from the guild—ones I’ve spoken with a dozen times when I drop off their newly fixed electronics—look right past me.
Peter chuckles and offers me his arm. “Deal.”
I glance at it, raising my brows. We both know I’m not really a “take my arm” sort of girl.
“Ah, come on,” he says with a laugh. “It’s a wedding. Can’t you make an exception just this once? Is it so wrong for me to want a pretty girl on my arm for part of the evening?”
Gah, I used to think this man was charming—he’s the whole reason I allowed myself to be drawn into the Entitled’s inner clutches. He has this talent of making you feel valued, appreciated. And after what happened with Dustin, I so desperately wanted to feel like I was worth something.
With a sigh, I slide my arm through his and allow him to escort me out a side door and onto a balcony that looks out at the lights of downtown Denver. It’s snowing, and a white blanket covers the ground. Soft flakes float from the sky, romantic in the dim outdoor light. The reception is in a hotel that’s built for luxury—only the best for Lord Finnegan and his new bride.
“You have too much confidence in me if you think I can walk in the snow in these heels,” I tell Peter, shivering. “I’m going to fall on my nose.”
“I have you,” he says with a laugh, clutching me closer
as if to prove it. He only briefly lets me go, and that’s to drape his jacket around my shoulders, as promised.
Once the door closes behind us, he leads me to the rail.
“You could push him over,” Nicole teases in my ear, reminding me she’s still tagging along.
I fight back a smile, not wanting Peter to think it’s for him.
After a quiet moment of staring at the city, Peter turns back to me. Flakes fall in his hair and melt, and the droplets glitter in the low light. You would think he’d be cold in nothing but that starched white shirt and sleek black waistcoat, but the man is a Dragon—a frost wielder to be specific—and his tolerance for the cold is far higher than mine.
“Are you warm enough?” he asks.
“I’m freezing.”
He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re always so prickly, Chloe.”
“What do you want?”
Turning back, he studies me, his brown eyes slightly narrowed. “You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?”
What?
Instead of answering, I shrug.
He takes a step closer. “I acted rashly, and I apologize. I shouldn’t have pulled you from your position. Leaving Thomas in charge led to disaster, and I am fully to blame.”
I take a moment to digest that, and then I cross my arms, staying silent. It’s probably best if I let Peter do all the talking.
“I’m sorry,” he adds, his eyes earnest.
I give him a bare nod.
“Stop avoiding me,” he pleads. “We need you—I need you. You’re the best at what you do.”
“And what do I do?” I finally demand. “I tweak things, Peter. I’m not a marshal—I refuse to get involved again. I’ll fix your coffee maker should it break, but don’t ask me to get my hands dirty.”
He studies me. “I’ve been worried about you. You haven’t answered my calls.”
“I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Were you and Thomas that serious?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “The way he talked, you two were dating. But you never mentioned it, so I didn’t pay him much attention. I didn’t realize his death would hit you quite this hard.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what else to say, Chloe. I just want you to know I’m truly sorry it ended as it did.”
“Thomas and I weren’t involved,” I say, grimacing at the thought.
“You weren’t?”
I shake my head.
“Then why have you pulled away? I understand this has shaken you—but why avoid me? I would have been there for you.” His gaze locks on mine. “I wanted to be there.”
I eye him, startled. This isn’t going the way I expected at all.
After listening to most of the conversation in silence, Nicole says, “Whoa. What was that?”
Peter waits for me to answer. I have to say something, but what?
Thankfully, the doors open, revealing an absolutely massive man. He’s silhouetted in the warm backlight of the ballroom, but there’s no mistaking the Bunny.
Relief cloaks me before I realize that it’s the wrong emotion to feel altogether. What is the knight thinking?
“Peter, I heard you were coming tonight,” Eric says, all but ignoring me. The knight marshal walks over and clasps the Dragon’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in forever. How have you been?”
“Hello, Eric,” Peter says warmly—as if they are indeed friends. “I’ve been well. It’s good to see you.”
Eric glances at me, acting as though we’ve never met. “I’m interrupting, forgive me.”
Nicole whispers, “That’s Eric?”
Obviously, I can’t answer her.
“Chloe, how tall is he? Good heavens, the last time I saw him was in the Academy. He was just a gangly puppy. Look at him now—he’s gorgeous.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.
“You’ll need a step ladder to kiss him,” Nicole muses. “Or he could just pick you up.”
I’m going to kill her if I make it through this.
“Eric, this is Chloe,” Peter says to the knight, oblivious to my other conversation. “You were in Vegas, weren’t you? Chloe was there as well—part of the security team, weren’t you, Chloe?”
I nod.
The Bunny’s eyes go wide as he pretends he’s just remembered me, and then he grins. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry—I didn’t recognize you in a dress.” He pauses, his expression inscrutable. “And Peter’s jacket.”
He says it like he’s ribbing Peter, but there’s something else behind those words.
Nicole, needing to put her two cents in, says, “Oh, would you look at that. He’s jealous. The Bunny is definitely into you.”
“Are you two dating?” Eric asks casually, looking at Peter for clarification.
“No,” I answer immediately.
Peter glances my way, a grim smile curving his lips. “I don’t think she’d have me.”
Eric laughs, and then he flashes me a flippant grin. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to steal a dance from you later this evening.”
I give him a tight smile.
He and Peter talk a few minutes more, and then Eric excuses himself.
“Strange that he didn’t recognize you,” Peter says once we’re alone.
“I avoided the marshals as much as possible,” I say icily. “I’m sure you understand.”
He winces, confirming that was the right thing to say. “Of course.”
“I’m cold,” I tell him. “I’m going inside.”
Without waiting for an answer, I turn toward the door.
“Sit with me at dinner, Chloe?” he asks, following me.
I glance at him. “The seating has already been assigned.”
“I’m not above moving a few place cards.”
Without answering, I return his jacket and head into the ballroom.
Somehow, we manage to come back just in time to see the new bride and groom make their entrance. The room bursts into quiet, appropriate applause. Maisy blushes prettily, and Finn looks as full of himself as usual.
I glance around the room, hoping to spot Madeline, wondering how she’s taking all this.
“I haven’t seen Rafe yet,” Nicole says.
Because Peter is still by my side, I can’t answer. If I could, I’d point out that she said she didn’t want to see Rafe specifically.
The Deer is a liar.
My eyes land on Eric, and my chest warms. Apparently, I’m a liar too. I can deny it all I want, but I want him.
“Oh,” she says softly, too many emotions wrapped in that one word.
Rafe stands next to Eric, and the two speak quietly. Madeline is just behind them, next to Gray. For one brief moment, I allow myself to admire the handsome Wolf. He was Finn’s best man, and his tux is perfectly tailored to fit his broad shoulders and trim waist. It’s too bad he’s such a player. He really is good-looking.
“Is that her?” Nicole asks, no doubt spotting Madeline.
I clear my throat, hoping she’ll know that’s a yes.
“She’s pretty,” she says quietly.
Madeline is pretty. I study the Fox, frowning when I realize I see the family resemblance between her and Peter, the cousin she’s never met.
I glance at the man next to me, realizing this might be the first time the two of them have been in the same room since her identity was revealed. I wonder how he feels about that.
He stares at her, his expression thoughtful. When he catches me looking at him, he gives me a wry smile. “She looks a bit like my mother.”
I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. Jonathan is absent from the group. I didn’t see him at the ceremony earlier, but I was sure I noticed him when I arrived.
Where is he now?
As the happy couple preens for their audience, I look around for the Griffon. When I find him, I blink. On the other side of the room, he stands next to Parker, the tracker from Vegas. What is she doing here?
&nb
sp; The woman is a sight to behold—tall and fit, in a silver gown that hugs her curves and boasts a wicked slit that travels up her thigh. Her dark hair is down and curled, and I would almost think she was a Peacock if I didn’t know she’s a Hound.
I accept another glass of champagne and clench the stem, very much wanting to cross the room and toss the drink in his face. The way he talked, I thought he was in love with Madeline. Sure, there was the whole Rafe issue. But still.
How could he give up so easily?
How dare he give up so easily?
Memories surface, and that remembered feeling of betrayal—of casual dismissal—washes over me, making me feel like crap.
Is that how Madeline feels right now? Her ex-boyfriend just married her best friend, and the man she loves is here with a woman he barely knows.
“What’s wrong, Chloe?” Nicole asks. “Did you see him?”
By “him,” she means Dustin, but right now, Jonathan is a pretty good representation of the jerk.
I was right—all knight marshals are awful. What a fool I was to believe differently.
“I’m leaving,” I say to both Peter and Nicole, turning on my heel.
“Chloe?” Peter calls, startled. He catches my arm, concerned.
I shake him off me. “I don’t feel well.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“I’ll take a cab.”
He looks like he’s going to argue, but I don’t give him a chance. I walk as quickly as I can in these ridiculous heels, near tears. I know it’s not logical—Jonathan isn’t Dustin. This doesn’t even concern me, so why am I taking it so hard?
But I know why. If a guy can move on from Madeline that quickly, what chance do I have?
“Chloe,” Nicole says softly. “You okay?”
“You should have seen them, Nicole,” I say, tears pricking my eyes as I stalk down the hall, glad to be away from the ballroom. “I really thought he was in love with her—he was so sincere. How could he start dating someone else this quickly?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” I angrily swipe away my tears. “It’s stupid.”
“Chloe?”
This time, it’s not Nicole, but the voice is just as familiar. I freeze in place, looking up, wondering if this night could get any worse.
Traitor of the Entitled Novella Page 6
