Chapter 30 Aurora #2
Except now I’m far less floaty. I’m being weighed down. Pain and confusion slice through me.
I need…
I need…
“Hey, you.” A finger taps my shoulder. I turn to the source of the voice.
Ivy.
Her sapphire-blue eyes look down at me curiously. They’re highlighted by her pearl-colored dress and her platinum-blonde hair. The color is so bright that she must’ve been in the salon today or yesterday at the latest.
Everett’s hand finds my waist in record speed, hauling me to him. “Leave her.”
“Ooh, possessive, that one.” She winks, the gesture patronizing. “Don’t worry. I want to grab a drink with your new wife, that’s it. Promise I won’t bite.”
Of course she won’t. I’d claw her eyes out if she tried. Two stints in prison and a dozen nights in jail, then living with Everett have made a fighter out of me.
“Leave. Her,” Everett repeats.
Unlike him, I don’t want her to leave.
For the first time ever, I’m allowed to really talk to these people.
Someone actually takes an interest in me, and she might give me the key to help Everett with his revenge. He’d be so proud of me when I return with information. Any information about this group would be helpful, right?
“I’m okay.” I cover Everett’s hand, rubbing his much larger one with my palm. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”
Clouds gather in his eyes. His silence stretches, thick and ominous. The entire room holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.
Needing his approval doesn’t embarrass me. On the contrary.
He’s my shield. A wall standing firm between me and the world. The gatekeeper of my safety, deciding who’s allowed in our little circle of two.
He’s keeping me safe.
That, on top of the pain and guilt that have plagued me, brings tears to my eyes. I interlace our fingers together, squeezing his. Silently reassuring him.
“Drinks. That’s it.” His shoulders tense, eyebrows dropping low. “I don’t want you leaving my sight. Not even for a second, understood?”
As if on cue, servers return to circulate hors d’oeuvres and champagne on silver platters. People murmur to each other.
Ivy’s “aww” is as cynical and antagonizing as everything about her.
Everett whips his head to her, glowering. “Shut up.”
With a shrug, she tells me, “Let’s go.”
She’s smiling, her grin wide and borderline unhinged. An identical grin to the ones I gave the mall security guards every time I got caught.
It has to be the reason I can’t bring myself to hate her fully like Everett seems to.
And while I don’t hate her, she’ll never be my friend. I don’t trust her one fucking bit.
“Sure.” I match her expression, hoping to fool her into believing we’re on the same team. “Everett, can I get you anything?”
His eyes widen in shock. His lips press into a thin line.
Oh God. I’ve offended the alpha male. The provider. The protector.
I won’t laugh. I won’t tell him he’s so fucking adorable.
Fuck, I think I love him.
“Gotcha.” One last squeeze of his hand, and I slide out of his grip. “I’ll be back soon, then.”
“I don’t want you leaving my sight,” he repeats, the threat in his voice laced with subtle yearning.
“I won’t.”
Ivy links her arm through mine and carries me toward the bar.
“So.” She leads me around the group of people, not giving any of them a chance to talk to me. “How’s married life? Are you happy?”
Strange. She and I have only ever said hello to one another, and yet here she is, acting like she’s my best friend.
I don’t let the suspicions get to me. That’s what I wanted, after all. Her trust.
“It’s been great,” I say, my smile faltering. I’m closer to my parents now than to Everett. This unwanted proximity evokes old fears.
I look over my shoulder to find my husband’s full attention on me. Shielding me from afar.
One dip of his chin, and safety wraps around me like a well-worn blanket.
Then Stafford continues talking to him about something, and Everett turns to him.
“I can tell.” While I’ve been searching for my human lifeboat, Ivy has unlinked our arms and ordered us two glasses of red wine. She slides mine into my hand, perching her elbow on the bar. “The kinkier, the better. Right?”
The skin beneath my collar bursts into flames. On its own, my hand rises to cover it from her leering eyes.
Too fast, my embarrassment turns into possessiveness. Into rage.
I’m not a prude, but she has no right to imagine my husband fucking me. I’m the only one who’s allowed to do that.
Only me.
“Mine,” I growl at her.
“Easy there, tiger.” She laughs, taking a sip of her wine. She dabs a paper napkin over her wet lips, adding, “Let’s start over. I wasn’t referring to the collar. I’m not trying to get Everett to collar me either.”
The idea alone evokes righteous fury within me.
I take a menacing step closer to her. “You can try. See how you like having your throat slit.”
The slightest suggestion that he could be stolen from me is unacceptable.
The need to drag information out of her is no more. Anger forces its way through, and I clench my fist, placing it on the bar. A demonstration of power.
“I meant you,” she continues, undisturbed.
That gives me pause. Then I ask, “What about me?”
“You know…” Her eyebrows rise meaningfully. Her smile never leaves her lips. “Being passed around from one Daddy to another.”
“Daddy?” My forehead creases.
Suggesting that Winston was a father to me is an insult to daddies everywhere.
“Yeah, someone to look after you.” She’s being rude as fuck, gesturing at me. Blabbering loudly. “While you can kick back and do basically nothing.”
Listening to her, trying to get the information she won’t give me—I have to focus on that.
Kind of hard when I’m fighting the urge to strangle her for mocking me.
When I lived at the Clarkes, I didn’t kick back. I was a prisoner.
And Everett? She said she wasn’t into him, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that calling someone Daddy is sexy. Really sexy.
She doesn’t get to talk about him like that.
“Stop fantasizing about my husband,” I snarl, a little too loudly.
“Not into him.” While she talks, a man huffs behind me, closing in on us. “I was just saying that I see how a Daddy kink works for someone like you.”
“I never…” I lean forward, putting my face in hers. I won’t let anyone suggest that Winston was ever a father to me. That abuser. Fuck no. “…had a Daddy.”
Her jaw drops at my tone.
Then she doesn’t get to say a word. She gasps at the same time a familiar hand wraps around my arm.
My adoptive dad yanks at my arm hard. Hard enough to have me flying in the air and toward him.
“Aurora Coraline,” he growls, face purple, nostrils flaring. “Are you ever going to stop being an embarrassment? Goddammit, you’re just like her. Just like your mother.”
My mother?
He can’t be talking about Molly. She’s the perfect society lady. Always has been, always will be. Winston said so himself, numerous times.
Just like her. Just like your mother.
He hissed it in his fit of violent anger. It was a slip-up.
He knows who my biological mother is.
He’s known her since before she became my mother.
The girl in the picture.
Has to be her.
Who. Was. She?
A lump forms in my throat. I’m past words. Past prying Winston’s hand off me.
I’m desperately trying to process what the hell is going on, simply staring at him.
“Prancing around, displaying your emotions like some trash who came from the street.” He isn’t hissing anymore. He’s the most furious he’s ever been, shouting and shaking me. “Where the hell are your manners? You can’t come in here, doing whatever the hell it is you—”
“The fuck she can.” Everett’s hand clamps around my father’s wrist.
My husband is seething. Veins bulging, body radiating heat and rage as he stands at my side.
“She can do whatever the fuck she wants. Anywhere. Anytime.” His voice drops, deadly. “Now do yourself a favor before I snap your wrist in two. Get your hand off my wife.”