117
I stand next to her, ostensibly looking at the art, but thinking murderous thoughts.
All night I’ve watched the interaction between Jag and the Lady Dragonspur.
His longing was undeniable.
When he’d told me on the yacht that it wasn’t just a friend who had forced him onto the Games, but also someone he loved, I thought he meant brotherly love for Falcon. But seeing her with him, I know now that he was trying to tell me something altogether different.
‘And it bothers me. Fuck it bothers me. Why? I don’t know. But it’s one thing to be with a man who just wants a trophy wife; it’s another entirely to potentially marry a man who pines for his best friend’s wife. No wonder he’s so melancholy. No wonder he questions his honour. How could he not?’
“So, you’re the someone he loves.”
She looks down at her hands, her fingers tightening on her wineglass stem.
I don’t know why she’s drinking sparkling water from a wine glass, unless she thinks it makes her appear more sophisticated or something.
It doesn’t.
“I beg your pardon?” She asks quietly.
“Jag told me he was forced onto the Games by a friend. A friend and someone he loves. I didn’t know what he meant until I met you tonight.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He caught his breath as you entered the room,” I speak quietly so that no one nearby can overhear our discussion, my voice dripping venom, “and although he tries to hide it, every chance he gets, he looks at you — and you at him. What are you playing at?”
“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head, her voice soft. “It isn’t what you think.”
“What I think,” I hiss, “is that you weren’t content to win the hand of the most eligible fucking vampire bachelor in history. No, not you. Little Miss ‘Every Woman’ had to go and steal the heart of his best friend, too.”
She looks up sharply and narrows her eyes at me.
“You understand nothing.”
“I watched your season. I watched you closely. You disgust me.”
Suddenly, she smiles, a genuine smile that lights up her whole face.
“You love him!”