Chapter 48
Carla
Do not look at the bar.
Keep your eyes off Magma.
Not looking.
He walked over there a minute or two ago, and of course I noticed. I wanted to watch him walk across the room because he looks great from behind…and from the front. From all angles, if I’m going to be specific.
Now I want to watch him standing there, all broody and gorgeous, one elbow on the bar, waiting to be served.
I refuse.
Nope.
“Hey, Carla.” Malachite touches the top of my hand, and I lift my eyes to him. “There you are. Where did you disappear to?” He’s frowning.
“Sorry, I was thinking about something.”
More like someone.
“What did you say?” I ask. “What did I miss?”
“I asked if there’s something wrong with your champagne.” He points at my glass, which is still almost full. By now it’s lost all its bubbles and is more than likely warm. “You’ve hardly touched it.”
“I think I’ve gone off champagne, which makes me quite sad,” I tell him, making a face.
“How does that happen?” He lifts my glass. “Can I try some?”
“Yes, please do.”
He takes a small sip and shrugs. “It’s gone a little flat, but it’s perfectly fine.”
“See what I mean? It doesn’t taste the same as it used to…
Not to me, anyway. This is terrible. I’ve been on a health kick for the last couple of weeks, and now champagne doesn’t taste the same.
Come to think of it, I haven’t had much in the way of alcohol since coming back from Mistveil.
I had a glass of wine a couple of days after returning.
That tasted fine. But I haven’t really been out much since.
Now I’m worried it’s not just champagne.
What if it’s all alcohol? I like a glass of wine now and then.
” I gasp. “I love a good Cosmo. What if I’m broken? ” I widen my eyes at him.
He laughs. “You are not broken. I take it you’ve been avoiding sugar since starting on this health stint of yours?”
I nod. “Yep. Like the plague.”
“Did you eat a lot of sugar before?”
“Guilty as charged.” I make another face.
“Stopping sugar can and will change your taste buds.”
I laugh. “Are you serious? That doesn’t sound right.” I give him a look.
“I swear.” He touches his hand to my upper back for a few seconds before letting it rest on the chair behind me. “Research it. You’ve cut out sugar and, I’m assuming, excess fat and salt.”
I nod.
“Yep. Thought so. You’ve changed the way you taste food…and drinks.” He points at the champagne. “I kid you not.”
“So I might be broken after all.”
He laughs, and I do too. “No, you’re not broken.”
A waitress passes our table with a tray of empties.
“There is one way to find out,” Malachite says. “Can I order a Cosmopolitan for you?”
“Yes, please.” I nod.
He flags her down and places the order, and she heads for the bar.
“So what made you decide you needed to be healthy?” he asks.
“Several things. I was eating so much junk and gained weight. We’re talking pizza, chocolate, pastries. All the stuff that’s bad for you. And before I knew it, my clothes were getting tight.”
“I think you look great, Carla.”
“Thanks, but I wasn’t fishing for compliments, I swear.”
He smiles. “I know, and yet I want to compliment you. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to lose a single pound. You’re incredible.” His eyes dip to my cleavage. They stay there for a while before moving up to my mouth. His hand is back between my shoulder blades.
I clear my throat. “It wasn’t just about the weight. I’ve had a gym membership for ages and decided I needed to start using it. It took hiking through a jungle with my life hanging in the balance to realize how unfit I am. I was the weaker link. That’s for sure.”
“You’re lucky it was Magma who came after you, or you might not have made it out alive. He is one hell of a male. He holds all sorts of records from his frontline days. Years later and he can still kick ass.”
He sure can.
I look over at the bar and wish I hadn’t.
Brook and Magma are deep in discussion. She’s got her back against the bar, wine in hand, and he’s turned toward her, head bent, listening hard.
It looks serious. It looks intense. Whatever they’re talking about matters to both of them.
It looks like he’s confiding in her. They look close. Like they’ve really connected.
I force a smile and fix it on Malachite.
The waitress arrives and puts a Cosmo in front of me, bright pink in a martini glass with a twist of lemon riding the rim.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“It’s time to find out if you’re really broken or not,” Malachite says, and I laugh.
“Here goes nothing.” I lift the glass and drink.
I groan my appreciation. Oh, thank goodness. It’s sweet and cold, and it goes down like a dream; so much better than the champagne.
“Well?” he asks.
“I’m not broken after all.” I take another sip to be sure. Yep. Delicious. “It’s good!”
“I told you.” He laughs.
The lights over the dance floor come up, and the first notes of a slow song roll out of the speakers. I recognize it instantly because it’s Robyn’s favorite love song. Flint is standing in the middle of the floor with the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, humans and shifters, for the first time as a married couple, please welcome to the dance floor Ridge and Robyn!”
The room erupts.
Robyn and Ridge walk out into the light, and he pulls her in, one hand spread across her back, and they begin to move. She’s glowing. He’s looking down at her like she hung every star in the sky and a few extra just for him. He murmurs something to her, and she smiles up at him.
It’s magical to watch.
It also aches. Right in the center of my chest, a deep, hollow pull of longing.
I want that. I want what they have.
I look over at Magma.
A second or two later, he locks eyes with me, and my heart kicks up a few notches. The air seizes inside me.
I will for him to see my feelings. To feel them. It’s silly, but I do it anyway.
Looking at this man is like staring at the sun. I have to look away before I burn up.
I make myself smile, and then I make myself turn back to Ridge and Robyn, back to where it’s safe. I drink more of my cocktail. It’s going down far too easily, and I let it.
The song winds to a close. Ridge kisses Robyn to a wave of applause, and a vibey tune starts playing. People flock to the dance floor.
I glance back at the bar a minute later.
Magma and Brook are laughing at something, and then he takes her hand and leads her onto the dance floor.
They look so happy.
Great. Wonderful. Good for them.
I take another sip.
There are plenty of people out there now. Cath is dragging her heels off by the edge of the floor, and Britt and Tom are shaking their asses as well. Flint is in the thick of it.
“Do you want to dance?” Malachite asks.
I want to go home and crawl under the covers, but I’m not doing that.
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s dance.”
I take a big glug of my Cosmo for liquid courage, put the glass down, and let Malachite lead me out by the hand.
The beat is good, and dancing has never been my problem. I find the rhythm and let it carry me, and Malachite grins like he won a prize. For about thirty glorious seconds, it works. I’m just a woman at a wedding, dancing with a handsome male, having fun.
Then Brook looks over at me and smiles.
I smile back, because I promised myself I would be nice to her.
She turns back to Magma and gets right up in his space. Her arms go around his neck. Her body presses against his, hip to hip, moving with the music. She’s dancing like a woman staking a claim.
Jealousy floods me, hot and green and ugly.
Holy shit.
I have no right to it. None. He is not mine.
Malachite puts his arms around me and pulls me in.
I let him.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
He hugs me close and again, I let him. I shouldn’t because I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.
This is exactly the kind of mixed signal I promised myself I wouldn’t send, and here I am, sending it in high definition with my cheek an inch from his lapel.
He’s warm and solid, and he smells nice, and none of it helps, because he’s not the male I want holding me.
I try so hard not to look at the other side of the dance floor. I stare at Malachite’s shoulder. But it doesn’t take long for my gaze to drift.
Of course I look.
Magma and Brook are wrapped up in each other.
Her arms are around his neck, and his hands are on the bare skin of her back where the gold dress dips away, and they’re swaying close, cheek to cheek, whispering in each other’s ears.
She says something. He says something back.
Her fingers slide into the hair at his nape.
Something inside me goes very quiet.
“Are you okay?” Malachite asks.
I blink up at him. We’ve stopped moving. I didn’t know we had. We’re standing still in the middle of a dance floor full of dancing people.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
Except I’m not fine.
There’s a slick, greasy feeling working its way up from my stomach, and all at once the room is too warm and too loud.
Maybe the dinner didn’t agree with me. I had the steak with that rich, creamy mushroom sauce, and I haven’t eaten anything like that in weeks.
My poor body is used to grilled chicken and steamed greens now, and I hit it with cream sauce and half a Cosmo, which I drank in five minutes flat.
I press a hand flat against my tummy.
It doesn’t help.
“Are you feeling okay?” Malachite asks again, ducking to catch my eyes, his hands moving to my arms.
“No.” The word comes out small.
My stomach rolls.
Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
I’m going to throw up.