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Every. Single. Fucking. Time.
And he’d let her. He’d kept it alive, he’d felt her, and she’d had nothing but his absence and his public indifference.
If the announcer’s voice hadn’t cut through the silence, calling for the guests to take their seats, she would have ripped the damn thing out of her hair and crushed it in front of him. As it was, she was so incapacitated by rage that he slipped away from her, disappearing and reappearing on the other side of the sea of chairs, a chameleon adept at becoming a part of a crowd without anyone noticing his arrival unless he wanted them to.
If Alys saw him, she might become the first bride to attempt committing murder at her own wedding, and Clare wasn’t certain she’d stop her. She forced herself to focus, to watch the ceremony, and not Numair. It was simple and beautiful, and she supposed she could understand why people liked weddings. So full of hope and promise, and for a day, at least, the belief that everything could be as perfect as a moment.
So when she took the stage, she sang for that moment, for the looks in Alys's and Lina’s eyes when they looked at each other. She sang for Marquin and Verol, who had slipped into the wedding on the verge of being unforgivably late, and slipped out again after her first song. Later in the evening, relieved of her duties, she made her way to the punch table, taking a cup from the non-alcoholic side. The cake was, predictably, gone.
She watched Numair dance with some girl she didn’t care to recall the name of, and who was so busy chattering on that she didn’t notice the ticking of the muscle in Numair’s jaw as he clenched his teeth, or the stiffness with which he held her. Clare was debating the various merits and drawbacks of finding an opportune moment later in the evening to spill punch on the silly chit—for reasons even she could admit came down to jealousy, pure and simple—when the dance ended and Clare found herself directly in the path of the third son of the Marquis of Venatas, with no avenue of quick escape.
A rumor had surfaced that the Arrendons intended to legally adopt her. Diligently as she’d worked to discover its source, she never had. And as it turned out, the Arrendons were not only wealthy, they were obscenely wealthy. Between that and the Arrendon title that would pass to her if this adoption rumor proved true, she found herself in the unfortunate position of looking like a good marriage prospect. And since Alaric had shown no further public favoritism toward her since she’d gone into mourning, every second and third son of every semi-important family had decided it was worth the risk to develop an interest in her.
She was, presumably, supposed to be dumb enough to believe them infatuated with her, allow them to sweep her off her feet, and marry one of them as soon as possible, handing them the Arrendon title and wealth as soon as this supposed adoption occurred. Dealing with them tactfully was a challenge she was rapidly losing the will to accomplish.
The one who walked toward her now—Julian? James? No, Joseph, Lord Adlington—both bored and offended her in equal measure. And it appeared, given the rearranging crowd at her back, cutting off escape, she would have to allow herself the honor of being bored by him for an entire dance.
She handed her now-empty punch glass to a passing attendant, straightened her shoulders, and steeled her resolve.
“If I might have this dance?”
The voice did not belong to Lord Adlington, who had stopped five feet from her with an inscrutable expression on his face.
She very nearly told the second prince of Faelhorn precisely where he could shove his dance invitation. But it was him or Lord Adlington.
“Delighted.” She turned and took Numair’s hand. He was cautious as he led her onto the dance floor, obviously sensing her anger. He was just as obviously straining for that old easiness between them when he said, “Have I saved poor Lord Adlington from the sharper side of your tongue?”
“He’s so dull he wouldn’t recognize the sharper side if it cut him to the bone.” She couldn’t yell at him here, in this sea of people. She didn’t want to cause a scene at Alys's wedding. And she couldn’t get past the bruise peeking out of his collar, the too-thin feel of him beneath her hands. “What happened to your neck?”
He stiffened. “I’m a drunk. I tripped and fell on something.”
“And how many times have you tripped and fallen on things lately? How many times did Chalen have to remake your clothes because they don’t fit you anymore? How many?—”
“Stop,” he said harshly. Then his voice softened. “Please, just…stop.”
“Why should I? If you aren’t here to be honest with me, then why are you here?”
“Because I miss you.”
Bitterness laced her words. “So you get to come to me like this when it’s convenient for you? When you have a moment of weakness? Like I don’t know that tomorrow if I see you, it’ll be like I don’t exist all over again?”
“I—”
“You don’t get to miss me.” Her voice was low, hard. “Not like this. Not at my friend’s fucking wedding where I can’t even yell at you. Do you think I haven’t missed you every day? The difference is that when I missed you so much it hurt, I didn’t get to feel you through a damn flower and know you hadn’t forgotten me. I didn’t have the luxury of slipping into your life like you did into mine tonight, because when I looked for you, you weren’t there.”
“I’m sorry.” His arm tightened on her waist, and his forehead dropped onto her shoulder. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I never meant for you to happen.”
He’d never meant for this to happen? She had a magic flower and a necklace that said otherwise. But she didn’t want to see him wince, or tell her they were both mistakes, so she didn’t point it out.
Her rage battled with her sadness and her terror, with the unknown of what was happening to him. With the knowledge that something more than her wearing said magic flower had brought him to her tonight. If that was all it took, he’d have been at her side countless times before now.
Something was wrong. Or something had changed. Or he was desperate. “Please let me help you.”
He lifted his head. “You can’t.”
“Because you won’t let me.”
His mouth tightened. “It isn’t that simple.”
