Page 93 of Unwritten Rules

MILA

I’m here with Bash. Can we FaceTime? *sad eyes emoji*

She’s utterly shameless, and I’m clearly insane because before I’ve even finished reading, I’m rising from my seat to find somewhere more private to do exactly as she’s requested.

“The starters are being served, Nate.”

Zara’s voice carries after me, and I narrowly manage to stop myself from flipping her the bird as my stride lengthens to rapidly exit the open floor of the library, ducking behind the nearest stack of shelves that doesn’t have servers milling about.

The ball is taking place in the enormous library itself.

A massive open-plan area currently hosts twenty or more large round tables, each seating twelve guests. This space will be home to rows and rows of research tables from tomorrow.

Chandeliers above us have been dimmed, allowing tall candelabras at the centre of each round table to twinkle and glow, giving the event an almost magical feel.

Eyes on my phone, I begin the process of video-calling the Hellcat. She answers on the first ring, but instead of showing her face and little Sebastian’s as I’d expected, I just see darkness.

“Mila? Are you there??”

The call ends, and I screw my face up in annoyance. Right now, I’d give all I possess to glimpse that Hellcat’s beautiful face.

Stupid fucking phone.

“I’m here, Nathaniel,” her voice calls out, and my whole body freezes.

She’s here?

I can’t help but grin when I realise she’s once again surprised the absolute shit out of me.

“Do you like my dress?” Her voice is a soft taunt from further down the stacks.

That last day she asked me this same question was Henry’s wedding. The day my whole world spun on its axis.

Walk away, Hawthorne. Walk. Away.

I rock back on my heels, shoving my hands in both pockets as I try to stop myself from following the direction of her voice, knowing full well that if I follow, there’s only one way this is headed – and that’s a one-way ticket to a place called insanity.

“Did no one ever tell you it’s rude to leave a girl waiting? Like your no-show on Sunday for lunch. And now this…”

I yank my hands out of my pockets and scrub my palms up and down my face several times, inhaling raggedly as I debate with the inner demons I’ve fought so hard to keep at bay.

I’m fucking insane.

Deciding to not only throw away the rule book but set it on fucking fire to boot, I march with intent, following the direction of her dulcet tone and grind to a standstill when I find her at the end of the row. She’s standing just to the left, moonlight streaming through a large window, making her glow like a beacon of light.

My light in the dark.

My stomach dips at the vision before me.

“Do you like my dress?” She repeats her earlier question, and all I can do is nod dumbly as my eyes devour her with an unabashed wonder akin to worship.

Her dress clings to every curve of her divine body. Thin spaghetti straps hold up the silver beaded bodice that highlights her firm, perky tits. The desire to touch them makes my damn fingers itch and my cock throb, straining against the uncomfortable clothes keeping our bodies from becoming one.

What I wouldn’t give to be that fucking dress!

I’ve never been jealous of an item of clothing before, but there’s a first time for everything.

A satin skirt flares out over her hips, falling to the floor with a high slit on her left leg that looks precariously close to flashing her panties.