Page 17 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

The restroom was inside, down a short corridor off the terrace. Marble sink, individual cloth towels, lighting engineered to make rich women forgive their necks. I locked myself in a stall and sat for a minute longer than necessary because no one could ask me to be gracious through a bathroom door.

When I came out, Grant was waiting near the sinks.

Of course he was.

He leaned against the counter with one ankle crossed over the other, jacket open, whiskey in hand. The picture of casual. The door to the terrace stood open behind him, music and voices drifting in.

My whole body went cold with irritation.

“This is the women’s restroom,” I said.

“I was worried about you.”

“No, you weren’t.”

His smile curved. “Still know me.”

“Unfortunately.”

I moved to the sink and washed my hands.

He watched me in the mirror. Grant had always liked mirrors. Reflections gave him twice as many chances to admire the effect he had.

“You’re making tonight harder than it needs to be,” he said.

I reached for a towel. “Funny. That is almost exactly what you said when I found your shirt in Tessa’s laundry.”

His jaw ticked. There he was again. The real one.

“You always did love a performance,” he said.

I turned from the mirror. “You followed me to a bathroom at your rehearsal dinner. Should we discuss performance?”

He stepped closer. Not enough to trap me, Grant was too careful for that. Just enough that my body had to decide whether to retreat.

I didn’t.

His gaze lowered to my mouth.

“You know, the worst part is, you look better angry,” he said quietly. “Tessa cries. You burn. I missed that.”

My skin crawled. “Your fiancée is on the terrace.”

“She’s busy being adored.”

“That must be hard for you.”

His smile thinned. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like being watched.”

I set the towel down with care.

There were several things I wanted to do.

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to walk out there and repeat every word into a microphone. I wanted to ask Tessa if this was the version of love she had risked our family for.

But I could already see the scene. Grant startled and wounded. Tessa sobbing. My mother furious. Guests whispering that I had finally cracked. Poor Cassie. So bitter. So unable to move on.

Grant had built the moment that way because he was good at architecture.