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37
Percy
Saturday 5:05 Pm
“Get the fuck out. Now!” I yell.
Our eyes meet. I can see a mélange of emotions looking back at me.
He’s hurt, angry, frustrated. I completely understand how he feels because I’m in the same boat. And it’s a fucking sinking ship.
I stand my ground. I have to.
I have to be the immovable object and the unstoppable force.
“I said out, Anton!”
He wants to say more. To stand and fight.
It’s one of the many things that I love about him.
No, but Idon’tlove him, dammit!
Anton walks to the door.
He throws it open with enough force that I think it’s going to come off its hinges. From just beyond the doorway, he turns to look at me.
“When you’re ready to face the truth of what we are, you know where and how to contat me.”
His tone is full of that anger and frustration that I saw in his eyes. The door slams shut so hard that I hear the door frame crack from the force. This—all of this with Anton and I—is exactly why I don’t let men get close to me.
I need my freedom to come and go as I please. To do who I want when I want.
I don’t want to love Anton. I don’t want to love anyone.
I’m a lone she-wolf who doesn’t want or need a pack—unless you count my girls.
Being tied down to one man—even one as fucking perfect as Anton—just doesn’t fit my lifestyle.
My eyes linger on the door, and I picture Anton standing on the other side of it looking at it, too. I really don’t want to love him or need him…but I do.
God fucking help me, but I love that man.
I love him with the kind of force that is downright biblical.
What a fucking mess I’ve gotten myself into this time.
I walk through the suite to my bedroom. I go straight for the closet and open up the doors.
Before me, in all its glory, is my wedding dress. A wedding dress fit for royalty. It’s the kind of dress that would make a Disney princess envious.
It puts Kate Middleton’s dress to shame for fuck’s sake.
Slowly, I slip off my dress and toss it on my bed. I shouldn’t be doing this. Realistically, all this is just going to make things harder.
But apparently, I’m a sucker for pain.
Bit by bit, I slip into my wedding dress—which is hard as fuck to do on your own. There’s a reason brides always have a posse of women to help them.
