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The best fantasy: I’d be with a guy who was better looking than him, someone more accomplished, and Marcus would glance at me, and I’d glance back at him, thinking,Take that!
Another favorite scenario of mine was how I’d receive an excellence award for my work at DKE and he’d be part of the audience. He’d be so impressed that he would come up to me and ask me out, and I’d smile regretfully at him, saying,Sorry, I’m already taken.
Just your typical revenge fantasy really, and I supposed I could be more imaginative if I wanted to. Dreams were free, after all. But the thing was I didn’t really care to be creative about his comeuppance.
I just wished there’d be a day that he would realize he was wrong. Or maybe just a day where I knew he would feel as much pain as I did—-
But this wasn’t how I wanted it to be.
The mood in the parish was somber, made heavier by the dim light cast by the wrought-iron chandeliers overhead. Only murmurs of condolences occasionally broke the silence, and as I came closer and closer to where Marcus stood, I still couldn’t think of anything proper to say.
His grandmother – the only person in his family that Marcus loved – had died.
Was there really something proper one could say about it?
In front of me, my three brothers extended their condolences, and I heard Marcus murmur in reply, his tone unusually grave. That one summer he had been with us, he had been everything that was wicked and fun. He had been the very definition of danger, forbidden and intoxicating—-
But the Marcus I saw now was so different, I thought.
The older Marcus was a stranger. He was too quiet, too serious—-
Too much like the person I used to be,I realized.
And that didn’t feel right.
My brothers moved away, and Fleur moved forward. I watched her give him a peck on the cheek, saying softly, “I’m sorry, Marcus.”
“Thank you, little sister.”
I lowered my gaze as Fleur walked away to join the rest of my family.
Nine years.The words started to hammer my brain, the thought making me feel faint. I hadn’t seen Marcus Ravelli for nine years, and if I were honest – it wasn’t long enough.
Nine years, I thought dazedly, and somewhere deep inside me, the last memory I had of him still hurt.
I forced my limbs to move.
Act normal, I advised myself.
I cleared my throat.
Please act normal,I pleaded with myself.
But in the end, I could only stare at the knot of his silver tie as I mumbled, “I offer my deepest condolences.”
Riiiiiiight.
I should have known that things could never be normal between Marcus Ravelli and me.
The silence between us stretched, and I knew from experience he was waiting for me to meet his eyes.
Crap.
He was still a sadist after all these years.
Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly lifted my gaze to his.
Oh.
