Page 118 of Cruel King


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Lark nudged Katherine. “We’re on her side.”

“Yeah, Jesus,” English grumbled.

“I’m on her side, but I’m not going to pretend like nothing happened. This is a hundred percent a classic Whitley story. Complete with a public argument and ending in a dramatic demolition of your relationship.”

“That is not what happened,” I snapped at her.

“No? What happened?”

I stumbled over my words. Thatwaswhat had happened. I’d blown a gasket. All of my fears had escalated into the worst possible scenario, and I’d set the world on fire. Like I always did. Why did I have to do that?

“I don’t know,” I said, backing down from Katherine’s intensity. “You’re not wrong.”

Katherine smiled triumphantly. “Well, don’t tell us that. Tell him.”

I blinked up at her rapidly. “What? Who?”

Then, my friends grinned devilishly and pushed me forward. That was when I saw him. Gavin King. He stood at the edge of the fountain in a shirt that was too big for him and pants that might have been a little too short. Despite the disheveled appearance, his gaze was steady. And it was fixed purposely on me.

“I hate you three,” I told my friends.

“We know,” English said.

“We love you too,” Katherine said.

“Always and forever,” Lark agreed.

I left my friends behind and strode over to Gavin. The man I’d thought would be my husband only a day earlier. Until everything had crumbled to ash.

“Hi,” I said hesitantly as I met him.

“Hey, pixie.”

I stifled a grin at the nickname. “What are you wearing?”

He fingered the too-big button-up with a shrug. “I haven’t been home. I stayed with Locke and Maggie, and he let me borrow his clothes. It turns out, Olympic swimmers have broader shoulders than the rest of us mere mortals.”

“Who has ever called you a mere mortal?”

He sighed. “Well, I fell from Olympus yesterday.”

I glanced at my feet and kicked a loose rock. “Why didn’t you just go home?”

Gavin took another step forward, putting two fingers under my chin and lifting it for me to look up into his endless emerald eyes. “As if I could go back to a place that held every memory of you. As if I could smell my sheets that still had your scent on them. As if I could lie there alone when I had every intention of bringing my wife home to that bed.”

I swallowed at the intensity in his statement. “Gavin …”

“Wait,” he said quickly. “Let me go first.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Okay.”

“I was wrong.”

“About what?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Asking you to be my fake girlfriend.”

I stared at him in confusion. “Um … okay?”

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