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Swallowing knives, I shrug off the towel, looping it over his shoulders instead of mine. “You should take a shower.”
“Take one with me. Keep up the act.”
“I think I’ve done enough acting.”
“I hope so.” Bishop leans in slow, reading my response.
Maybe grooming him just does it for me, or maybe his overcautious attention is exactly what I need to feel safe.
Now my glands are quiet.
Confident I’m finished freaking, Bishop brushes my cheek. “Nothing hurts more than always being fine.”
Isn’t that the freaking truth?
He’s opening a window for me to come clean, but until my house of cards is fully in flames, I’ll never climb through. I allow myself one stroke of his smooth jaw. “We’ll hold together. We always do.”
“Left you a selection of clothes.” He purrs into my knuckles. “They’ll satisfy your needs.”
So would Bish, if I took what he’s offering.
That’s why I shut it down. “Be right behind you.”
When he’s gone, I pop like a water balloon at a porcupine rave.
Bishop left me a basket heaped with long-sleeved, high-collar tops, perfect for hiding my lies.
But being rejected isn’t the worst-case scenario anymore.
Like, what’s Meadows Pack gonna do?
Reject me harder than I reject myself?
Not possible.
I’m terrified they won’t reject.
They’ll accept me as I am, with all my damage.
My body that doesn’t work, my cursed perfume, and the scars that prove I’ll never be the omega they deserve.
Then all roads lead to doom.
Either I leak my scent and hurt them or destiny wins.
They meet Serafina.
Then I’ll get to die inside, watching them realize they chose wrong.
That’s the difference between a fake and fate.
After changing into dry clothes, I backtrack to my trap villa, following the jungle path that Dutch flattened. My syringe case got abandoned in my moment of madness.
Even though it hasn’t been an hour since my last injection, that orgasm must’ve burned through my artificial lemon.
I’d rather pass out than face the guys bare-skinned.
Serafina’s scent is the only shield I have left.
