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When I was younger, I got bullied because of my weight. A gang of skinny blondes blessed with perfect skin, who lived off nothing but roll-ups and Diet Coke, used to pick on me. Daisy always said they were jealous because I had the biggest boobs in school, which helped make me feel better. Spencer made comments about my figure too, constantly pressuring me into dieting to lose a few pounds, but Freddie…
No man has ever stood up for me like he did, even if they were empty compliments. In fact, the only thing making me feel worse than being fat-shamed is the bitter realisation that nothing more will ever happen between me and the man who rushed to my defence. Like my time pretending to be Rose, this is just another act.
Deflated after our last encounter, the next shop we enter has friendlier staff. They help me pick outfits and stock everything inmy size. By the time I’m pushed into a changing room to try on my haul, my basket is full.
I change into the first dress. It’s made from soft green stretchy fabric that clings to my curves. I rotate on the spot, checking out my arse in the mirror. Is it too much? I bite my lip and peer around the curtain to see where Freddie is. He’s leaning against the wall, absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his phone.
Before I speak, I try to commit this moment to memory. While working for the Killers Club, my mind strayed to what my life could have been like if Spencer hadn’t cursed it. This is something I’d have imagined: a perfect guy—hot, generous, and kind—waiting for me.
“Freddie?” I call, stepping out and twirling around for him. “What do you think?”
When he looks up from the screen, he swallows hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. The plunging neckline emphasises my bulging cleavage. It’s backless and fastens at the back of my neck.
“Well?” I ask when he doesn’t speak.
“No,” he replies in a gravelly rumble.
“Doesn’t she look great?” another shopper comments. “You’re a lucky man!”
He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. I turn around and yank the curtain closed behind me, nearly pulling it off the rail in my haste. Maybe Freddie’s sick of pretending. If we’d met in another life, things could have worked out. Now though, we weren’t meant to be.
I swallow my disappointment and shove all the other potential outfits back into the basket, deciding not to try anything else on.
“Are you done already?” Freddie asks when I come out.
I turn to the assistant. “I can return anything that doesn’t fit, right?”
“Of course,” they answer.
I carry my mountain of clothes over to the till and knock the arm off a mannequin in the process—it’s better than removing a limb from an actual human, I suppose.
I half-expect Freddie to tell me to put stuff back, knowing this will cost a bomb, but he doesn’t blink an eye as the clothes are beeped through and it comes to an eye-watering total. He swipes his platinum card to pay like it’s nothing.
“Have you got everything you need?” Freddie asks coldly.
I nod curtly. All the earlier warmth between us has vanished like an open window, allowing a gust of air into the house on a snowy day.
We trudge silently back to the car, each of us lost in our own thoughts. It’s time we face reality.
I’m their prisoner.
They hate me.
Our future, if we survive it, has never been more uncertain…
CHAPTER 28
BRAM
Iflinch as Seb takes a corner too sharply, shoving me onto Callen’s lap.
“If you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do was ask,” Callen teases, batting his eyelashes at me.
I push him away with a grunt. I wish he had sat in the front with Seb. Damn Freddie for tasking him with being at my side in case of a medical emergency. The only emergency we’re facing is me wiping the smirk off his face by dislocating his jaw.
“So,” Callen begins, slapping his phone into my hand, “why don’t you tell us what happened when you were locked in the dungeon with the firecracker, huh?”
I make the app say, “Fuck you.”
