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What the hell did he just say?
He sighs. “Al, I think—”
“You do not get to call me Al anymore,” I cut him off, holding up a hand. “You lost that privilege when you guys stabbed me in the back. All of you did.”
He swallows hard. “Fair enough.”
“What? You’re just going to pretend to be a nice guy now that we’re getting married, or fated, or whatever?”
“Not exactly.”
I roll my eyes, and the movement makes the room spin. I end up staggering, and he catches me, trying to steady me.
He hooks a finger under my chin and angles my head to look at him, his eyes searching mine. “You’re drunk.” It’s not a question.
“And stoned,” I add. “So?” I shrug, and the movement makes my stomach clench. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I groan.
“Allura?” my mother asks from somewhere close by. “Did I hear you come in?”
Ryder mutters something under his breath then loops his arms around my waist. I want to push him away, but I worry I’ll end up falling on my ass if I do.
“Shit, I’m so screwed,” I mutter, my eyelids growing heavy as my body slumps.
“Just keep quiet, okay?” Ryder whispers.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I mumble, moving to push him away, but my arms are too numb and useless, so I end up smacking him in the stomach.
He grunts then sighs. “Al—Allura, I’m trying to help you,” he hisses, the muscles in his jawline taunt. “But for me to do that, you need to be quiet.”
Part of me wants to tell him I don’t need his help, but the other part wants to avoid a fight with my mother. The latter wins as I zip my lips and lean into him.
“Justine,” Ryder says to my mother.
“Ryder, what’s going on?” she asks as she stops beside us. “What’s wrong with my daughter?”
“She said she ate some bad food or something,” he tells her, skimming his fingers up my back. “I was going to help her up to her room. You know, practice my husband duties.”
My mother lets out a fake laugh that makes the muscles in my jaw spasm. “That’s very kind of you. You’re going to make a good husband.”
I roll my eyes.She’s so damn fake. And he’s a fake husband.
“Her room’s up the stairs and to the … You know what? Never mind,” she says. “I’m sure you remember where it is.”
“I do.” With that, he turns and steers me down the wide hallway lined with marble floors and domed chandelier ceilings.
I briefly glance back just in time to lock gazes with my mother. When our eyes collide, I can tell she knows the truth.
“She knows you know,” I say as Ryder leads me past shut doors and toward my room. I have to lean into him as we walk, and his arm is wrapped around me to support most of my weight.
Every time I breathe, the scent of his cologne touches my nostrils. I may hate him, but he smells lovely.
“Who knows what?” he asks distractedly as his eyes wander along the hallway's walls.
What is he even looking at?
I look up at him. “My mother knows you lied to her about me being sick.”
His gaze drops to me. “How do you know?”
