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ALLURA
I hate that I hate my mother. Hatred is such a potent feeling, this twisted foul sensation that is consuming. But I can’t love her. She’s been too cruel and mean to me—still is—and every time I hear her voice, it makes my blood burn with loathing for everything that she’s done to me.
If I’m really being honest, I’m not even sure I know how to love. I thought I once did, back when the guys and I were still friends. I must’ve been wrong—I have to have been wrong. Because if I’m not, then that means that I did love them once and my heart was shattered more than I want to admit when they betrayed me.
None of us speak as we leave the house and get into the car. My mother rides in front with Ellis, which leaves Blaise and me in the back seat. I sit as close to the door as possible, and Blaise does the same. For a while, we stare out the window while my mother sends messages and emails on her phone. This leaves a lot of time for me to sit and think about what Blaise said to me right before my mother walked into my bedroom.
Later. Not here, but later. I promise.
I’m not really sure what he meant.
Before that, he was going to tell me something but chickened out. I’m not sure why or what he was going to tell me, but did his last words to me mean he’d tell me eventually? Do I really even care? Is there anything he could tell me that would change anything between us?
It doesn’t seem possible right now.
Sighing to myself, I stop thinking about Blaise and mafia men and focus on my plan to get the hell out of this life. I have no idea where to start. I’ll need a new name, lots of money, and careful planning, but I have no clue where to get any of those things. I know people who could help me, but three of them are Ryder, Reece, and Blaise—that’s a past-tense thing. The rest are all connected to the families and will more than likely rat me out.
But maybe I can find an outsider.
As I ponder some ways, most of which are ridiculous, I glance out the corner of my eye to see what Blaise is doing. He has his phone out and is reading a text. He’s so pretty, and it’s annoying. All dark hair, full lips, and the most beautiful eyes. I wish he had boils and warts. It’d make things easier.
He must notice me staring at him since his gaze suddenly lifts to me. I stare at him for another beat before looking away. I loathe looking him in the eyes. It reminds me of everything we were and everything we’ll never be again.
I expect him to return to his texting, but he scoots toward me. My hand is resting on the leather seat, and he brushes his hand against mine, magnetizing my attention to him.
My brows furrow as our gazes collide. I expect him to say something, but all he does is hitch his pinkie with mine. I should jerk away—I know I should. We’re not in that place anymore, the one where I craved his touch.
Except I do crave his touch. Any touch, I mean.
That’s only partially true.
The truth is that last night Trystan touched me, and it wasn’t like this. I didn’t feel this void that’s been swelling inside me since the day the guys decided they loathed me.
I keep my pinkie hitched with his for a drop longer before pulling my hand away and resting it on my lap. I feel cold and attempt to convince myself that it’s due to the frost kissing the city and the car windows. It’s not. No, it’s my body’s way of begging for something it can’t have.
Ever.
I end up sitting on my hands for the rest of the drive to avoid touching him.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the car slows to a stop in front of the dress shop located in the heart of the city. People are hurrying up and down the sidewalks, bundled up in winter clothes and carrying shopping bags, briefcases, and purses.
My mother waits for Ellis to put the car into park. Then he climbs out, rounds the front of the car, and holds open the door for her. She climbs out and starts giving him details on where to park—stuff he already knows.
Sighing, I reach for the door handle to get out, but Blaise stops me by placing a hand on top of mine.
“Climb out on my side, okay?” he explains when I give him a puzzled look. “Traffic’s too thick right now. You shouldn’t even be near the road.”
I eye the four-lane street beside me that’s packed with heavy traffic to the point where it’s at a standstill.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him. “No cars are moving.”
He holds onto my hand. “Al, sweetheart, please just do this for me, okay?”
I study him warily, sensing there’s more to this than he’s letting on. After what he said to me in my bedroom, I get the sense there might be more to the last handful of years than any of the guys have let on. Or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.
“Whatever.” I slip my hand out from his and gesture for him to get out first.
He does, shoving open the door and climbing out.
