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He hesitates. “Because I wanted to ask you but was too scared, so I made up a story about asking someone else then pretended to get stood up, hoping you’d fill in.”
Reece can be a closed book at times, but right now, he’s cracked open, and I get a glimpse of the words scrawled on the frayed pages.
“Why would you be too scared to ask me to begin with?” I ask. “We were friends back then. I would’ve said yes if you’d asked.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to go as friends.” His smile is all sorts of miserableness. “Plus, I was confused.”
“About what?”
“About … how I was feeling.”
My brain is swirling with confusion and alcohol. I’m about to drill him with questions, but he whispers, “Later, okay?” Then he gently pushes me back, spins me around, and pulls me toward him until our chests touch.
Back when I first taught him how to dance, he tripped over his feet at least a dozen times. His skills have clearly improved since then.
He puts his lips beside my ear again, leaving my cheek resting against his. “You might not want to hear this, considering the circumstances, but you look absolutely stunning.”
I shut my eyes momentarily as his words send a jolt of desire and pain straight to my chest and I think of what was, what could’ve been, and what can never be. Before everything went to shit, I’d thought Reece was one of the most beautiful guys I’d ever seen—he still is. And I think, even though I didn’t realize it back then, if he had told me these words when we were in high school, I’d probably have given him my soul. Just handed it over without a second thought.
Now, my soul is nothing but slivers lodged inside my chest, and I doubt I’ll ever get all the pieces out, let alone be able to give them to anyone. The worst part is Reece is part of the reason why this agony inside my chest exists.
I suck in an inhale through my nose then open my eyes as I release it. “How much longer do we have to dance?” Saying the words are nearly as painful as hearing the ones he just spoke to me. But I shouldn’t feel bad for dismissing him. I don’t owe him anything. And yet, part of me wants to tell him how stunning he looks, too.
I seal those words inside my lips, though, like the invisible tomb I’ll be sealed in as soon as this night ends.
He stiffens, a shaky exhale slipping from his lips. “A few more minutes.”
We grow quiet then as we continue to dance, and by the time my mother interrupts us, my eyes are burning with unshed tears.
“It’s time to sign the papers,” she informs Reece and I as she reaches us. She has a half-empty glass of champagne in her hand, and by her dilated pupils, I’m assuming she’s popped a pill or two. “And then you can return to your home and finish the ceremony.”
“Wait … Finish the ceremony?” I ask with my hands resting on Reece’s broad shoulders. “What else do we have to do?” I was aware of the papers we had to sign to make this all official, but I thought we were done with the ceremony afterward.
“Allura, don’t be so naïve.” She hands a passing waiter her glass without glancing at him. “I’m sure you can figure this out on your own.” With that, she clumsily spins around and snaps her fingers, signaling us to follow her.
I look at Reece for an explanation, but he avoids my gaze.
“We should get this over with so we can get the hell out of here.” He starts to follow my mother when it slams into me.
We’re supposed to go back to the house and seal this fate ceremony by having sex.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head and backing away.
Reece looks at me, his face oddly pale. “Just keep it together for a bit longer, okay?”
“No,” I repeat. “You all said you wouldn’t … do that.” I mentioned it multiple times to all of them, about how they were just going to gang bang me, and they all assured me they wouldn’t.
He grabs hold of my hand, stopping me from moving farther away. “We’re not going to,” he whispers with a pressing look. “Now, please, just come on and don’t make a scene.” In an even lower voice, he says, “Just please trust me.”
I don’t want to. I’m not even sure I truly do. But in the end, all I can do is follow him.
TWENTY-SIX
ALLURA
The papers we have to sign take a while, and most of them have to be signed by just the guys. The only papers I ink my signature on are the fate papers that deem I legally—at least by mafia law—belong to Ryder, Reece, and Blaise. They sign similar papers but also put their signature on inheritance papers and whatnot. I do not get the luxury of an inheritance. No, that will go to the son, sons I bear, which is also written on one of the contracts I have to sign.
As I’m signing this particular paper, I hesitate for a noticeable amount of time. My hand doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want to hand over the last tiny drop of hope that I can still achieve my dream of going to college and living a quiet life.
