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37
Elodie stands beside our table wearing a strapless black dress that drips from her body like candle wax. And though I hate to admit it, she looks more stunning than I’ve ever seen her, and that’s really saying something.
“Natasha,” she says, her voice false and bright. “It’s so good to see you again. And this whole look you put together—totallyadorbs.” She cocks her head, allowing a cascade of loose blond curls to tumble to her waist.
The smile I flash in return is as empty as her false show of flattery. In Elodie speak,adorbsis reserved solely for puppies and babies. For anything over age two, it’s an insult.
“I saw the snow shield and thought I’d come over. So, tell me, what’s the big secret?” She glances between us, lips pushed into a pout. Back home, Elodie always got what she wanted, but I’ve yet to see any evidence her charms work as well here.
“What do you want, El?” Braxton’s tone is more reasonable than the words might imply, but there’s enough of an edge to prompt her to snake her fingers onto his shoulder and give it a squeeze.
“Oh, you know. Just checking in on my friends.” She squeezes again, and from the way her knuckles blanch, it’s much harder this time.
Elodie’s on edge. Which is something I never imagined I’d see.
And to make it even weirder, I’m pretty sure she’s on edge because of me.
Well, because of Braxton and me.
Not that thereisa Braxton and me.
And not that I would ever want there to be—becauseno.
But still, it’s really starting to look like Elodie’s worried there might be.
Which means if what Song said about Elodie needing to be Arthur’s favorite is true, then seeing me sitting here with Braxton must feel like a double slam to the heart—tangible proof that I’ve invaded yet another one of her territories. And even though that couldn’t be further from the truth, after everything she’s put me through, I’m in no rush to explain anything to her.
“We still meeting up later?” she asks.
I watch Braxton shift in a way that effectively hides half his face, making it impossible to discern if the flicker of displeasure in his gaze was a trick of the light or the reveal of a much deeper truth.
“Oh—sorry, Natasha!” She flutters her lashes at me. “I don’t mean to exclude you; it’s just Brax and I usually hang out with the Blues after dinner and sadly, Greens aren’t allowed. You do understand, though, right? I mean, it’s not like you’ll be on your own forever. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before you’re one of us, too.”
More than anything, I want to snap back with the sort of biting reply that’ll make her slink away in shame, or something along those lines.
But my brain hasn’t caught up with my tongue. So when my mouth pops open to really let her have it…absolutely nothing comes out.
“Awkward” doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“Humiliated” is a much better word.
And, of course, Elodie clocks it.
She leans toward me, and just when I’m sure she’s about to call me out and say something cutting, her face softens. “Mine is the pink door, at the very end of the hall,” she says. “You know, in case you decide you want to talk.” Her lips press together, a few silent beats pass, before she adds, “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but I really am sorry about how all this went down.”
I study her expression. On the surface, she seems so sincere it makes me wonder if I should at least try to give her the benefit of the doubt and believe her.
I mean, maybe she wasn’t fluttering her lashes—maybe her voice wasn’t really dripping with saccharine. Maybe that’s just how Elodie looks—how she talks—and I’ve become so paranoid, I can’t see anything clearly anymore.
But just as I’m about to talk myself into giving her a chance, I’m reminded of what Song said about how with both Elodie and Gray Wolf, it’s difficult to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s fake.
I definitely shouldn’t trust her. I’m a fool for even considering it.
And yet, there’s an undeniable part of me that wants to believe she really is sorry and that we really were friends.
But that’s probably because it’s a lot easier for me to believe her than to face the reality that I was just another target, and a ridiculously easy one at that. Just another pathetic girl so desperate to break free from the prison of her life, she was willing to pay any price.
It’s funny how when I look at Elodie now, I can so clearly see all the things Mason warned me about. But that sort of hindsight is basically the definition of too little, too late.
“I really do hope we can get past this,” she says, cutting into my thoughts. “We’re a family here at Gray Wolf. And, with any luck, you’re going to be here with us for a very long time.”
Without another word, I watch Elodie leave as quickly and gracefully as she arrived.
“You okay?” Braxton asks, once she’s gone. His troubled gaze fixed on mine.
“What did she mean?” I ask, staring at the spot where she stood. “Why amIin need of luck? I’m getting mixed messages here. I thought I was pretty much stuck in this place whether I like it or not?”
I turn to Braxton just in time to catch the fleeting shadow of discomfort that crosses his face. And I’m just about to press him to explain when the waiter appears by my side and goes about the business of swapping out one course and replacing it with another.
By the time he’s gone, Braxton’s moved on. Lifting his fork, he just smiles and says, “Bon appétit.”
