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Then he has the audacity to side-step me and walk away. Just like that. Without another word or a backward glance.
So much for my roses, my tulle, my perfectly made-up face. Am I losing my touch? Is Evan so desensitised by beauty that he can only be fascinated by buck-toothed girls with big eyebrows and no fashion sense?
Standing in the cold with my hands fisted at my side, I watch Evan. I watch his body language as he speaks to Sophie, the way every part of him seems to be drawn to her. I watch her too, the way she looks at him with those dark eyes of hers, the way she holds his gaze like a challenge, like she’s daring him to fight her. The tension between them, hatred and desire all mingled, is almost unbearable to watch.
But I watch anyway.
I watch, my stomach churning. My plan failed before it ever started. If I ever believed Evan and I would end up together, then it’s only because I must have been blind. I thought Evan was only obsessed with Sophie in the way someone might get obsessed with something strong they’re desperate to break. But Evan isn’t obsessed withbreakingSophie.
He’s obsessed withhavingher.
I don’t know why it took me this long to realise when it’s so obvious to me now. So where does that leave me?
My father wants me to give in to him, to do exactly what he wants and follow the path he’s set for my life. But that’s all I’ve done so far. I let him ship me off to England, away from all my friends. I stayed in Spearcrest as he wanted—dideverythinghe wanted. I was the perfect daughter. But I’m tired of it.
This time, I won’t relent. He wants a puppet, not a daughter, but I’m going to cut the strings.
And Evan would have been the perfect tool to help me do that.
If only he wasn’t such an idiot.
I reach him just as Sophie and Araminta walk away, and he jumps when he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with me. But the anger simmering inside me is now bubbling, boiling over.
“Really, Evan?” I ask, my voice shaking with anger. “Her?”
He sighs and his shoulders slump. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
What a coward. He knowsexactlywhat I’m talking about, but if he wants me to spell it out, then I will.
“Sophie. Fucking. Sutton.”
He hesitates, his eyes on me. He says nothing—he doesn’t even try to deny it. Probably because we’re surrounded by people, and he’s being careful. But I’m not.
“I’m not even angry,” I lie. “I’m just disappointed. Don’t you know you could do much better?”
His jaw clenches and his features shift into an expression I’ve never seen on his face before. Irritation, anger, but something else, too.
Dislike. Raw, naked dislike.
My heartbeat lurches and stutters in my chest.
“If I wanted to hear your opinion on anything, Rose, I’d ask for it.” His voice is hard. “But since you have nothing intelligent or relevant to contribute to a conversation, you might as well keep your mouth closed.”
The words coming out of his mouth sound like they’ve come right out of Sophie’s head. Maybehe’s the puppet andshe’s pulling the strings and he’s too stupid to realise. But if Evan is no longer trying to conceal his true thoughts and feelings, then why should I?
“Don’t be so fucking defensive, Evan. It’s a bad look.” I laugh and wave my hand in a dismissive gesture. He wants to hurt me, but I want to hurt him right back, and I know exactly how to. “Over Sophie Sutton, of all people? Just because she acts stuck up and dresses like she belongs doesn’t mean she’s one of us, or that dating her would be anything more than a fucking charitable act.”
He stares at me, and suddenly, he’s not angry anymore, the heat of anger replaced by ice-cold calm when he speaks.
“You’re really fucking pathetic, Rose,” he says in a low voice. This is the most genuine I’ve ever heard him. And he’s not done. He continues, staring deep into my eyes. “You might have the prettiest dresses and most expensive makeup, but it doesn’t hide what you really are: some vapid, brainless, jealous fucking baby. Grow the fuck up, yeah?”
And then, for the second time tonight, he simply turns around and walks away from me, from the party, from the peace garden. He doesn’t turn around to cast me one last glance, and this time I’m grateful for that because if he had, he would have seen me standing there frozen in shock, my eyes full of tears.
There’s nothing more embarrassing and classless than crying at a party. Nobody wants to be drunk and witnessing someone else’s breakdown. It’s in bad taste and poor party etiquette. So instead of standing in the middle of the peace garden and crying like an idiot, I run away, making sure I go in the opposite direction to Evan.
He’s the last person I want to see right now.
He’s the last person I want to see ever again.
