Chapter 7 What Do You Mean 'Fiancé'?
Ginger's POV:
My stomach drops, feet growing cold with a severity that threatens to make me nauseous.
“Fiancé?” I repeat, unable to take my eyes from the duo before me. “What do you mean ‘fiancé’?”
I’m not sure who my words are directed at—matter of fact, I don't even know if any of this is real or just an elaborate prank being played on me by the universe for whatever reason. All I know is I need answers, and I need them stat.
Katelyn smiles and then presses her lips to Grayson's cheek in response, careful to rest her head on his shoulder. His right hand wraps around her arm, her fingers clutching his torso.
They look every inch the happy couple, except, I notice the tick in his jaw, the quiet frustration in his stance, and his frazzled look. Hair mussed, tie loosened, fists clenched.
And I can't help but feel he's being forced into this.
My mother breaks the terse silence first, her voice betraying her exhaustion.
“It's just as you heard, dear. I'm sorry this is coming on such short notice,” she says, squeezing my arms gently, as if to say behave.
Unfortunately I'm too far gone to care. I turn to Roman, still not making the link between his rash decision to suddenly pair his son with Katelyn, and the fact that we're currently hosting werewolf royalty.
“But I don't understand… Out of the blue?” I say. “You're simply going to jack him out of school in our final year and—oh I don't know—just have him marry some random girl of your choosing?”
“They’re only betrothed for now and will be wedded after graduation. I'm not a barbarian,” Roman explains with a frown, and I'm quick to add, “I meant no offence.”
Nothing surprises me more than the voice that responds.
“None taken.” Luna Druella steps forward, an embodiment of refined grace and timeless, sapphic beauty.
Her heels click twice against the golden-streaked porcelain tiles, frosty blue gaze zeroing in on me, firm and assertive. “Though I'll have you know, Mikaelson, this ‘random girl’ you speak of is our daughter, our heir, our pride. And soon enough, your next Luna. If we’re to join forces to strengthen and ensure the continuity of our packs, you have to know such disrespect will not be tolerated.”
Her words almost don't sink in.
“Pardon me, your highness, but I don't understand what you're talking about. There's no way Katelyn is your—”
The words die off in my throat as my brain starts connecting the dots.
Wait… Xenoia.
As in Julian and Druella Xenoia. Of the Xenic Clan; the fiercest bloodline in Ludacris.
Who are now standing in our home with their daughter engaged to be married to the one man whose mere touch sets me ablaze.
My legs falter, the world momentarily blurring out around me with this new info.
“You'll have to forgive my daughter's attitude, Alphas,” Roman says, already making excuses on my behalf. “She is only hearing about this for the first time, so it's coming as a shock to her.”
“Ginny, a word?” Mom beckons, and I have no choice other than to follow. She walks me to a corner, cradling my face in her hands. “Are you good, honey? You look a little pale."
No. No, I'm not.
“Yes, I guess. Just… surprised.”
“It’s my fault for not telling you sooner,” she says. “Roman and I had hoped to find the right time to tell you this past month, but in between providing welfare for Silveridge survivors and overseeing injured wolves, I couldn't find the time.”
My ears ring. “You've been holding onto this secret for up to a month?”
She fiddles with her fingers, looking very much like a kid who’s just been caught red-handed rifling through the cookie pot.
“It's.. been in the works for a while.”
I see red.
I storm past her—back into the living room, and through Katelyn's little snuggle session with Grayson who looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here before interrupting Roman’s little talk with the Xenoias.
“You didn't stop to think how your son might feel about this?”
Roman’s only taken aback for a second before amusement colours his expression. “He understands the risk this poses for the pack if he doesn’t agree.”
Uhm, excuse me?
“Grayson's only 18 for goddess sake!” I snap, not minding how rude I'm coming across. I will gladly do this again and again if that is what it will take to make Roman see how wrong this all is. “We're practically still kids!”
“No, he is an Alpha heir with responsibilities to his pack. Same as Miss Xenoia,” Roman argues, his gaze flickering to his son. “I am doing this for his benefit—for our own good. He will look back at this one day and thank me for it.”
I risk a glance at Grayson, only to find him already watching me. An unreadable mix of expressions on his face. He shakes his head, telling me to back down even though I know he wants to punch something almost as much as I do.
There are no words for what happens next, because I don't even have the words for it, but somehow, I sense his anger and pain even as Katelyn practically hogs him, and that strengthens me.
“Look at him!” I urge Roman, careful not to let any cracks show in my demeanor. “He doesn't even want this. But he wouldn't tell you that because you've made him out to be this perfect, model heir.”
“And what would you know of my son's wants or needs?”
I scoff. More than you could possibly fathom.
For starters, I know he crept into my bathroom in the early hours of this very morning to jerk off to just the sound of my name.
And I could tell you how I watched him do it through the crack of the door, biting on my lower lip while my fingers played between my throbbing folds.
I could also narrate to you the unholy sounds he made as he climaxed through his peak, hair damp and slick and glistening with sweat as he shot his seed into his hand. Right before using it as a sort of lubricant and proceeding to stroke himself again because of me.
But you wouldn't want to hear that now, would you.
“Have you seen him on the ice—even once?” I say instead.
Grayson sighs. “Ginger—”
“Have you bothered to attend, or better yet, watch any one of his games?”
“Ginny—”
“If you did, I'm positive you'll see he has a bright future ahead of him.”
This gets Roman angry.
“A future with sticks and plastic?" His voice rises. "Come on Ginger, be realistic. Without this marriage, MY SON would only be a worthless Alpha constantly looking over his back, leading an endangered pack!” he's shouting now, a vein lining up on his forehead. “Is that truly the future you want him to have?”
For a second there, I think he'll hit me. But then, Roman rubs his jaw and takes a deep collective breath, tendering a formal apology to Mr. and Mrs Xenoia before addressing me again. Softer this time.
“I know you're only concerned for your stepbrother, Ginger, but I will appreciate it if you don't challenge me on what's best for my son,” he says, casting a furtive look at my mom. “Besides, we've carried him along from the start. He’s had enough time to prepare his mind.”
His words are the verbal equivalent of a grenade. Total smokescreen.
“Is that true?” My voice doesn't even sound like my own. Everything feels muted, dull, blank. Like this is just a very hazy nightmare threatening to resurface.
Katelyn pulls Grayson's forearm onto her shoulder, curving it round her neck like an inside joke I'm not privy to. “That's what he’s been trying to tell you, stupid.”
“Katelyn,” Julian warns.
“Sorry, father.”
Grayson finally meets my eyes, and the regret I see in there has my guts churning once more.
Gods, I feel like such an idiot.
“Congratulations on your engagement,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face. “You are perfect for each other.”
I turn, heading for the door. “I’m sorry but you'll have to excuse me.”
Holding myself together even a second after the door slams takes special grace from Diane herself.
So, ironically enough, I go to the one place I know I can cry without being disturbed.