Chapter 32

#Chapter 32 – Slut “Ian, you need to slow down!” I call after him, shaking my head as he bursts through Victor’s back door like a tornado. Alvin isn’t far behind him. “Boys –“

I step into the kitchen moments later and see that they’ve left chaos on their wake. Their backpacks are thrown on the floor and four little shoes dot their path up the stairs. The greatest casualty yet, Amelia stands with her mouth still open in a gasp, looking after them with tea splashed all over the island and her white sweater.

“Oh, god,” I say, quickly moving to the paper towels. “I’m so sorry Amelia, did they startle you?” Ripping one free, I quickly work to mop up the mess on the kitchen island where she was sitting. Then, on mom instinct, I reach to dab at her sweater “I’ve got it,” she says, twisting away from me with a dirty look.

Yup. Great one, Evelyn, not only have your sons ruined her sweater but now you’ve tried to pat her chest with a paper towel. Awesome.

“I really am sorry – they’re just hurricanes with legs. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning of the sweater,” I offer, lamely.

“Don’t worry about it,” she murmurs, carefully applying water at the sink. “It’s last season, anyway.”

As Amelia is distracted, I stare at her. God, she really is more beautiful in person than on the fashion magazines, if that’s possible. Standing next to her, I feel every inch the country mouse next to a swan.

Our relationship is, at best, frosty. I guess this is understandable, I think, watching her clean her sweater. I’m a constant reminder of a passionate night Victor had six years ago. And considering that Victor and I have grown closer lately…well. In her position, I guess I’d be cold too.

Amelia catches me looking and meets my eye unhesitatingly. I try a soft smile and she smirks, moving to the teapot to make another cup.

“Would you…” I venture, “make me one as well?”

Amelia shrugs and gets a second mug out of the cabinet. I sit down at the island. Victor has made it clear that he doesn’t think Amelia has anything at all to do with our sons’ kidnapping. I still have my doubts, but if Victor believes her, that means Amelia is going to be sticking around. If she’s going to be my sons’ stepmom, then I both of our lives would be better if we could come to some kind of agreement. A friendship, even.

“Um, it’s a lovely sweater.” I venture, trying to start somewhere, anywhere. “Where did you get it?”

“Paris.” She says shortly. Of course. Everything she owns is from Paris.

“I spent some time in Paris,” I say as Amelia drops teabags into the mugs. “When I was a teenager.”

She turns to look at me, giving me rather a withering stare. “That’s funny,” she says. “I would have had no idea.”

Damn, I think, taking it for the cut it was. She’s not going to make it easy.

“Victor says you’re planning to go back in the spring.”

Amelia nods, moving with her cup of tea back to her seat at the island. “Yes, for the fashion. This year I’ll be taking Victor with me.” She leaves my mug on the counter.

“He will love that,” I murmur as I awkwardly get up to fetch my own cup of tea. As I return to my seat, Amelia flips through the magazine that she was looking at before the boys came and interrupted her day. Determined to make headway, I put on a sunny smile and try again.

“Are you in that one?” I ask.

Amelia silently flips back about twenty pages and then holds up the magazine so that I can see it. It’s a picture of her, looking absolutely stunning in a white wedding gown that’s cut dangerously low in the back, the lace detailing barely covering her perfect backside.

“Wow, that’s incredible,” I say, leaning forward for a better look. Before I can get it though, she snaps the magazine back and continues where she left off.

“Is that your wedding gown?” I venture.

“No,” she says, “it was just for the shoot. That dress is too risqué for Victor. Not that he dislikes it, but he wants a more…traditional look, for our wedding.”

“Mmmm,” I say, glad she’s talking. “And if it were up to you, you’d wear that one?”

“If it were up to me,” she says, still flipping pages and continuing to not look at me, “I’d have three different gowns – one for the ceremony, the reception, and the after party. And each would be more fantastic than the next.”

“That sounds amazing,” I say, meaning it. It wouldn’t be my choice, but it sounds very Amelia. “Are you excited?”

“About?” she says, looking up at me.

“About marrying Victor,” I say.

“It’s going to be an amazing day.” She says, showing me the mega-wat smile that’s sold thousands of magazines. “We got this amazing chateau off the coast that’s totally exclusive, so no paparazzi, and nobody I don’t want there,” she says, flicking her eyes over me pointedly.

“We’re getting the best of everything,” she says, resting her cheek on her palm as she thinks about her perfect day. “Cases of champagne flown in from France, private jets to get all the guests to and from the island – and absolutely everyone is coming. It’s going to be…fantastic.”

“That sounds…yeah, wow.” I say, genuinely impressed. “And then, the marriage? Are you excited about that?”

“What?” she asks, blinking at me as she pulls out of her reverie. “I just told you I was.”

“Well, that’s the wedding,” I say. “What about the marriage?”

Amelia blinks at me again and then thinks for a moment. “Being married to Victor is everything I ever wanted. Of course I’m excited about that. Things will be just like they’ve always been.”

“Oh,” I say, considering. “I thought…Victor wanted to start a family right away.”

Amelia shrugs and turns her attention back to the magazine. “Victor doesn’t know what he wants.”

I consider her, for a moment, thinking to myself that Victor seems to know exactly what he wants: a marriage, a wife, children, and all that entails. Amelia seems to want…a wedding.

I hesitate for a moment, knowing that it’s none of my business. But then, isn’t it? I’d like for Amelia and me to be friends, and if I were her – I mean hell, I was her. Six years ago I was a girl a few months away from her wedding to an Alpha, and nobody said a word to me. I really wish someone had.

“You know, Amelia,” I say, “I was married once too.”

“Yeah,” she says, holding my gaze. “Yeah, I heard all about that.” Her voice drips with the understatement.

I purse my lips, again absorbing the dig. “It was…not a good experience for me. I remember being really excited about my wedding too, but then after all the excitement was gone, I realized that I didn’t think enough about what my life was going to be like as this man’s wife. It was a mistake. I wish I had given it more thought.”

Amelia is silent for a moment, and then her face slowly changes into an expression of disgust. “What?”

she says.

“I’m just saying –“

“No, Evelyn, I hear exactly what you’re saying.”

“I just mean that it’s much better if two people are really on the same page about what they’re expecting in a mar-“

“Let’s get to the bottom of it,” Amela says, crossing her arms and leaning on the counter, staring at me with unhesitating eyes. “Was this man – Joyce? Was that his name?” I nod, surprised that she knows.

“Was he your mate?”

“No,” I say.

“Oh, so chosen-match, great. Well Victor is my mate – we’re designed to be together. And this Joyce, did you live with him?”

“No,” I say, quieter this time.

“Well, Victor and I live together – and we have, we’ve been together for five years. I got together with him even after his reputation was destroyed in the press by a one-night stand. I think I know him now.

And lastly, this Joyce, was he good to you?”

“No,” I say again, shaking my head and looking down at my hands.

“Great. Well, Victor has given me everything I’ve ever wanted. He’s the man of my dreams. So that’s three things that make your absolute sham of a marriage completely different than mine.

“So you’ll forgive me” she continues viciously, baring her teeth a little, “if I don’t take marriage advice from some w***e who cheated on her husband the day after she married him, picking up the first guy she saw at a party.”

“Amelia…” I say, wounded.

“What,” she says, scoffing at me. “Are you going to say that you respect yourself for leaving him?

Great. Because as far as I see it, you’re just a slut who whelped two mutts and then came back, five years later, begging for scraps.”

My eyes fill up with tears and I stand up quickly, heading for the door. I’m shaken and stripped down, not only by her cruel words, but by how…real they feel. Amelia has said exactly the things which my subconscious whispers to me on my darkest nights. In so many ways, she’s exactly right.

Tears falling down my face, I slip out the back door and quickly make my way across the yard.

“You’re nothing, Evelyn,” I hear Amelia call after me as I go. I glance back over my shoulder and see her leaning casually against the door frame. “Do us all a favor, and disappear. Stay the f**k away from my husband.”