Page 162 of Feed Your Fiends

“The first is continuing her ballet legacy and company that Gant will head.”

My father didn’t give a fuck about ballet or that company. It’s an appeasement, one I can’t pretend I don’t want.

“Under the direct supervision of his aunt and Marisol’s estranged sister Delphine, a ballet mistress for over thirty years.”

Delphine’s smile widens.

“The next,” he pauses to look at me as if recovering a beautiful memory. “Those emeralds Marisol always wore. They’ve been hidden in a drawer for two years now, and it’s about time the world was blessed with their beauty.”

They’re more than just beautiful. They’re stunning, matching the eyes zoned in on me now across the room. At first, that’s why I was attracted to them, but as time passed, they weren’t just nostalgic for me any more. They were alive, windows to a soul I tied my soul to.

“They were her favourite. Most people don’t know this, but she was working with designers to create her own line. We still have some of her sketches, her ideas she’d scribbled on letters.”

The letters I hadn’t burned. How would Hale have felt to receive those letters intended for him? I suppose we’ll never know.

“And now we have family friends, the best of the best, willing to collaborate with us.”

Willing? More like ferally enthusiastic.

The Beaumonts and Zaveris smile serenely, but the tension in their shoulders is obvious as their eyes flicker to their respective displays. The Beaumonts are on the right, the Zaveris on the left. Bart’s only going to choose one, and no matter how wealthy both families are, they have one business: jewels. But Bart Auclair is an entire enterprise. Fuck a jewellery ad. What about that jewellery being featured in movies? In car ads, the very same cars Bart despises me for not being able to drive.

“We’ll invest with a few friends to continue her jewellery line she never got the chance to complete. Now that Auclair Enterprises has more shares, we have more chances to make dreams come true, even if those dreamers are no longer with us. So here’s to Marisol.”

“To Mari!” the crowd says as the curly-haired girl offers us a drink on her golden tray.

Delphine’s at my ear. “To Mari.” There’s a tear in those reptilian eyes. “I miss her so much.”

“Delphine?” I whisper.

She waits expectantly, a tear spilling down her cheek.

“You have toilet paper on your heel,” I hiss before turning to finish the toast. Bart’s toast. Bart, who’d just come from the powder room, too.

When I bring my glass down, Bart does something he’s never done before. He pulls me into a hug. Immediately, I know why. My front is smooth, but something small and round digs into my chest from his left breast pocket.

And when I offer him his drink to toast, he reaches for the other. He doesn’t trust me. But he’d trusted Zedd. I toast him, then Hale. Or I would have if my little dove hadn’t flown by, knocking Hale’s shoulder so hard that he spills half of his drink before it can touch his lips.

“I’ll get you another,” I slur as Hale gazes around for who’d bumped him.

“Never the matter,” Bart smiles, pulling another glass from a nearby tray Zedd emerges with because it’s gold. “There you go, Hale.Cheers.”

“No,” it’s so hushed, so quiet as Dove grabs Hale’s wrists, her wide, emerald eyes frantic as she peers up at him.

But it’s too late. Because Hale’s already shot the drink back, and Bart and I have already done the same.

Gant

“What are you doing, Dove?” I ask sluggishly. The heaviness I’ve been feeling for the past twenty minutes is caving in on me now.

Her wide eyes flicker to me, and the second they do, pure, unbridled pain blooms in them, and she tears them away to stare at Bart. Then that pain contorts, transforming into incredulous rage.

“What am I doing? What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps at Bart, then to me. “What the fuck are you letting him do?”

The room freezes then reanimates with sheer confusion and outrage at thehelp’soutburst. She’s a corseted worker, grabbing her boss and shattering glasses.

“How could you…” Her voice is shaky as she struggles to finish the sentence, but then it’s like she forgets about me, about the party completely, because those deep emeralds suddenly filled with concern again fly back to Hale. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” he asks, searching her face with an equal amount of concern. “You’re deathly pale—”

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