Page 52 of The Bleak Beginning

“What the…” I hear Sutton mutter.

As the smoke clears again, I expect to see Alfie standing there, ready with another dramatic flourish. Instead, the space where he stood is empty. My eyes dart around the room, but there’s no sign of him.

Thank goodness.

A muffled thump from outside catches our attention. The large glass windows give us a perfect view of a sprinting Alfie running past. The illumination from the overhead lamps outside give me the front row seat as he stumbles over the wet cobblestone and goes sprawling on the ground.

“For fuck’s sake,” I groan, watching all of this play out before me.

“I’m fine,” he shouts, fixing his top hat and shooting two thumbs up in our direction. “All good,” he confirms, his voice somewhat muffled by the thick glass.

I exchange a glance with Sutton, her eyes wide with disbelief. We both hesitate, torn between concern and exasperation.

“Should we…” Sutton begins, gesturing vaguely toward the door.

“Nope. He said he’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened.”

“You sure?”

Before I can respond, another puff of smoke envelopes Alfie. When it clears, he’s standing upright, his clothes miraculously clean and dry. He tips his hat to us with a flourish, then turns on his heel and strides away, his coattails flapping dramatically behind him.

“Well,” I say, letting out a long breath, “I guess that answers that.”

Sutton shakes her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “You know, I’m starting to think we might be the boring ones in this scenario.”

I snort. “Speak for yourself. I’ll take boring over whatever he has any day.”

“At least he’s happy,” Sutton says with a shrug as we go over to collect our things.

I consider this for a moment, memories of Alfie’s glitter escapades flashing through my mind. “Trust me, we’re not missing anything except potential jail time and questionable stains on our permanent records.”

Sutton laughs, but it’s tinged with a hint of wistfulness. “Maybe.”

Chapter 10

Bishop

Ifinish tugging on my jeans, zipping my dick safely back inside, while stealing an annoyed glance at Ophelia. She lay sprawled on the blanket she brought, hair tousled with sand, eyes closed as she basked in the afterglow. The moonlight cast a radiance on her bare skin.

“We should get going,” I demand, my voice gruff. “The tide’s coming in.”

Ophelia stretches out languidly, in no hurry. “Mmm, let it come. I wouldn’t mind being stranded here with you,” she purrs.

“Come on,” I urge, tossing her dress onto her exposed tits. She’s always like this after sex. Extra needy. Always thinking this is more than what it is.

Ophelia huffs, finally sitting up and slipping the dress over her head. “You’re always in such a rush to leave,” she murmurs, a hint of hurt in her voice.

I turn away, scanning the beach for any sign of other people. We were far enough down that the sand had mostly turned to rocks, but the last thing I want is to get caught out here. “That’s because this is just sex, Ophelia. Nothing more.”

She stood, brushing sand from her legs. “It doesn’t have to be, you know. We could—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off sharply. “We’ve been over this. I’m not looking for anything serious.”

“But your mother said—”

“But, nothing.”

Ophelia’s eyes flash with anger, her earlier languor evaporating. “Your mother said I would be the perfect match for you.”

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