Page 4 of Fat Sold Mate
“She belongs to the café down the street, allegedly,” I explain for the hundredth time. “But she's convinced every business on this block that they're her rightful owners. I'm just one of her many subjects.”
Luna smiles, but her eyes remain serious. “About tomorrow...”
I sigh, accepting the wine glass she offers and sinking into the armchair opposite them. “Fine. Talk. But I make no promises.”
“James will be there,” Fiona says casually, watching me over the rim of her glass.
The name hits me like a physical blow. I keep my expression neutral through years of practice, but my hand tightens on the stem of my glass. “And? Of course he’ll be there—it’shislottery.”
“And nothing,” Luna says quickly, shooting Fiona a warning glance. “It’s nothing.”
“Why would I care?” I ask, the lie bitter on my tongue.
“No reason,” Luna says, too innocently.
My mind betrays me, flashing back to that morning two months ago despite my best efforts to keep the memory locked away.
The coffee cups are warm in my hands as I approach the reconstruction site. My lips still tingle from last night's kiss, a smile threatening to break free every time I think of it. For the first time in years, I feel a spark of hope that maybe—just maybe—I could belong here after all.
I’m desperate to see him again, despite myself. I crave it. God knows what that means.
James's voice carries from around the corner, and I slow, surprised by the laughter in his tone. He sounds relaxed, happy.
“She's massive, honestly.” His voice is clear in the morning air. “The fattest thing I've ever seen.”
Male laughter joins his. I recognize Thomas's distinctive bark.
“Dude, it’s not okay,” Thomas mutters, still chuckling. “That’s so mean.”
But he sounds like it’s the funniest thing in the world.
Ice creeps down my spine.
“Dude, it’s fine,” James replies. “She just keeps following me around, I can’t get away from her… and, I mean…lookat her!”
More laughter. My hands go numb. The coffee cups slip from my fingers, splashing hot liquid across my boots, but I barely feel it. All I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears, the shattering of something fragile I'd foolishly allowed myself to nurture.
I turn and flee before they can see me, before the humiliation burning my cheeks can be witnessed.
“Ruby?” Luna's voice pulls me back to the present. “Where did you go just now?”
I blink, forcing away the memory. “Nowhere. Just thinking about inventory.”
Fiona raises an eyebrow but doesn't challenge the blatant lie. Maggie has curled up on the windowsill, grooming herself with imperial disinterest in our conversation.
“The point is,” Luna continues, “everyone will be at James' lottery ceremony. The whole pack. You can’t just… pretend to be sick or something.”
“I can try,” I counter. “No one wants the outcast witch-girl there anyway.”
Luna flinches slightly. Even after all these years, she hates that word—outcast. Maybe because she knows how easily it could have been applied to her, too, if her parents hadn't been respected pack members before their deaths. If she hadn't been able to shift, unlike me.
And we all know I can’t skip it. My hands are tied. It’s wishful thinking, believing I could escape.
“That's not true anymore,” Luna insists. “Things are changing, Ruby. Nic is changing things.”
I take a long sip of wine to avoid responding. What can I say? That a lifetime of sideways glances and whispered comments doesn't disappear because the Alpha has a progressive streak? That being tolerated isn't the same as being accepted?
“James asks about you, you know,” Luna says quietly.
