Page 3 of Kidnapped Rejected Mate
I stare into my locker, feeling lost, trying not to think about it.
But trying not to think about things has never worked for me. My brain loves to pick up on details, put together information for me that I usually don’t need, and don’t want.
They’re going to celebrate her picking out a dress. Aurela is getting married, and she’s happy about it.
And as much as my wolf is howling, twisting, and demanding I go and do something about this, I’m not going to.
I made my choice a long time ago. I chose her over me. Did what I could to make sure she would be happy. That she would be okay.
And if she’s happy, there’s not a chance in hell I’m jeopardizing that.
Chapter 2 - Aurela
After a while, it gets easier and easier to make the people around you believe you’re happy.
What girl wouldn’t be happy, going through the motions of a wedding like this? My parents have spared no expense, including the designer they’ve hired to make me a custom wedding dress.
“We should have known nothing off the rack was going to fit you just right,” my mother said, waving her hand dismissively. “Not with the way you’ve been…flourishing.”
Flourishing. Her word forgetting fat.
Because she believes getting fat is the worst thing that can happen to a person, she’ll never actually use the wordfat. Instead, she opts forfluffy, growing, flourishing.
What she really means is that I’ve been gaining weight pretty steadily for the past five years. My hips and thighs filling out. My tummy adding a little pouch. My breasts growing to a size I could only have dreamed about in high school.
In high school, when I starved myself because the pain of that was easier than the pain of everything else. When I lost the first thirty pounds, when my wrists started feeling bony and my hips sharp to the touch, I realized my mom—and everyone else, for that matter—would praise that body.
They liked that my thighs didn’t touch. They liked that I was often light-headed. That I couldn’t run in gym class without feeling faint. It was like the smaller I made myself, the more people around me approved.
“Aurela.”
I blink, looking over at my mother, who sits beside me in the back of the car. She doesn’t like to drive. We’re the only people in Silverville with a driver.
“Sorry,” I murmur, leaning my head back, feeling exhausted from the day.
“I was asking what you’re planning to wear to dinner tonight,” she says, and my mouth goes dry from the thought of it. Sitting at a table in front of everyone else. The pressure of eating, feeling like a circus freak. An attraction.
“Probably my black dress,” I answer, because I know it’s the right one. Since I started eating whatever I want, and my body has been changing, my mother has had a lot of opinions about how I can best hide it. Black and vertical stripes for a slimming effect. No other patterns. And nothing with a slit or window. No mesh. Nothing to cover any less flesh than we possibly can.
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” she says, reaching over and touching my arm. “I’ll lend you my pearls. It will look very classic.”
I nod and settle back into my seat, closing my eyes and trying not to think about anything. But my mind wanders to dinner tonight and what it will be like.
Lachlan and Valerie are coming.
When they first started dating, it didn’t go over well with my parents. A couple of years ago, when Valerie came over for dinner the first time, I was feigning illness. Lying on the floor of my bedroom with a bag of peanut M&Ms propped on my chest, eating them one at a time, and listening in on the conversation going on downstairs.
Caspian was over for dinner that night, too. He might be my fiancée, but I’ve never really liked spending time with him.
Like I knew it would, the conversation eventually turned totheincident.
“I heard they all fled town,” Caspian’s voice pushed, loud and grating, through the floor and to my ears. Talking about the group involved in that first fire—me and Tara, Phina, Val, and Maeve. “I was studying abroad in Ireland at the time—my sophomore year of college. That’s why I didn’t come back to help.”
I popped another M&M into my mouth angrily. Always talking about his stupid year abroad.
“That one was bad,” my mom said, avoiding talking about the fire in the same way she avoided using the wordfat, “but it was just the start.”
“The last thing I want to talk about is fires, Mom,” Lachlan joked, and the sound of his voice made my chest pang. Even though he could be a pain in the ass, I still missed him. I missed having another person in the house, some sort of buffer between me and our parents.
