Page 57 of Better Not Pout
It feels like a show of fake bullshit.
This isn’t at all the way this town is, and it sure as fuck is the opposite of what Rosalie would want. I think I know her well enough now to realize this is not the person that she is. That’s for fucking sure.
“You dodged a hell of a bullet, baby,” I murmur beside her, both of us watching her fool of an ex, who’s following his fiancée around like a puppy as she makes her way around the room like a queen making her rounds.
A few moments later, he spots us from across the room and starts to make his way over, and Rosalie straightens her spine, lifting her chin higher. “Tell me about it.”
When he finally makes it over to us, after stopping to wrestle with the train of his fiancée’s poofy dress getting snagged on the back of a chair, he looks a bit stressed.
Pretty sure this kind of stuff is supposed to be enjoyable, but doesn’t look like he’s enjoying much.
“Rosalie, you made it,” he says, reaching up to adjust the pink tie around his neck. “Glad you could bring your friend as well.”
Now is the time to exercise self-restraint, Wells. No punching this douche in the face at his own engagement party.
“Congratulations,” she says, her eyes flicking between the two of them. “You look beautiful.”
His fiancée gives her a smile. “Thanks. And thank you so much for all of the treats. They look phenomenal.”
“No problem,” Rosalie responds with a smile. She’s far more polite than I could be in the situation. Especially after learning everything I did about her ex. “Uh, where should I put these?”
“Over there on the dessert table,” Bradley says shortly, gesturing to a table over to the left of the still-empty room. The one that’s piled high with so much other stuff I have no clue where Rosalie’s even going to put the stuff they had her make.
That piece of shit.
It only further proves what I thought. He didn’t actually want Rosalie to make candy for his engagement party—he wanted to rub his engagement in her face.
Apparently, she sees right past his bullshit because the plastered smile on her face slips, a fiery expression taking its place.
Rosalie glances toward me and blows out a frustrated breath as she turns and walks toward the table, sliding the boxes she spent far too fucking long working on onto the very edge of the table, then turning back to Bradley and Jessica.
“Seems like you had plenty of stuff already, Bradley,” she says through clenched teeth, her cheeks stained red with frustration.
He shrugs, a bored expression on his face. “Can never have too much.”
Yeah, you can, and of course a dickbag like you would be willing to waste something that my girl worked all goddamn day on just to use it as a weapon.
Fucker.
“Oh, there’s Arthur! I’m going to say hello,” the fiancée says. “See you in a bit?”
He nods and gives her a quick peck on the cheek.
Once she’s gone, he turns back to Rosalie, who says, “Can I please have the check so I can leave?”
Her hands are balled into fists at her sides as Bradley steps closer. “I was wondering if we could talk for a moment?” His gaze cuts to me before going back to meet hers. “Alone?”
Her eyes widen in surprise before her brows furrow tightly together. “Talk about what?”
There’s a second of hesitation as he glances at me again.
Instinctively, I want to step closer to her, wrap my arms around her, but I refrain because I know that she can handle this.
“I’d like to discuss it in private, Rosalie,” he says lowly. “It’s between you and I.”
“Bradley, there is absolutely nothing that we would ever need to discuss in private. So, if you have something to say, then you can say it right here,” she smarts back, her brow cocked in annoyance.
I grin, watching the exchange.
