Page 47 of Riot Reunion
She stands erect again, fiddling with the neckline of her dress; she’s probably ‘accidentally’ flashing me some more, but I have a read on her now. My eyeline is staying far north of her fucking jawline. The woman, Alessia, adopts a sour twist to her mouth. “Howboring.”
“Am I supposed to ask what you mean by that?”
“Morals,” she retorts. “I wouldn’t have thoughtyou’dhave any.”
“I don’t have many. But Wesley’s a degenerate piece of shit with a penchant for murdering innocent girls. I kinda have to draw the line at that.”
Alessia frowns. The lights illuminating the building behind her flickers, a brilliant white glow stuttering across her features, throwing her profile into shadow when she says, “Is that why you fucked him then? Because you didn’t like him?”
The blood in my veins becomes glacial runoff in a painful heartbeat. So, he told her about that. Of course he did. I’ve been expecting it all to come out—the ill-advised few months, two years ago, when I hate-fucked my old English teacher. He will use this information to try and undermine my testimony. If he can make a jury believe that I’m trying to besmirch his name because of some lover’s tiff, that he spurned me and I, the rejected lover, took umbrage, he might just have a chance to cast doubt in their minds.
Alessia studies me, mouth open, eyes glossed over, high on her own power as she watches me imagining all of this coming to pass.
“You aren’t going to deny it, then?” There’s the weirdest note to her voice. A tension that snaps me out of my rising fury and brings everything back into sharp focus.
“I’d be a fool to say anything at all to you.” I watch her closely to gauge her reaction. “I’m pretty sure the fact that you’re here, in Fairbanks, harassing me in the cold with your tits hanging out, could get you disbarred or something. In the very least, this is professional misconduct—”
“What about me, Wren?” she purrs. “You seem like you hateme. I think my chances of getting laid are improving by the second.” She tries to lie her palm flat against my chest, but I step back, smacking her hand away for the second time.
“What thefuckare you trying to accomplish? Are you fuckinghighright now?”
Alessia throws back her head and laughs, the muscles in her throat flexing, her breath fogging up the night air. She sobers abruptly, her head whipping back down, eyes locking onto mine. “I just thought…I know you swing both ways. And since you’ve already slept with my fiancé…”
Fiancé?
Fuckingwhat?
“No need to look so confused.” She holds up her hand, waggling her fingers. Sure enough, there, on her ring finger, sits a chunky, very noticeable silver ring. It’s far from elegant—a large crowned silver heart, cradled between two hands, one on either side of it. It’s a Claddagh, the point of the heart turned in to symbolize that the wearer has found love. “Wesley’s very proud of his Irish heritage, y’know. He told me exactly what he wanted me to buy for myself as an engagement ring.”
Did I accidentally smoke a bunch of crack before dinner? Wesley Fitzpatrick’s lawyer is nothere, in the middle of this godforsaken Arctic wasteland, wearing something that can barely be called a dress, trying to get me to confess to having a sexual relationship with her client, while propositioning me and telling me that she’sengagedto him.
Just…no.
“It’s a shitty ring. We’re done here.” I’m successful in my attempt to move around her this time; she tries to stop me, but instead of letting her, I bulldoze straight through her. She staggers back, heels slipping in the hardpacked ice, and for a second it looks like she’s going down. I donotput my hand out to save her. Only sheer luck prevents the awful cunt of a woman from faceplanting on the sidewalk.
“That wasveryrude!” She launches a volley of colorful curse words at my back, but I’m not listening. I’ve already passed through the heavy oak door and disappeared back inside the restaurant.
Dum. Dum. Dum. Dumdumdumdumdum.
My heart hammers against my eardrums, a deafening tattoo, as I beeline back toward the table, where Elodie waits for me.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry,” she says softly.
I reach out and take her hand, gently tugging her out of her chair. “I’m not mad at you, Little E.”
“Then why are you dragging me toward the emergency exit?” she demands. “We haven’t had dessert yet. We haven’t even paid!”
There was once a time when I might have tried to sit on what just happened, so I could avoid telling her about it, or the implications of the interaction. But times have changed, and I’m not the guy I used to be. No matter how fucked up the situation is, I will always tell Elodie the truth.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Doesn’t mean it’s going to be fun.
I brace myself as I suck in a deep breath, wondering where the hell I’m supposed to begin.
Outside, Alessia Regan is nowhere to be seen, thank God. I open the car door for Elodie, clipping her seatbelt for her, and then I make my way around the rental and climb in the driver’s side. I’ve almost figured out how to explain what just went down in front of the restaurant, but in the time it took me to walk around the car, Elodie’s received a text message. She groans, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers, staring at her phone’s screen.
“What? What is it?” Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than my run-in with Fitz’s lawyer.
