Page 53 of Mark
“No. I’m good with changing in my room. And if you think of collecting it, I will wear one of my own dresses,” she warns.
“All right,” she agrees, and then leaves with her husband after saying one last goodbye.
My hand is still firmly gripped in Freya’s as her sister continues to stare. The fiancé doesn’t seem to like it, but I don’t give a fuck.
“You didn’t have to fake a date to come to the wedding,” Esther announces.
“Nothing fake about us,” I reply, arching a brow at her. The only fake one here is her and the pussy-whipped boy beside her.
“Really? You expect me to believe you two are together?” she asks.
“You have to admit, it does seem too coincidental,” the fiancé remarks. “I think—"
Freya holds her hand up. “Stop right there. I’m not sure why you think I would care what you think, so don’t waste your breath explaining,” Freya bites out.
I let go of her hand to grip the seat between her legs. She pulls in a sharp breath before I drag the chair closer, her knees now between my legs. Her hand rests against my thigh, her gaze clashing with mine.
And for a moment, a split moment, I forget what I was going to say. She has me trapped, my words stuck in my throat. No one has ever made me stumble over myself. I made the move to prove a point to her sister, but it’s backfired.
It’s backfired epically.
Because now I want her.
“We’ll leave you two to it,” the fiancé declares.
“I’m not—” Esther begins.
“Let’s go, Esther.”
Lips parted, Freya slightly shakes her head, breaking the spell between us. “I should go too.”
I clear my throat, leaning back. “Yeah. I should go find my family.”
She slides out of her chair, grabbing her bag hanging over the back. “See you.”
“Wait. What time should I meet you tomorrow?”
She parts her perfectly bowed lips. “You still want to go?”
“Yes. Hayden doesn’t make idle threats,” I tell her.
“Hayden. Right. Um, it starts at three so I will meet you outside our cabins around half two. Is that okay?”
“I’ll be there,” I assure her.
“Goodnight,” she replies, before high-tailing it out of here.
“Goodnight,” I whisper, even though she can’t hear me.
I watch her go, fighting the urge to go after her. Maybe everyone is right. Maybe it is me who is obsessed.
Because the more I’m around the petite blonde, the more I want to know everything there is to know about her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Freya
I stand in front of the mirror, tears threatening to ruin the makeup I’ve just spent the past thirty minutes painstakingly applying. I always thought the chatter around bridesmaids’ dresses being ugly was a myth. I never believed a bride would truly want to have them in their pictures.