Page 288 of The Grand Duel

Our girls.

Lissie is standing with Megan, seemingly being introduced to her guests. Nina, Scarlet, and Jovie are talking together off to the side, and Lucy is talking animatedly to a giant of a man.

“I’d put my cock and balls on the fact she’s talking about me.”

I stare at Elliot’s back as he walks through the crowd, his arm going around Lucy’s waist with nothing but pure male dominance when he reaches her.

Lucy turns, smiling wide up at him, her lips clearly saying “Here he is.”

Fixing my gaze on Lissie, I make my way over to the table, willing myself to shake off my emotions.

“Megs is basically mother to us all,” the lad tells Lissie, his eyes catching mine as I approach before he looks back down at her.

“Feels that way at times,” Megan says.

I slide my hand across Lissie’s back, relishing the feel of her skin beneath my fingertips. I don’t approach in the manner Elliot had, but in a way that lets the young lad, who looks to be a similar age to Lissie, know that the woman he’s currently talking to is, and always will be, the love of my life.

“Charles Aldridge.” I hold my hand out to him.

“Freddie,” he replies, shaking my hand.

“Charlie knows who you are,” Megan cuts in. “Freddie Bowman. He plays?—”

My brows lift. “For The Royals. Of course.”

“He’s just been named the top try scorer of the season.”

“Congratulations,” I say, nodding, achingly aware of the jealousy I had for the lad moments ago.

“Thank you,” he says.

I look down at the woman beside me, my heart sinking at the look on her face.

She swallows and turns, walking out of my hold and towards the bar.

I close my eyes, sighing.

“Best of luck, mate,” Freddie tells me, cringing.

I pull my bottom lip under my top teeth, following Lissie to the bar. I lean up against it and order her a vodka cranberry.

I peer down at her whilst we wait, her eyes trained on the optics on the back wall.

“Would you have ignored me all night had I not approached you?”

Her stare flattens, and instantly, I know it was the wrong thing to say.

She side-eyes me, not turning away from the bar. She smiles at the barman as he places down her drink. “Thank you.” She takes a sip, and then turns to look up at me. Her face fractures, her anger not working alone. “Yes. I’m planning to avoid feeling this terrible at all costs tonight.”

She picks up her drink and walks away from me, taking with her any hope I had of a conversation.

FIFTY-TWO

Charlie

Lissie’s dress is cream. A tight, pearly fabric that clings to her every curve. She’s a dream. Thought up and brought to life by something far beyond what my conscious mind could ever muster.

I tuck my hand into my tux jacket, over my heart, trying to ease the ache there as she smiles politely at the young Freddie chap, refusing a dance.