Page 14 of Bullied Pretend Mate (Silverville Firefighter Wolves #3)

My cousin Suzie comes from the richer side of our family. That much is clear when Maeve and I arrive at the wedding, and the first thing we see is a giant ice sculpture of the bride and groom in the center of the room, their faces shining at one another, gleaming in the twinkling of the chandelier.

“Holy shit,” Maeve mutters under her breath before she starts to fan herself. “You didn’t tell me one of the weddings is for the queen .”

“She’s not a queen,” I mutter back, laughing as I glance down at Maeve at my side. “Her dad just had a successful tech start-up.”

Maeve is the image of beauty today, dressed in a blood-red gown that’s covered in some sort of material. Reflective? Glittering? I’m not quite sure, but all I know is that it’s eye-catching. Several other women have already gestured toward her, their eyes full of envy.

“Did you make this dress?” I ask, tapping her arm as we make our way through the large marble entry room to the main chapel, where the ceremony is to be held.

“Yes,” she whispers, turning her face up to mine, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of vulnerability that wasn’t there before. “Why, is there something wrong with it?”

“No,” I say, placing a hand on her lower back and feeling her entire body shiver. The result is a warming of my belly, and my wolf gnawing at the constraints I’ve put around him. “It’s perfect.”

Even as I’m talking, I’m actively waging a battle inside me against my wolf— yes, I’ve given her the mating mark, but no, that doesn’t mean that I can sweep her into my arms, take her back to the hotel room, and do what I please.

As much as I want to.

The drive from Silverville was about three hours long, and Maeve was surprised when I said she could pick the music.

“Really?” I’d laughed, passing her the cord so she could plug her phone into the car. “I always let you choose the music.”

The rest of the sentence falls away, because it’s not quite finished and not quite true. When I rode in the car with my parents, we’d just listen to the radio.

And by the time I turned sixteen, I was doing everything in my power to make sure nobody was linking me to Maeve Villareal.

Still, there were several times I ended up giving her a ride. A few times, when nobody was around, or it was raining, or I just didn’t want to resist the pull of her. Once, when we were forced to pair up on a science project, collecting twigs from the surrounding forest.

Each time, I’d silently pass her the cord, letting her pick the music that would make her comfortable.

On our ride to this wedding, she’d happily taken the cord and plugged in her phone, surprising me when show tunes came blaring through the speakers.

“Really?” I’d laughed, raising my eyebrows at her.

Maeve had laughed, too, leaning back in her seat and starting to sing along. At the first break, she looked over at me and said, “I am not trying to impress you anymore, Felix Rana.”

It’s funny because it implies that she was, at one point, trying to impress me. And now that she’s stopped trying, she’s the most impressive person I’ve ever met.

We glide through the crowd at the wedding, actually managing to blend in, and I’m glad I let Maeve take a look at my suit. I’d helped her find a sewing machine to do some adjustments. The fit feels sharp, and I’m even wearing a matching red pocket square to complement her dress.

The ceremony is just as extravagant as the rest of the wedding. A string quartet plays in the corner, and an artist stands opposite them, working hard to capture the moment in oil. I watch the various elements come together, knowing someone worked very hard to bring them to fruition.

For the first time in my life, I find myself wondering about my own wedding. If I’d even bother with any of this stuff. What it might look like.

What my bride might look like.

“Felix?”

I jerk back to the present and look up, finding Maeve standing in front of me, one of her eyebrows raised as she stares down at me.

“What are you daydreaming about?” she asks, holding out her hand to me. “You were, like, in a trance. It’s time to head over to the reception.”

“Oh,” I say, not wanting to tell her the truth about what was on my mind. She, in a white dress, is standing in front of a chapel like this. Waiting for me. Holding my hands in hers, reciting vows.

I’ve never seriously thought about something like a wedding before—a human tradition that more and more shifters are taking on as their own—but now it’s in my head, and Maeve is right at the center of it.

Luckily, I’m saved from having to answer her question as we walk into the reception and take in everything that a lot of money has to offer. We grab a themed drink—named after the couple’s pet—and find a standing table, mingling with some of the other guests.

Maeve is charismatic and light, and when she discovers one of the other couples is from Los Angeles, they spend the next twenty minutes talking about traffic, trying to find a good apartment, and how much it’s been raining in the past year.

“What do you do for work over there?” the woman asks, her glass halfway to her mouth.

“Well,” Maeve clears her throat, and I get the sense that this is something she’s uncomfortable telling people about. “I’m actually an influencer.”

“Oh!” the woman squeals, pulling out her phone. “I love it. What’s your handle?”

Later, when we’re leaving the quick cocktail hour and heading for the reception hall, Maeve leans into me.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, looking up and meeting my eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, a softer color than her dress, and I struggle to tear my eyes from her.

“Sorry?” I repeat. “Sorry for what?”

“Just, like, dragging out that conversation. Especially when you didn’t really have anything to talk about.”

“Maeve.” I tug on her hand until she stops, turning to look at me. “I was happy just to be there. To watch you doing your thing.”

“My thing?”

“Wowing them,” I say, waving my hand through the air.

She laughs, reaching up and taking my wrist, pulling it down again. “I was wowing nobody,” she says. “That’s your thing.”

“It could be our thing,” I say before I can stop myself.

She blinks, opens her mouth, and my heart pounds as I wait to hear what she’s going to say in response to that, but a man in a tuxedo appears at our elbows.

“Excuse me, sir and ma’am, but we are proceeding with the reception dinner. We ask that you be seated.”

Maeve closes her mouth, and I try not to be too grumpy about the interrupted moment as Tuxedo takes us to our table.

“ Felix ,” my mom says the moment she sees me, standing up and kissing me on both cheeks. It’s not something we do normally, but anytime we’re at an event for the rich cousin, she seems to think it’s necessary. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“Sorry, Mom,” I say simply, knowing all the calls were going to be about Maeve. “I’ve been super busy with stuff at the firehouse.”

“What could you possibly be busy with?” she asks, taking her seat and glancing around. I can tell she wants to rip into me, but she is also highly aware of our surroundings. “There hasn’t been a fire in months, Felix—”

The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“Xeran is making me the leader of my own squad,” I say, and when my mother and father’s mouths drop open, I go on. “We’re getting another engine. I guess he thinks I have what it takes.”

“Oh, honey ,” my mother says, reaching out and putting her hand on my dad’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I had no idea.”

She had no idea, and she’s not sure why Xeran would ever choose me when there are so many other guys who could do it—Soren, Lachlan, Kalen.

Any of them is more serious and capable than I am.

Sure, Lachlan used to use his money to do everything for him, but after having his baby with Valerie, he’s leveled out quite a lot.

Kalen is a Sorel. Maybe he wasn’t raised as the incoming alpha supreme, but he knows about leadership.

He watched his father do it for years. And besides, his last name already commands a significant amount of respect around here.

Unlike mine, which is pretty middle-of-the-pack.

A fact I did not enjoy sharing with the lawyer.

I felt like he was trying to decide if I was good enough to be with Maeve.

And Soren is more than capable of being a leader. Hyper-aware of everything, constantly taking notes. Organized beyond comprehension, and even getting certified so he can work on the engines.

“Neither did I,” Maeve breathes, drawing me out of my thoughts. When she looks at me, her gaze holds something like a mix of pride and hurt—she wanted me to tell her first.

If I’d known she cared, I would have told her. I’d just pushed it out of my head and spent enough time telling myself it didn’t matter that it hadn’t occurred to me to share.

“Well, it’s true,” I shrug, and when my father lifts his drink in a mini-toast to me, my mother assures me it’s fine because the bride and groom haven’t even arrived yet.

If my mother is still angry about the thing with Maeve, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she seems completely mollified by this revelation. If I’d known this was all it took, I would have said yes to Xeran the first time to get her off my back.

To my shock, my parents even start to laugh and joke with Maeve as the meal goes on, and at some point, my mother follows Maeve on social media.

Halfway through the meal, another couple joins us at the table, dropping down quickly and giving half-hearted apologies—they were running late.

My mother gives them a disapproving look, but I try to be nice.

It’s not like I’ve never been late before.

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in skipping the ceremony—that’s the most boring part.

After getting situated in their seats, the woman’s eyes settle on Maeve. “Oh, my ,” she says, sucking in a breath. “Maeve Villareal ?”

Maeve instantly looks down. “Yes, that’s me. Do we know each other?”

The woman’s face darkens a bit. “I was the stenographer during your trial.”

I watch as Maeve’s jaw ticks. I’m not sure she would describe what happened as a “trial.” According to her, Holden Sorel announced it was she and Phina behind the fires—along with Valerie, who ran off—and condemned them in front of the entire pack.

Their punishments were severe manual labor.

And Maeve left as soon as hers was over.

“Oh,” Maeve says, and I’m already bristling at her discomfort. She opens her mouth, but it’s clear she doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“I heard you left Silverville,” the woman says, tucking her napkin onto her lap. “I’m surprised you decided to come back.”

My parents sit quietly, taking it in, but I can’t.

“Why?” I ask, leaning forward, meeting the woman’s eyes. She’s a beta, so not as swayed by my status as an alpha, but she still lowers her gaze.

“I’m sorry?” she asks. “Why…?”

“Why are you surprised a woman decided to return to her hometown after the passing of her grandmother?”

“Oh,” the woman says, glancing again at Maeve and seeming appropriately cowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”

“Of course not, because you didn’t bother to ask.”

“Felix—” my mom tries, a mollifying note to her tone.

“No.” I turn to her, hoping she gets the message loud and clear. “You’ve got a problem with my mate, you’ve got a problem with me. Is that clear?”

An awkward tension settles around the table as the servers appear, setting out roasts before us. Nobody answers, but there’s a certain satisfaction to finally saying my piece.

For a moment, I think Maeve might be upset with me for being aggressive, but she just reaches down and squeezes my thigh under the table, and it’s worth the dissatisfied looks on my parents’ faces.