Page 23 of Bullied Pretend Mate (Silverville Firefighter Wolves #3)

The fourth and final wedding Felix and I need to attend together is held at a ski resort in the mountains. Luckily for the bride and groom, the most recent bout of daemon fire was nowhere near it, leaving the skyline unblemished.

Felix told me about that fire. Smaller than the others, but still troubling, because it meant they could continue on. That the fire troop would be waiting, biding their time to see if another daemon fire might come through.

And he told me about what Lachlan said. The strange form he saw once, dancing among the flames.

I stand in the reception hall, nursing the last few drops of my drink and thinking about the fire. About Felix and the charred, smoky smell in his hair when he came back from fighting it, something so familiar I could practically taste it on the tip of my tongue.

The resort is situated at the top of a little valley, with trees rolling along the hills.

On the other side is a red freight train, snaking up to the top of the mountain, appearing briefly between the trees as it chugs steadily along.

When Felix and I were driving up, I leaned out the window, looking over the guardrail at the steep decline, talking about the people who come to the mountain and grip the doors of their cars, terrified to look out the window.

It’s the perfect day for a wedding, the sky a bright blue and rolling with puffy, thick clouds that track through each scene like extras in a movie, playing their part and moving along quickly.

When I woke up this morning, wrapped in his arms, the first thing I thought about was the clothing samples. The progress I’ve been able to make. The orders on the machines and the fabric. I’d have to hurry home to Los Angeles if I wanted to have time to finish everything with the quality I wanted.

And the second thing I thought about—a thought coming right on the first’s heels—was how much I was going to miss Felix when it was time for me to leave.

I’d miss waking up next to him every morning, hearing him hum in the shower. Feeling his hands tighten around my hips, always reaching for me, always tugging me to his side. Miss the heavy pause before he’d suggest we go and get a snack.

At first, I thought it was all a deliberate show, part of the effort to convince everyone of our mating. But over the past two months, I’ve realized that it’s just how he is. Tactile. Like he can’t believe something really exists unless he has that thing under his thumb.

The reception hall around me is massive and gorgeous.

The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a beautiful view of the mountains around us and letting in plenty of natural light.

Due to the dress code, we’re all in black and white, which lends a more serious tone to the otherwise casual-looking dresses around me.

“It’s not tuxedo dress code,” Felix had said, showing me the embossed invitation. “They want more casual dress, but just in black and white. I don’t really get it, but if it means I don’t have to wear a suit, I’m down.”

Now, I’m standing in a black dress—because no way in hell was I wearing white, even if the invitation said it was okay—with my clutch held between my hands, tapping my feet while I wait for Felix to come back to me.

“You must be Maeve.”

I startle, turning to face the woman standing in front of me.

She’s thin, with sharp cheekbones and dark, glossy hair that falls perfectly straight to her shoulders.

Her makeup is understated, simple, and she wears the tiniest little white dress I’ve ever seen in my life, the exterior perfectly smooth and almost shiny, like it might be made out of leather.

Compared to the sparkly, ruffled thing I have on, her dress screams minimalism.

It’s like looking into a mirror and seeing the opposite of me staring right back. Like someone flipped a switch on all my major components and created my very own anti-Christ.

When my brain gets over the uncanny feeling her smile is giving me, I open my mouth and say something I’m immediately embarrassed about, “Oh, do you follow me?”

She bristles, which is honestly fair. I don’t know why in the world I said that to her.

“ Follow you?” she asks, brow wrinkling. She gives me a once-over, like she’s trying to remind me what a preposterous concept that is. “No. I’ve heard a lot about you from Imogen.”

Imogen. It takes me a second to remember that’s Felix’s mother’s name. I glance around for him, but don’t spot his still-pink head anywhere.

“Oh,” I say, blinking at the woman again, getting an unsettled feeling in my stomach. After being picked on quite a lot in high school, I’ve developed something of a sixth sense for mean girls. And that sense is tingling right now. “That’s nice.”

Her smile grows tighter. “I guess I just wanted to come over and say hi, so things wouldn’t be awkward between us all night.” When I stare at her, having no idea what to say to that, her smile widens a bit, and she adds, “You know, since I was dating Felix before you.”

It shouldn’t matter, but hearing that makes my world tilt a bit.

Don’t compare yourself to other women , my helpful, grounded voice reminds me. It’s only ever a losing game .

But knowing this woman was with Felix immediately knocks me off-balance. She’s so the opposite of everything about me. Sleek where I’m soft. Small where I’m large. Even her features are thin, with a tiny nose, the kind of lips that practically disappear when she closes her mouth.

The thought of Felix kissing that mouth makes me want to push her into the fountain twinkling behind her.

But there are people all around us, and I have to keep my cool. Keep that ridiculous, angry feeling out of my head. I don’t own Felix—we’re not even dating.

Maybe he’ll go back to this woman when I return to California.

“Oh,” she says when I fail to say anything in response to that, likely looking like a dumb little fish caught in the current. “He didn’t tell you about me? Maybe the two of you just haven’t had a talk about exes yet.”

Maybe she’s poking at the fact that we haven’t been dating that long. Or maybe this entire thing is innocent, and I’m writing this meanness onto her because she’s thin.

Or, at least, that’s what I think before she leans in a bit closer to me, dropping her voice so the others surrounding the pretty fountain won’t hear her over the running water.

“You know, it’s easier than ever these days to keep the weight off. I know a doctor here in town who can prescribe you something—”

“Annette.”

I blink away the fury starting to crowd in my vision as Felix arrives, smoothly presses a drink into my hand, and snakes his arm around my ample waist, pulling me into his side like he always does.

Except this time, it’s a little tighter. A little more snug. Just the tiniest bit more possessive.

“Felix,” the woman— Annette —says, smiling at him in a completely different way than she smiled at me. “I was just chatting with Maeve. Girl talk, you know—”

“I don’t actually,” he says, his normally relaxed voice colder than I’ve ever heard it before. “Does girl talk include you making completely inappropriate comments to her?”

Annette blinks, pulling her chin back. “I was just—”

“Are we free to recommend medical procedures to each other?” Felix says, bristling even more, even though people around us are starting to turn and look. “Because if you’re looking for suggestions, I’d start with some lip filler, then see if you can look into a personality transplant.”

“ Felix ,” Annette gasps, taking a step back, and I actually feel sorry for her.

As out of line as it was for her to mention getting weight loss drugs, I don’t actually want Felix to keep going. It’s not okay to comment on another person’s body. Even when they started it first.

Reaching up, I settle a hand on Felix’s arm, and when he looks down at me, it’s like I watch the tension leave his eyes, his pupils widening a little when they land on me. He leans into my touch, and, as though Annette is completely forgotten, he says, “Are you okay?”

“Come on,” I murmur, just wanting to get out of the middle of everything. Before we leave, I turn around, meet Annette’s eyes, and say, “It was nice to meet you.”

It leaves her with her mouth open, watching us as we find a path through the people and out of the ballroom.

The moment we find an empty hallway, Felix grabs me and pulls me into a little alcove, and the experience is so much like what happened in high school that it sends a chorus of chills racing down my arms.

“I fucking hate that,” he mutters, dipping his head down to look at me. “And my parents think she’s so nice.”

“What’s her obsession with you?”

Felix raises one shoulder in a shrug. “Our family is a little higher than hers in the hierarchy, I guess. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t want her.”

I can’t stop the beast of jealousy that’s rising up inside me. “But why not? I mean, she’s gorgeous.”

But even as I say that word, I know what I really mean is thin .

Jealousy pulses through me, combined with a tiny bit of body dysmorphia.

Every time I think I have this thing handled, that I’m really loving my body like I’m supposed to, I’m reminded of all the privileges thin people are automatically awarded.

Felix levels his gaze at me, and the look in his eyes tells me he gets what I’m saying. Why wouldn’t he want to be with a woman who’s conventionally attractive? Beautiful and accepted by the pack? Thin ?

“She’s not my type,” he says, letting his gaze travel up and down my body, the hunger in his eyes undeniable.

His insinuation is unavoidable—what he’s saying is that I’m his type. That my body is what attracts him, what turns him on.

It’s true, at least partly. I can deny the way he touches me, holds me, pulls me closer to him. The way his hands linger on me, and how his eyes go dark when we’re alone together.

“Okay,” I whisper, wanting to break out of this moment, pull out of this alcove. Because the emotions inside me are pushing at the bottom of my throat, growing more intense, threatening to snowball into something I can’t quite control.

“Okay,” Felix says, holding his hand out to me. “Should we dance?”

I stare at his hand, a voice in the back of my head saying that I should turn him down, find somewhere to sit, and wait out the rest of the wedding.

But it’s lovely, standing in his arms on the dance floor, and I’m already taking his hand before my logical brain can interject.