𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲 | ✓

46

It's final. I have no say in what I can wear, how I can talk, to who I can speak, and so on.

Amanda and William have successfully made me their puppet.

I couldn't even choose the dress I'm wearing for the dinner gathering, a green silk dress, with a plunging neckline and a slit so high up it reaches my mid-thigh. Not something I'd wear for such an event, with every man a borderline arrogant 'I don't take a no for an answer' and 'I'm rich enough to own everything in the entire world, why not you' kinda attitude. Totally something Amanda would wear, though.

My heels are short, less than three inches. Amanda didn't approve, but I couldn't risk jeopardizing three months of physio.

Carefully I thread past the corridors, my heels tutting against the floral mosaics, as I hope not to slip or trip. I amble to the gardens, a long table set out for tonight's dinner. Almost every guest is present.

I scan the faces and immediately my breath catches in my throat as I locate Spencer sitting in the furthest spot he could've chosen while still being around the same table as William and Amanda. He's busy listening to someone and from the gleam, in his eyes I bet whatever that man is telling him is beyond intriguing for him. Every few moments, deliberately he raises his glass to his lips, drawing a small sip.

I inhale sharply and run my hands over my dress, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles as I climb down the stairs and move a part of my professionally curled hair behind my shoulder. The ring on my finger weights heavy, and the harder I try not to think about it, the more pressing it becomes, as though it's searing through my skin.

Kristian's head whirls to me the moment I set foot on the grassy ground. He stands up, plasters a wide grin and holds out his arm for me.

Someone needs to hand over an Oscar to him.

I refrain from rolling my eyes and mirror his smile with a fake one of my own.

"Gracie, my love," he says, earning chuckles from around the table, while I struggle not to cringe or grimace.

The first two buttons of his basil green shirt are undone and his dark eyes, appearing completely black in under vast black night sky, gleam with hunger and smugness. He's winning.

I accept his hand and he pulls me to himself, hugging me, but before he land his mouth on mine, I turn my face and he ends up kissing my cheek.

"My lipstick would've been ruined," I murmur under my breath as his expression tightens, and happy façade cracks.

He curtly nods and helps me sit on the empty chair on his right before settling back in.

The discussions flare up again, boisterous laughter echoes in the vacant garden, while everyone drinks and talks over the other. It's almost dizzying the variety of discussions going around, every once in a while, I catch Spencer's eyes for a moment nothing else matter.

Most of the time, I keep up with the pleasantries, pretending to be interested in someone's marriage tale I had never seen the person up until yesterday, or acting as if care what they're getting from their husbands as a wedding anniversary gift.

As the finest wines of Italy continue flowing and consumed, soon, the men puff out their egos more and flaunt their money less discretely and the woman become louder, jabbing and jeering at each other.

I don't touch my drink, but Kristian does, and too soon, the effects begin to show as his hand stars straying to me more frequently. Either planting on my thigh and grabbing my hand on the table to showcase I'm with him, as if everyone doesn't already know.