Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
The door closed with a soft click.
Liam buried his face in his hands and breathed, trying to control himself.
He wasn’t going to cry, dammit.
He wasn’t.
How could he grieve losing something he never had?
Chapter 16
It would be a lie to say that Liam wasn’t relieved as he put off accepting Terlaine’s proposal. He was.
He had an honest conversation with Terlaine—or at least as honest as it could be, given the circumstances—and told him that he wasn’t sure that they suited and that he needed more time.
To his credit, Terlaine took it gracefully, or at least was well mannered enough to pretend not to be bothered by his indecision. Terlaine—or Michael, as he insisted that Liam should call him—was honestly perfect: ridiculously handsome without being too intimidating, confident without being too arrogant, nice enough without being a pushover. And he had a gorgeous smile. Liam should have been attracted to him; any unmated omega under the age of a hundred seemed to be. Liam wasn’t. He tried. He tried so hard. He stared at Michael’s chiseled features, at his beautiful facial structure, and tried to will his stupid body and heart into feeling something.
It didn’t work.
His stupid body remained cold, as if he wasn’t the same person who turned into the worst kind of slag the moment he caught a whiff of his eldest brother’s scent.
Liam still tried. He did.
A week after the horrible “let’s be brothers” conversation, he allowed Michael to kiss him. Michael’s lips were warm and he kissed with confidence that spoke of his experience and skill. It should have felt good. It was… bland. Just skin against skin. Liam might as well have been shaking his hand.
When the kiss ended, Michael peered at him with a clear question in his eyes.
Liam could only manage a weak smile and suggest that they return to the ballroom before their unchaperoned absence could be noted.
And that was that.
As they rejoined the other guests, the first thing Liam saw was Jules, dancing with his duke. His little brother was smiling radiantly at Westcliff, his eyes bright with amusement, want, and so much love. Westcliff was smiling back, his green eyes full of fierce affection and warmth. They looked at each other like they were the only people in the ballroom, completely ignoring people’s eyes on them.
Liam turned away, his chest tight. Although he was on the arm of a very handsome alpha, he suddenly felt more alone than he ever had.
Was this what his life was going to be like? Tolerating kisses that made him feel nothing and putting on a smile that felt like a mask—a mask that was about to crack and fall away, revealing to everyone that there was nothing underneath it.
He felt like an empty doll.
Fake to the bone.
***
He had barely seen Anthony over the two weeks since their conversation. He always seemed to be out of the house, coming back at odd hours. On the rare occasion that they saw each other, it was during meals, with Jules and Eric always there. Every time, it felt like the most delicious, horrible torture. He was so close, yet it seemed like he was oceans away. Liam felt like he was coming apart at the seams, unable to even look at him under Jules’s watchful eye. Jules kept his word, preventing them from ever being alone. Liam was both grateful to him and irrationally resentful.
He missed him.
Not just the kisses and the sex—he missed looking at Anthony and catching his eyes and seeing the expression in them soften. He missed his low, warm voice wrapping around him like the softest blanket. He missed feeling his gaze on him, missed having his attention. He missed being seen by him. He missed his scent, craved having it on his skin.
He missed him, desperately. He found himself wandering the house randomly and breathing in Anthony’s scent that still lingered on the furniture—yes, it was that bad.
Liam knew he was only making it worse, knew that such behavior wasn’t conducive to moving on and forgetting him, but he couldn’t help himself.
He missed him.
His heat came and went, as agonizing as the one before it.
He woke up the next evening, having slept for most of the day and yet still feeling mentally and physically drained.
Liam stared at the ceiling of his bedroom blankly and tried to find the motivation to get up.
There was a ball in a few hours.
He should get up.
He should…
His vision was suddenly blurry, hot tears running down his cheeks.
They didn’t bring any relief.
***
It was well past two in the morning when a very tired Liam trudged toward his bedroom. He returned home alone—Jules had sneaked into the royal palace again to spend the night with his fiancé.
Liam knew his way around the house even in the dark, so he didn’t bother turning on the lights. Toeing off his rather uncomfortable shoes, he padded toward his room.