Chapter 11

I don’t have much time to think about the bomb that Charles has just dropped on me. He wipes away the tears and focuses on my face with an intensity that makes me feel uneasy.

“But what about you, Nicole?” he asks, sounding less sniffly than suspicious. “Why are you here? How are you here? Entrance was strictly controlled, and I know you weren’t on the guest list. You seemed awfully cozy with Marcus, though.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and accusatory. I’m not really sure how to answer him, at least not in any way that won’t arouse further suspicion.

I accidentally stumbled on the opportunity to wrangle an invitation from the hot werewolf Alpha’s son after a weird chance encounter at the soup kitchen, which was good luck for me because I’ve been trying to figure out a way to gatecrash your wedding to ruin your reputation probably isn’t going to go down well.

I’ll have to make something up, something that will sound believable but relatively innocent. Something that won’t overcommit me to a relationship with Marcus that doesn’t exist, but that will hint strongly at it enough to make Charles sweat a little.

The more I think about it, the less his story makes sense. Sure, maybe the Alpha’s daughter is some psychotic hell bitch who drugged Charles, got pregnant during a single drunken one-night stand, is controlling his every move, and would murder any woman he used to be with.

Maybe.

But it seems unlikely. I’ve been so naive about Charles, my family, and my whole situation for so long. It’s what got me into this mess in the first place. If I go back to believing every convenient excuse that Charles throws my way, I’m putting myself at risk again.

So, I try to weigh my words, try to strike a neutral balance that might provoke a reaction from Charles and help me get some further insight into what the hell is going on here.

“Marcus is a friend of mine,” I say. “Well, sort of a friend. It’s hard to describe our relationship.”

Charles’s eyes narrow even further.

“What do you mean by that, by ‘your relationship’ with Marcus?” he asks. “What ‘relationship’?”

“Oh, well I first met him back at the hospital,” I say. “You know, when I was still a surgeon. Before—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Charles snaps. He makes a visible effort to control himself. “I mean, I’m so sorry. About that.”

I wave him off. “Well, I met him there when I patched up him and his soldiers after a battle at the front. He was really great, very considerate, such a caring leader. He—left an impression on me.”

“Of course he did,” Charles says. “Any of the Alpha family would, naturally.”

I inwardly roll my eyes. It’s kind of pathetic; Charles is so used to sucking up to his political superiors that he feels the need to gush and ass-kiss about them even to me.

“Of course,” I repeat. “Anyway, I guess I left an impression on him, too, because he remembered me all these years later.”

“Remembered you when?” Charles leans forward, impatient and eager. “How did you manage to get in touch with him?”

I’m annoyed. Of course Charles would assume that, when I got out of prison and realized I’d been abandoned by both him and my family, I’d immediately gone chasing after the highest-ranking person I could think of. That I’d try to wheedle or manipulate or leech off someone I barely knew.

It’s what he would do, so he assumes that’s what anybody else would do. I’m starting to wonder if I ever knew Charles at all. Or if he ever knew me.

“I didn’t ‘manage to get in touch with him’,” I say testily. “I didn’t mean to run into him at all. I’ve been volunteering at a soup kitchen while I job search, just for something to occupy my time. Not a lot of employment opportunities for ex-convicts, Charles.”

My sarcasm is unmistakable, and Charles at least has the decency to flinch slightly.

“Nicole, I already told you, you don’t have to worry about money. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, and I can—”

“Save it,” I cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it. Anyway, it’s pretty straightforward: I was volunteering on the same day that Marcus came by to volunteer. A kid had a medical emergency, and I jumped in.”

Charles gives me a soft smile, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “That does sound like you,” he says. I ignore him.

“Marcus helped me out, and we ended up chatting as we did the dishes later. He remembered me from the hospital, and we got to…well, flirting, talking, you know. We were really hitting it off. Then he asked me to be his date for the wedding.”

“Did he, now?” Charles looks distracted, staring into the distance. “That’s interesting.”

“What, you think that because you dumped me, nobody else would want me?” I’m aiming for a joke, but I can hear the bitterness laced underneath.

“No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles says. “I’m just wondering how it’s possible that Marcus was even without a date on such short notice, given his…reputation.”

Now my eyes narrow. “What reputation?”

“Oh, you know,” Charles says in what I’m sure he thinks is a nonchalant tone. He gives a little shrug. “He’s just known as a bit of a ladies’ man, a playboy, as they used to say.

"A new date every weekend, usually some flashy model or a daughter of one of his business associates, but never sticking with anybody for longer than 48 hours. That sort of thing.”

“I see,” I say, surprised at how the words twist in my stomach. I can’t be feeling disappointment, I silently chide myself. I’ve already decided that it could never work between Marcus and me, anyway.

“Well, I don’t think you need to worry about me, Charles,” I say, keeping my voice light and matter of fact. “I can handle myself — I have been, in fact. If I can manage three years in prison, I can probably manage a playboy werewolf prince.”

Charles looks like he wants to say something else, but he thinks better of it.

“Just wish us well,” I say. “Just like I wish you well. I’m sorry about your…rocky beginning, with Daisy, but I hope you’ll be happy together.”

I extend a hand to him. He startles a bit but returns my handshake.

Without another word, I stand and leave, only letting tears slip free when I’m sure my back is turned.

Maybe I just need to let this whole thing go, I think to myself as I hurry back down the hallway, looking for the ballroom again. As much as I hate to admit it, Darlene is partly right: some of this is my fault.

Not because I wasn’t manipulated and used — I was. And all of those people deserve to suffer for it, or at least be exposed for the frauds they are.

But I've also been an idiot. I let love and blind trust allow me to throw away my entire life, to take the fall for a serious crime that I knew I didn’t commit, in order to cover someone else’s ass.

I was gullible and naive, and look what it got me.

Maybe it really is time to just let this all go, accept the consequences of my own decisions, and move on. Try to forgive and forget, as best I can.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t even notice the man lurking near the ballroom doors, watching me. When my brain does register him, I do a double take. I know this guy — this is Kent. He’s the twin brother of Trina, my old cell mate, and I met him a few times when he came to visit her.

Shortly before I was released from prison, Trina woke me up in the middle of the night once, crouched next to my bunk and whispering so quietly in my ear that I had to strain to hear her, even in the silence.

Trina is the only person in the world outside of Charles and my family who knows that I’m innocent. I didn’t tell anyone else, firstly because I was supposed to be keeping my innocence a secret to protect Charles and his family, and secondly because no one would believe me.

Everyone is “innocent” in prison, as they say.

Trina has always thought it was shitty and shady that I took the fall for Charles, and honestly, it turns out she’s right. I didn’t want to hear it at the time, but that night, she told me that she was going to try to help me.

If I ever saw Kent after I was released, I should look to see if he’s wearing a red handkerchief in the breast pocket of his shirt. If he was, it means that he and Trina had come up with some information that might help me out, if I ever decided to stop being an idiot and want to try to get out of the mess I’d made for myself.

I glance at Kent — and there’s the red handkerchief in his pocket.