Page 122 of Temporary Vows

Maureen’s smile widens while Elodie’s fades.

“Aww, young love,” she tuts in a wistful tone. “Go home and have the best time together.”

“We will.”

Elodie bids Maureen goodbye, and I usher her away, my arm still firmly around her waist. I look ahead, guiding her down the winding moonlit path.

“Is there anyone you need to say goodbye to?” I was thinking of Jack. We were able to coexist today, but I noticed he kept his distance. So did I.

“No,” Elodie replies, short and to the point.

I sharpen my gaze. “Do you want to grab a drink before we head out?”

“No.”

“You sure?” I prod.

“I’m sure.”

Her previous answers were so practiced, I almost thought she’d tell me no again by default. I give her a sidelong glance, assessing her. She looks pissed. Like someone ready to snap.

“I need my things.”

“Sure. I’ll come with you.”

She shoots me a hard stare before looking away.

I’d be one hell of a fool if I didn’t know she was mad as fuck at me. I’ve never cared about what people think, but this girl has me twisted and breaking my rules again.

Salvatore wasn’t wrong for calling me out. Ihaven’tbeen able to take my eyes off her all day, and I don’t think that’s going to get any easier. Especially with her behaving like this.

She continues ignoring me as we walk back into the building.

We make our way to the other side of the castle and find the bridal suite.

She walks in ahead of me, and I track her movements as she busies herself packing her vanity case, gathering bits of makeup and hair supplies. Minutes of awkward-as-fuck silence pass while she acts like I don’t exist.

It’s fucking with me. I’m only getting a taste of my own medicine, but I want it to stop. Maybe the time to talk is now.

“Lamb,” I mutter, getting her attention.

Elodie meets my gaze with a flash of irritation in hers. “What is it?”

“What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” She looks me up and down as if I said something wrong. “Why are you asking?”

“Really?”

She rolls her eyes, groans, then returns to packing her things.

“You’re acting strange,” I point out.

“I assure you I’m not.” She frowns. “Then again, maybe you would think that. How would you know what I’m like when you don’t really know me?”

Her comeback is honey laced with venom. But coming from the sweet-tempered schoolteacher, it sounds wrong.

“You’re mad at me.”