Chapter 2
The conversation with Jadiel went surprisingly smooth—he had every detail mapped out, even remembering my favorite flowers. But then it hit me: I’d left my ID behind. I had to hail a cab back to my apartment, bracing myself for whatever awaited me there.
When I stepped inside, the place looked like it had been turned upside down overnight. My things were haphazardly stuffed into a cardboard box by the door, mixed with what looked like trash. From the living room, Birdie’s laughter bubbled out. She was draped in a flamboyant Victorian gown, and Eli stood beside her, enduring Freya and Kieran’s snide remarks with a forced smile.
In that moment, everything felt hollow. The confident, magnetic guy I once knew had shrunk into a shadow around Birdie, just another face in the crowd.
I crouched to grab my ID, and suddenly, Eli was there, gripping my wrist and pulling me into the hallway. “Arabella,” he murmured, his voice low, “we agreed you wouldn’t cause a scene, right?”
I wasn’t in the mood for this. I just held up the ID I’d retrieved and gave him a blank stare. His frown deepened; he’d noticed the shift in me since last night. “Arabella, we had a deal, didn’t we? You’re not thinking of skipping the wedding, are you?”
A deal? With Birdie in the morning and me in the afternoon? Did he seriously think he was some kind of king picking his queens?
I yanked my wrist free and flashed him a polite smile. “Of course not.”
Before I could say more, Birdie’s cheerful voice cut through the tension. “Arabella?” She and her entourage appeared at the doorway, their eyes scanning me with thinly veiled judgment. Eli’s expression turned grim, ready to whisper some threat, but I turned away with a smile and walked straight toward them.
Ignoring Eli’s stunned look, I offered a few perfunctory congratulations. Before I left, I made a point of grabbing the box of my so-called “trash” and, in front of everyone, dumped it into the garbage bin. Inside were the paintings I’d made of Eli over the years, each stroke once filled with affection. Now, staring at the cracked paint, all I saw was his face—a mask slowly peeling away, leaving me feeling sick to my stomach.
Birdie clung to Eli’s arm like she was bidding me farewell, playing the perfect hostess. My phone buzzed—a text from Eli begging me not to be upset, promising he’d be at the wedding that afternoon.
But the truth was, I wasn’t upset anymore. I smiled serenely and waved at Birdie’s smug expression. After all, by the afternoon, she’d be calling me Aunt Arabella.