CHAPTER440
I give him a flash of ‘Don’t you dare’ but he frowns back, giving me the pleading look, the ‘do as I ask and I will explain later’ face that he knows I have no defense against. Seeing Natasha like she is about to burst into a flood of tears makes me hesitate. I scan the women behind her, hoping to God one of her actual friends comes to pull her away, but for now, I have no choice.
“We’ll be fine, just having some girly chat. Maybe compare shoes or something.” She smiles at him a little too brightly; I guess to cover his complete lack of attention towards her since she walked up, and I have to admit, I’m wondering what the hell is up with that. He is never overly demonstrative with her, when I’m around, but right now, I’m getting weird vibes from him where she’s concerned. A part of me should be cartwheeling at that fact, but it’s not. I feel torn, confused, and selfish, and with that lost, desolate look of shattered hope on her face, I feel strangely wrong about this whole scenario.
We watch them walk off among other people from this crowd, Natasha’s eyes linger longer than mine, and when she turns back, her eyes are moisture glazed. It has the same effect as a punch in the gut, knocking me for six with a sharp intake of breath. I’m more than shocked at how this hits me and down my drink a little too quickly, in one gulp.
“Maybe we should dance” I blurt out brightly, hoping that loud music and crushing bodies on the floor will mean no more chatter, and no more of this weak girly shit going on inside me for someone I vowed was my sworn enemy, long ago. I need to get my head together; this mess is sending my sane into non-existent.
“I don’t really dance.” She mutters awkwardly. “I’m not very coordinated.” Her half smile and downward glance have me putting my glass down on the nearby table bossily. My drink hitting me fast and making me a little giddy and cheerful.
“Well, that’s just the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. You can walk; therefore, you have coordination, and the rest is just confidence. Come on. I’ll get you dancing.” I smile sassily, grab her soft hand in mine, ignoring how fragile she feels, and yank her with me towards the stairs. Natasha gives no resistance to my pulling, her timid little body no match for my taller and curvier strength. I catch sight of a couple of her friends looking this way, but neither follow, and I’m left to drag the girl I thought I hated with me, to bond over awful dancefloor antics. I have no clue where Sophie has gone and right now, I don’t even care. Dancing is one of my favorite pastimes, and even though deep down, that little voice of guilt is telling me how wrong this is, I actually want to help her forget about her heartbreak for five little minutes.
You’ve gone soft, girl!
Natasha really cannot dance; it’s so bad, it’s painful, but she seems to embrace it like a champ, and we end up giggling ridiculously. I try showing her how to shimmy but she just can’t, how to sexy wiggle, which is worse than bad, and even for the life of me, I try showing her how to just sway side to side and fake a dance, but each and every attempt is just hopeless. I have never known a woman have such little fluidity to her movements as her, and she seems so prim and proper out there that I have to rescue her before this starts to become embarrassing. I shake my head when it’s clear the new faster beat to the next song is beyond her capabilities and drag her back to the bar above, back into the fold of Arrick’s friends in a happier mood, strangely light and forgetting everything else for a minute.
When we get back up the stairs, I notice he’s standing at the bank of windows with Nathan and a couple of other men. They’ve been watching the floor below, while they chat and drink, meaning he’s most likely been watching me teach his hopeless girlfriend, not girlfriend, how to dance, and his turning our way expectantly, proves he knew we were coming back in here. He smiles our way and I get the weird vibe he’s giving off, hard to miss when you are as homed in on him as I am, aware of every little gesture. I know him better than most.
I know what he’s thinking as soon as his eyes lock on mine, same thing that hit me as I walked in here with her and she placed an innocent, delicate hand, in the crook of my arm, and looked up at me with sheer misguided trust. Like we have this newfound understanding and I’m suddenly her ally.
This is so fucking wrong.
It felt easier when I hated her.
It was less complicated.
It’s like I’m leading a puppy to the slaughter, and all of this is so sordid and two-faced, that somehow, I’m painting myself as some bitch mistress, while the doting wife is innocently oblivious. Trusting who she thinks knows how to help her. It’s callous, and just not who I am, and that tremor of disgust engulfs me.
Looking at him now, watching him go from her to me subtly, eyes flickering and confusion over his face, I can already tell what he’s thinking. He’s asking himself if he can really do this to her, for real. If he has it in him to be this much of a bastard when she’s looking incredibly vulnerable compared to my strength and confidence. Break her sweet little heart so viciously.
He’s asking himself if he’s got it in him to keep on hurting her and keep both of us dangling in this weird nothing of gray area of hoping no decision saves us all. I can tell by the thousands of subtle tells across the seemingly calm face, that he’s been mulling this over the whole time he has watched us dance. Hitting home, just like it’s done with me that he can’t keep doing this and he needs to stop it all. I know his heart and he’s clutching for the solution of least destruction, like he has been all along. Arrick always tries to do the right thing, no matter what it means for him.
He gazes at me solidly, a flicker of something and the expression changes, along with his train of thought. I know he’s thinking the same thing as me as his eyes land on how Natasha is clinging desperately, like I’m some sort of shield to her pain. A small, feeble looking creature who seems capable of shattering to a thousand pieces and being lost on the wind. It’s in the narrow of his eyes, the frown and pang of regret as he takes in my seemingly calm and tough posture, and her broken fragile form of delicateness.
He thinks I’m stronger than her, that our bond will save us.
Everything about this is so wrong to him and he thinks he can undo it all.
Arrick moves from his group hesitantly, eyes locked on me and heads our way. An intense sense of purpose on his face and then he shifts to avoids my eyes. My heart jumps a little, unsure what to read from that little mannerism, knowing nothing good ever comes from his evasive maneuvers. He slowly closes the gap between us, still looking anywhere but at me, and comes to face both, his tall height dwarfing us. My stomach lurches with tension, a hollow ache, and instinct tells me I’m not going to like this. I can almost taste the change in his aura.
“Natasha, maybe we should go talk over there, alone.” He focuses on her intensely and then uncomfortably glances at me, nervousness practically coming off him in swathes. My gut starts informing me that he’s making decisions, drunken decisions based on guilt and the last few minutes of whatever this is. He’s caving and good boy Arry is reigning supreme. He’s running backwards to undo the hurt he’s caused."
