Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 66

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by Soren’s mother waving at me across the table. She’s been prattling on about flower arrangements and seating charts, her voice a pleasant drone in the background of my internal turmoil. But now, she wants my input. Soren looks at me, his blue eyes filled with something I can’t decipher.

“The roses!” she exclaims, her voice filled with an alarming amount of excitement for someone discussing flowers. “Should we stick to the traditional red, or is white more your style?”

I glance at Soren, searching for some hint of what to say. But he’s impassive, his warm gaze suggesting nothing more than polite curiosity. With a suddenness that feels like a punch in the gut, I’m reminded that this isn’t our wedding.

I mumble something noncommittal about liking both colors and try to tune out the rest of the conversation.

The more I think about it, the more nauseated I feel. Why does pretending always feel worse than lying?

The rest of the day plays out like a maddening echo of our breakfast. Soren’s mother, an effervescent woman with a disarming charm, bombards me with wedding magazines and fabric swatches. I nod at the appropriate intervals, responding with neutral replies to her queries or telling her to decide. She seems none the wiser to my lack of enthusiasm.

“We could have the reception in that beautiful garden your

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she suggests to Soren, who is not listening. Maribel poring over a landscape photo in one of the many bridal magazines spread across the table, and Max huffs out a breath, bored. The poor kid has been stuck with me for hours as she plans,

some sudden thought. “Oh, dear, we haven’t

ordeal, offering me no comfort or help from his

in her arms. “I know it’s all so overwhelming, dear,” she says with an empathetic smile as she hands me one. The cover showcases a radiant bride in an exquisitely tailored gown. A lump forms in my throat as I recall my wedding dress.

gowns, my heart grows heavier with each passing moment. But

scent of a thousand different flowers from the catalogs mingles with my

His mother chides gently. I steal a

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article on his phone, seemingly oblivious to our

sighs. “You know I trust your judgment, Mother. Whatever Bree wants.” He puts emphasis on my name as if reminding me to play my part as an enthusiastic bride–to–be. I glare at him before seeing his lips tug at the corners. This fucker is listening and

states, and I agree with him. Luckily, for Max, he is saved by

says and Soren pays attention then like

*******

~Soren~