Page 92 of Bite Me

Well, what am I supposed to do now? I’m stuck in Dacre’s family estate, sharing a room with a man who is betrothed to someone else. It’s not as if I expected things would be different just because we shared some intimate moments. I mean . . . I did hope. But it was only for a second.

Nothing will change him. Dacre is still plagued by the same streak of independence and likely despondence. When I see him today, I’m going to take an educated guess that he will go back to pretending he hates my existence until he marries that beautiful woman I saw last night. This is my fault for letting myself get this involved with a man who has done nothing but show his disdain for me.

The image of Dacre sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands comes to the front of my mind, and the pressure of his hand on my foot as he gently rubbed it with his thumb before getting up and flipping on the bathroom light to shower.

People in my world have always been easy to navigate. Everyone wants something. They have likes and dislikes. But there’s something vital missing with Dacre. Does he even know what he wants? It’s like talking to two different people who want different things. There’s so much I don’t know about him, mostly because even if I baked some cupcakes and asked him nicely, I don’t think he’d tell me.

So maybe he doesn’t hate me, but that doesn’t mean he cares about me. Maybe he does, but I can’t imagine a world in which I am more important than whatever Dacre has going on with his family.

He’s engaged to be married to someone else.

It’s time for me to let go and focus on the real reason I’m here.

Somehow, he’s up before me and gone by the time I open my eyes. The only evidence of him having slept is the blankets moved on his side of the bed and the fresh scent of his shampoo on his pillow from last night.

“Dacre,” I say, meeting him and the others on the top floor of the kitchen.

I hate how clean and perfect his hair looks.

His eyes are bright in the light from the window. “Emma.”

“No nickname or insult?”

“No.”

This isn’t right. Where is the scowl? The gruff, uninterested voice?

“How did you sleep?” Dacre’s eyes stay soft pools of green.

This look. I’ve seen it before, but never from him. It’s the same look my father would give my mother, like the helpless puppy look Parker gives Olivia, literally every morning he has to part from her.

I eye the other students and lower my voice. “Flirting with me while you have a fiancée?”

“It’s a contract I haven’t signed yet, and I don’t know if I will.”

That’s a real answer. Where is my vague, nonsensical answer? Who is this man, and what happened after I fell asleep?

“Are you jealous?” He barely smirks, as if it’s amusing to him to think about, but he doesn’t actually believe it.

“No. I’m not jealous, but if you knew or suspected—”

“I didn’t. It’s a piece of paper. It’s . . . common for people in my family, but I trusted my grandfather to tell me if he ever decided that was the route he wanted to take, and he didn’t.”

“Well, that makes this easier, then. You have your life, and I have mine.”

He nods as if he understands, then says, “You didn’t tell me my grandfather told you about the gala auction.”

“I wasn’t going to accept. Not as if I knew I could trust you enough to tell you.”

“Don’t accept the gala invitation and don’t sign anything.”

“I’m not going to. But maybe I should, just to spite you.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I know you haven’t told me everything. But I wanted to think we were on the same page now that we’re . . . friends. I guess I was wrong.”

“We’re not friends.”