Chosen Mates, Stolen Fates
Ethan changed all of that.
But for some reason, the haunting idea of memories of the two of them, here without me, don’t sit well. I shake my shoulders as if it’s enough to rid myself of the idea and turn slightly to try and get my shirt on, aligning the buttons in the mirror so I don’t mess it up.
“Where is the cocktail hour, anyway?” She asks. “Button from the bottom,” she recommends, reading my mind.
I nod, dropping the two by the collar and doing just that. “At the pack house. First time I’ll be seeing it.”
Bab Populer