Fated An Alpha Male Romance - K. Alex Walker Page 0,71
heart sank and I crouched in front of him. Then, he broke out into a round of raucous laughter, slapping his thigh in merriment.
“Are you serious right now?” I asked with a half-smile. “A dementia fake-out?”
He shrugged as I continued to push the chair. “When you get to be my age son, sometimes being colorful is all you have.”
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Alexandra
Like in an old southern black and white film, we were sitting in my parents’ backyard gazebo “necking” and rocking on the wooden swing. The feeling of Roderick’s lips on the side of my neck did absolutely nothing except turn my stomach. Our hands clasped between our bodies felt like the inside of an oyster shell. It took a considerable amount of effort to stop my face from contorting into a grimace that would match what I was feeling inside, especially since there was a camera directed at my face and had been every day since the engagement. It had been Roderick’s second surprise: he was starring in a reality TV show mini-series that followed his campaign progression and our upcoming nuptials. A similar offer had been made to Gia when it was revealed that she was marrying Eli, but she’d vehemently declined. Of course, I wasn’t as strong-willed.
“Can that be enough for today?” I asked, caressing my stomach. “I’m not feeling too well.”
The producer’s eyes fell to my hand. “Yes, of course. But, just out of curiosity, do you two plan to start a family pretty soon after the wedding?”
My stomach did a full gymnastics routine, backhand springs included.
I hopped off of the swing and made a beeline towards the house without looking back. I was pretty sure that, at any moment, I would have either a complete breakdown or panic attack. The pressure of conformity was weighing even heavier on my shoulders than ever before and now added to that was the fact that I no longer had Ethan in my life. It was like having my heart ripped out by rusty barbed wire, every single day, in a never-ending purgatory-like existence.
The minute I entered the house, my father grabbed me by the elbow and looked over me with concern. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you sick? Do you need me to call the family doctor?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’m just a bit tired and stressed out with all of this.”
I waited for him to say that he would take care of it, and that it was more important for me to be healthy than to put on a good show — basically, for him to act like my father instead of a dictator — but his eyes only continued to assess me.
“Okay,” he replied. “Go upstairs and get some rest. You will come back to it later.”
I gave him a forced smiled and journeyed upstairs to the room that, once upon a time, had been my sanctuary. It was eerily unchanged so stepping across the threshold felt like a time warp. The walls were painted in neutral colors and held several expensive oil paintings that had been gifted to the family. All of the furniture was made of stained, dark brown wood with antique accents, and the patterns on the sheets reminded me of something that could be found in a more mature woman’s room. Yet, they perfectly matched the etching and styling on the mirror, vanity, and other accessory pieces. Frankly, the room screamed of someone who feared stepping outside of the box.
I felt a presence in the doorway and turned around to find Grandma Evelyn standing across from me, that same solemn, apologetic look from the fundraiser on her face.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
I sat on the bed and folded a leg underneath my body. “It’ll get better with time.”
She touched the tips of her fingers together in a rhythmic pattern. “Better, yes. I guess.”
“But since you’re here,” I began, “can you explain what Daddy and Gia were talking about at the fundraiser? The sangria-like punch thing that you brought for me and Ethan. What was that about?”
Her shoulders tensed. “Nothing, really. Just some old tales.”
“Will you still tell me?” I moved over on the mattress and she slid into the space next to me.
“Well, I’ve already told you about the concept of being a sensitive, haven’t I?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Well, the hardest part about being a sensitive is not being able to steer people in the direction of their match. I feel and witness it every day, people with matched energies, but sometimes they