The-Wrong-Bride-Ares--Raven’s-story-(Maura,-Catharina)_bibis

“I hear you,” I murmur. “I’m sorry, Ares. This won’t happen again.”
“It’d better not. Not with me, and certainly not with anyone else.”
I nod. “It won’t,” I promise. I can’t believe I acted the way I did. For years, I managed to hide my
feelings for him, until last night. It’s a good thing he seems to think it’s merely me being drunk,
because my actions could’ve ruined our friendship forever.
“I really am sorry, Ares. I’m not even sure what to say to you, other than that I’m ashamed and
remorseful.”
He smiles at me and leans in to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It’s okay, Rave. Let’s just
forget that happened, okay?”
I nod and rise to my feet. “I need to go,” I tell him. I need some time to myself, to pick up the
pieces of my shattered hopes. I can still hear his words ringing through my mind. I don’t want you,
Raven. I’ll never want you.
I’ve always known that, but a small part of me thought I could change his mind. Maybe I’m just
conceited, but I thought that he’d give in if I made a move, that he wouldn’t be able to resist me. I
should’ve known better.
“Who is it?” he asks. I look back in surprise, confused. “Who is the man you were talking about
last night? You said you regretted not going after the man you love, and just now, too, the expression
you carried was pure sorrow. Who is he?”
I smile at him and shake my head. “Drunken ramblings, Ares. There isn’t anyone.”
“In vino veritas,” he tells me. In wine lies the truth. Yeah, that certainly is true for me. I nearly
spilled all my secrets because I had too much to drink.
“Fine,” I admit. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Whoever he is, don’t try to fuck him out of your system. That never works, and in your case, it’ll
just backfire. You’re too famous, too easily caught up in scandals. Don’t risk your reputation for some
asshole that can’t see what he’s got anyway.”
I chuckle in amusement and nod. “Yeah,” I agree. “I’m done. I’m done caring about him, hoping
that someday I might have a chance. It’s time to move on.”
He nods hesitantly, and I wonder if at least a tiny part of him realizes that it’s him I’m talking
about. With the way I acted last night, surely he must at least suspect it?
“Come on,” he says. “Get dressed, and I’ll drive you home.”