Chasing His Kickass Luna Back Chapter 172

Karl

The clink of silverware and the murmur of polite conversation surround me, but I feel like I’m underwater, like everything is distant and muffled.

I’m here, but I’m also not here at the same time—my mind is a thousand miles away, tangled in thoughts of Abby. As I lazily stir my drink with my straw, I can’t help but wonder…

What’s she doing right now? Wowing the judges, hopefully.

Across from me sits a woman named Marissa, her laughter ringing out a bit too loudly as she tosses her perfectly coiffed hair.

“And then I told the salesperson, ‘Do you know who I am?’ I mean, really, they should’ve known,” she giggles, sipping her champagne with an air of self-satisfaction.

“Must have been quite the oversight,” I reply blandly, the words tasting like cardboard in my mouth.

The event is a perfect array of the pack’s most eligible bachelorettes, each one more vibrant and vivacious than the last—or so they seem on the surface.

But as the afternoon wears on, everything seems to blend together into one big amalgamation of self-absorption and princess-like entitlement.

I turn to the woman on my right, Jessica, her dress a striking red that seems to hint at something fiery and passionate. But when she speaks, her words are calculated, measured, each one designed to impress rather than anything else.

“I just adore your work, Karl. You have such a... strong presence,” she says, her hand fluttering to rest delicately on her collarbone as she bats her false eyelashes.

“That’s kind of you, Jessica. And you work in...?”

“Oh, I don’t work, darling,” she chuckles, a sound devoid of any real humor. “I prefer to focus on my social engagements and charity events.”

Of course. “Noble pursuits,” I murmur, my smile feeling more like a grimace.

But it’s not just Jessica. There’s Lisa, who hasn’t shut up about her father’s private jet since she got here. There’s Samantha, who keeps biting her lip every time she glances at me. There’s Meg, who is clearly here for the Instagram pictures.

Everything feels the same. Fake, fake, fake. I swear, it’s like they’ll all turn into pumpkins when they leave.

I slip away from the table to catch a breather, but it’s not long before I’m sucked into another conversation with someone else. Catherine? Caroline? I can’t remember.

“Have you been to Paris, Karl?” she asks, her hand resting on my shoulder in a way that almost makes me recoil.

“Not for a while,” I reply stiffly.

She chuckles. “We must go together. I know all the good hotels.”

“I’m sure you do,” I muster with a tense smile. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Finally, I manage to slip away. I make a pit stop in the restroom to splash some water on my face, to remind myself why I’m here. But it seems as though I can’t seem to come up with any good reasons.

“They’re not her,” my wolf says, agitated.

I almost scoff. “I know. Trust me, I know.”

“So leave,” he says. “They’re not good enough. Go to her. She misses you.”

But I can’t. I have to see this luncheon through, have to find a date to the Alpha party. And time is ticking.

I decide to return to the luncheon with a new resolve: to ask the women about their interests beyond the glitz, searching for a spark, something real. There has to be something beneath the surface, right? Something to draw me in.

But their answers are meaningless.

“Oh, I like photography,” Meg says, swiping on her phone. “My Instagram follower count goes up by the day.”

“Is shopping a hobby?” Marissa giggles.

“I prefer the… finer thing in life,” Catherine or Caroline or whatever her name is says as she twirls a strand of hair around her finger.

A woman named Elise turns to me, her smile practiced. “And what about you, Karl? What drives you, really?”

It’s the question I’ve been dreading because the answer isn’t going to be something that they want to hear. But everyone is staring at me, and I can’t bring myself to lie.

“Stories,” I say finally. “Real stories about real people. That’s what matters to me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and a flicker of something that looks like disappointment flashes across Elise’s gaze. “How... quaint,” she manages, before turning her attention to Meg’s phone, who is scrolling through her most recent bikini pictures and talking about her breast augmentation.

All I can do is sit, my spine stiff in my chair. My gaze meets Marcus’ from across the room, who just shoots me a subtle nod and a thumbs-up. It makes me want to roll my eyes.

Just then, my distracted gaze lifts past his shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, my heart leaps into my throat.

There, in the doorway, a figure appears, a silhouette backlit by the golden chandeliers, and for that split second, it’s Abby.

It's her shape, her grace, the way she holds herself. Her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes lit up as she looks at me. My breath catches, and I’m rising from my seat.

But then reality crashes over me. It’s not her. It could never be her. It’s a different woman entirely, a trick of the light, a mirage in what feels like the driest desert on the planet.

I sit back down, the disappointment crashing over me like a wave.

“So,” Marissa says, leaning in and smelling too strongly of floral perfume, “Karl… What do you think? Diamonds or pearls?” She’s holding her phone out to me, but I’m not looking. My gaze is transfixed on the window, through which I can see my car sitting in the driveway.

Waiting. Beckoning to me.

“Karl?” she asks, wiggling her phone a bit with a giggle. “He’s so cute when he’s distracted, isn’t he?”

Then, with a clarity that feels like I’m just awoken from a very long dream, I know I can’t do this anymore. Not another minute of feigned interest, not another second of nodding along to stories that mean nothing to me.

“Excuse me,” I interrupt. My chair scrapes on the floor as I stand abruptly, and the conversations around me fall silent.

Marissa looks up at me, her eyes slightly widened, her mouth parted in surprise. “Is everything alright, Karl, dear?” she says.

I offer a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I just remembered, there’s something I need to do. Please excuse me.”

Before Marissa or any of the other women can retort, I’m pushing away from the table and crossing the room. My hand is moving to loosen my tie, and I’m unbuttoning my suit jacket. I pause for a moment by the door, thinking, then grab a bouquet of flowers out of a vase, not caring that water and loose petals splatter all over a tray of petit fours.

It’s then that Marcus’ hand claps over my shoulder.

“Karl, where are you going?” His voice is a low hiss, meant only for my ears. “You can’t just leave. The organizers are expecting—”

But his protest is cut short by my raised hand. “Tell the organizers that I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

He furrows his brow, his gaze sliding down to the flowers in my hand before they slide back up to me. “And where, exactly, are you going?”

I pause for a moment, the tightness in my chest lifting as I turn to meet my Beta’s gaze. I can’t help it. A smile twitches at the corners of my lips, and it’s as if the world turns from black and white to full, vibrant color, like spring after a long winter.

“There’s a more important woman that I need to see right now.”