Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me Chapter 40

 I blink. Once. Twice.

My voice comes out hoarse and shaky when I speak. “What did you just say?”

Peter leans forward and takes both of my hands in his. I let him, and they're limp in his grip.

“I'm hopelessly, irrevocably in l–” He’s unable to finish his sentence and bursts into laughter, his entire being shaking from the intensity of his amusement.

I hiss and snatch my hand out of his grip.

“You're such a dick.”

He wheezes. “Did you…see…your…f-face?” He howls, actual tears running down his cheeks.

“You looked terrified!”

“Yeah, the thought of being with you terrifies me,” I snap. “I don't think you should be happy about that.”

“Oh, come on,” Peter says, still chuckling as he wipes his face. “We would be magic together.”

“Barf.”

He clutches his chest. “First, you reject me; now you're adding salt to the wound.”

I sigh, massaging my temple. “I don't have time or energy for this, Peter.”

“True. You need to get to work on fixing your dress.”

I snort. “Yeah, right.”

He shrugs. “You made it, didn't you? Pretty sure nobody can fix shit like the original manufacturer.”

“It's in *tatters*,” I emphasize.

He checks his watch. “So you've got about twelve hours to work.”

Something tiny prickles my skin. I can *fix* it.

I shake my head, bouncing the thought out before it can take root. “I'm going home.”

Peter sighs. “Do you know why I publicly made fun of you so much after that whole stunt with Nathan back in school?”

I pause. “That's random.”

He nods. “Well?”

I shrug. “I don't have a clue.”

“Because you spent the entirety of high school before that hiding in the shadows. No one knew you existed. That move you made on Nathan was the boldest thing you'd ever done, and I knew that when he rejected you, you would retreat to your shell again till you graduated.”

He shrugged. “So I made sure neither you nor anyone else would forget you existed, and it was impossible for you to hide.”

My jaw drops. “What the fuck?”

Peter smirks. “Genius, no?”

I lean forward and smack his shoulder as hard as I can. “No! That is the most psychotic thing I've ever heard! The last months of high school were hell for me!”

His smirk turns into a sheepish smile.

“I had good intentions?”

I smack him again.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he groans, rubbing his arm.

“Dumbass,” I mutter.

He sighs. “The point I'm trying to make is that you tend to run and hide when the going gets tough.”

“Yeah, that's how animals in the wild survive.”

He shrugs. “I would argue that were not in the wild, but that wouldn't be quite true.”

I scoff. “Yeah.”

“Whatever. Dude, you've been in love with my brother since you were sixteen, and now you have a chance to be with him. Are you seriously telling me that you're going to let some snake in human skin ruin that chance?”

I wrinkle my nose and hold up one finger. “First of all, I am *not* in love with Nathan.”

I hold up a second finger. “Secondly, you and I know there's no ‘chance.’ I was never going to win.”

I hold up a third finger. “And lastly, I'm starting to think your brother isn't who I thought he was, and he deserves the snake.”

I hold up my fourth finger. “Lastly, don't call me ‘dude.’”

Peter throws his head back and groans. “Ughhhh. Dude, what is it going to take to make you stay?”

I shrug. “Nothing.”

Pater looks at me for a tense moment, and I match his gaze. Then he shrugs. “Fine.”

I blink. “Fine?”

“You can go if you want. If there's no part of you that still wonders…that still wants to see what this competition could bring out. If you truly think your dress is irredeemable, if you know you're done with everything—the friends you've made, June's easy healthcare, and your budding relationship with Nathan.” Peter shrugs. “You can leave.”

Then he uncrosses his legs and stands. “I was going to give you the pleasure of keeping you company while you fixed the dress, but since you're leaving.” He shrugs and then waves. “Bye, April.”

He leaves before I have a chance to say anything.

I slump against the wall behind me, still gripping the carcass of my dress. I close my eyes, and a lone tear rolls down my cheek.

I want to go home.

I’m so tired—of all the drama and pressure.

But…

I look down at my dress. The bodice is salvageable; the ripped part could be repurposed to some kind of distressed theme. And the ripped wings are thin enough to be used as—

I sigh. “Shit.”

Damaged as it is, the dress *is* salvageable.

And, ugh, it would be so satisfying to see the look on Valerie’s face when she sees she didn’t win.

I groan loudly. “Peter!” I yell.

The door opens half a second later. Peter sticks his head in, grinning. “You bellowed?”

I roll my eyes. “Sit down. You’re helping.”

His grin widens as he plops down. “My pleasure, Chaos Queen.”

***

“Spring!” June gasps when I stumble into the room at five pm the next day. The same day? I don’t know; I lost track of time.

She stands up from her stool where she's being primped. “Where were you? Nobody would tell me anything when I asked, and they all looked sad and on edge.”

I pull my sister into a hug, stifling a yawn. “I’m sorry, I should have come check on you. I’ve been busy all day.”

She pulls away from me and eyes the bundle in my arms.

“What’s that?”

I give her a bleary-eyed smile. “My dress.”

She gapes. “What happened? Why does it—”

“You need to get back to hair and makeup. And I—” I’m cut off as a loud yawn takes me over, and at the corner of my eye, I see one of the stylists wrinkle her nose in disdain.

I ignore her. She doesn’t know what I’ve been through. She can’t imagine how I feel after spending the last twelve hours putting a dress back together by hand while listening to an obnoxious Ashford tell me tales of his summers in the Hamptons and how much he’d rather go backpacking through Europe.

June looks at me suspiciously as I set the dress gingerly down on the bed and head into the bathroom.

My first instinct is to run myself a bath, but I know it’ll be too soothing, and I’ll either fall asleep and drown or fall asleep and miss the ball, which would render all my hard work vanity.

So I opt for a quick shower, letting the water soothe my weariness and all the dried tears on my face.

By the time I’m out of the bathroom, the stylists are antsy. Thanks to how late I was returning to the room, we’re on a time crunch, and if they don’t hurry, we’ll be late.

I try my hardest not to fall asleep as they make my face up, and they finish at exactly six-fifty. This gives me five minutes to put my fragile dress on as gently as possible.

June’s jaw drops. “Spring—”

“I know, right?” I grab her hand. “But no time to waste, come on.”

We’re the last two to arrive at the entrance of the ball, and I end up at the end of the receiving line.

All the Ashfords are inside, personally greeting each contestant as we file inside.

The line is already moving, and I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

Here goes nothing. Tonight could either be the most amazing night of my life yet.

Or I’ll wish I never listened to Peter Ashford and got out when I could.