Fake Girl 481
Chapter 481
Txander stiffened, a blush spreading across his fair complexion all the way to the tips of his dar
He stared dumbfounded at Natasha, his lips parted wordtestly.
But not a single word came out
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then flung his sleeve is fury and spat out, “Pidiculous!”
With that, he stormed off with his entourage in tow, like a gust of wind
With Athena’s help, Natasha scrambled to her feet.
She brushed the dust off her clothes, painted at Prince Evander’s retreating figure, and snapped, “In your dreams! (id rather i you!”
Still seething, she vigorously wiped her mouth with her sleeve, her eyes brimming with tears.
“What temble luck–how did I end up running into such a jinx?” she muttered.
Athena snapped back to reality and hastily tugged Natasha toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here, now!” she urged
Even though they were upstairs, there was no telling if they’d been spotted.
“Better to leave now before things get worse.
vagabond than
Athena led Natasha away and stopped in a secluded spot. “I have the coachman take you back first,” she said firmly. “What happened today—bury deep. Not a word to anyone.”
Though caught up in her marriage predicament, Natasha knew better than to gamble with her reputation.
Natasha nodded. “I’m not stupid.”
She thought, “If anyone finds out about this, I’m done for
With how old–fashioned my dad is, he’d probably kill me himself”
“Wright, go on–hurry up,” Athena urged her.
Natasha climbed into the carriage, then leaned out the window and called, “Sorry I spoiled your fun today. I’ll make it up to you next time!”
As the carriage rolled away, Athena let out a wry smile. “Still thinking about that at a time like this?” she thought.
She could only
Athena hurried back, anxiety gnawing at her. She’d been gone sai possible.
Half an hour earlier.
Margaret was enjoying the opera in her private box when someone suddenly burstin
Startled, Margaret steadied herself and only then did she clearly recognize the man before her–it was Matthew, the second son of the monson tam
He was a far cry from his usual polished selt his hair was matted, his clothes torn, and bruises marked his face.
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