Not My Fairytale

Chapter 28

**Lmk what you think!

Another Round

"Come on," Franco pleaded, "you said that you forgave me."

I pursed my lips, leaning a hip against the door to my foyer, "I suppose I do recall saying that." 

He had apologized on the second day after the ball, as we were waiting at the training grounds for instruction. I had forgiven him, but only after a substantial amount of groveling on his end. Absolute moron, I believe he called himself, or at least that's how I will choose to remember it.

"Then prove it," he was grinning like he had me right where he wanted me, "by going into the city with me. We haven't spent any time together outside of meetings and training in months."

"Fine."

That's what led me to The Den's crowded, humid dance floor later that night, Franco's familiar presence at my side. It had been a favorite haunt of ours since we were old enough to enter, the dark lighting and multitude of patrons making it easy for us to blend in. The blaring music made it impossible for those who did happen to recognize us to eavesdrop.

We wove our way through the throng of dancing bodies, finding an open booth in the far corner. "I'll buy the first round," Franco told me, turning back the way we had come as I settled into the cracked leather of the seat.

When he returned a while later, the owner, Mr. Parson, trailed behind him, a drink in each hand. Mr. Parson was a portly man with deep set eyes and a ruddy face, but he had never been anything but welcoming in all of our years of visiting. "Princess, it is so wonderful to see you again," he placed two shots of some kind of amber liquid down on the table, "these are on the house."

We chatted politely for a time, but I couldn't help but be distracted by how withdrawn Franco had become since he had returned with the drinks. He was antsy, focusing everywhere but on the conversation I was attempting to maintain. When Mr. Parson bustled off to tend to his bar, I turned on him, "Alright, speak. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," his voice was firm, but his eyes scanned the crowd of dancing bodies as they had been doing every few minutes since he sat down. He took a sip from one of the pint glasses he had brought over, both of us ignoring the shots for the moment. "We're here together, that's all that matters."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "You think your mate might be here, don't you?"

He winced, glancing back over at me guiltily, "If not here, then somewhere nearby." He heaved a sigh, "But I told you I wanted to spend time with you, and that was the truth. She'll still be around here somewhere tomorrow." If I hadn't known him so well, I might have listened and tried to enjoy the rest of our evening. But Franco was the closest friend I had ever had, and I could read the pain in his eyes, plain as day.

For my sake, he would allow his mate to get away from him again.

And I couldn't let him do that, not when I knew the pain of avoiding one's mate so intimately.

I placed my hand on top of his, "Go get her."

His eyes widened in shock, and his mouth opened to argue, but I shook my head, cutting him off. "Go."

He snapped his lips shut, nodding once in thanks before downing the rest of his drink. "I'll be back to walk you home, wish me luck, " he muttered, striding off before I had a chance to respond.

"Good luck," I mumbled to the empty booth, sinking down into the seat and finally bringing the glass he had handed me to my lips.

I was just debating whether I was going to drink for the both of us in his absence, or save the shots for his return when someone slid into the booth beside me. I turned, fully prepared to tell the newcomer off, when my eyes connected with a pair of depthless blues that I knew all too well.