Dot, though? Am I really ready for this debut, or am I just wearing a pretty dress?
The question haunts me all day, through the rest of the fitting, through dinner with my parents, through the drive back to the
One day. Just one day until I have to stand in front of hundreds of people- politicians, celebrities, society figures -and be presented as the long-lost Willford heir. One more day until I have to dance with Arthur in front of all those judging eyes.
One more day until I have to put myself and my son at risk of judgment. Again.
Who am I kidding? I can''t do this. I''m not a socialite, not a princess, not an heiress. I''ve already embarrassed myself multiple times. The pressure is even more immense now that I''m a Willford.
They''re going to eat me alive.
I''m getting ready for a shower when it happens. I grip the bathroom sink as a wave of dizziness takes over me. My chest begins to heave. I can''t breathe. The room begins to spin, and I think I might vomit. But I know I''m not sick.
This is a panic attack.
When was thest time I had one of these? I used to get them a lot when I was younger, still living in the orphanage, but I genuinely can''t recall thest time I had one-college, maybe? Right before a final presentation?
Just as I feel like I''m about to copse, there''s a soft knock at the door. "Iris?" Arthur''s gentle voice filters through. He''s spending the night with me tonight. Shit.
I don''t want him to hear this. "Are you okay?"
I want to say yes, but when I open my mouth, all thates out is a strangled sob.
The door opens immediately, and then Arthur is there, strong arms wrapping around me, pulling me against his chest. "Hey," he says softly, "I''ve got you. Just breathe with me. It''s just a panic attack."
The way he holds me brings me back to times that have long passed. I remember the way he used to hold me at night, soothing me when the anxiety was too much to bear. He always knew exactly what to do, what to say or not say, and it seems he never lost that ability.
I focus on the rise and fall of his chest, trying to match my breathing to his just like
I used to. Slowly, the tightness in my lungs eases, and the room stops spinning.
"I''m sorry," I whisper against his shirt. "I don''t know what came over me."
"Don''t apologize." His hand strokes my hair soothingly. "Talk to me. What''s going on?"
I pull back just enough to look up at him. "What if I can''t do this, Arthur? What if I make a fool of myself again? What if I embarrass my family, or you, or ruin Miles'' future-"
"Stop," he says gently, cupping my face in his hands. "You''re going to be amazing. You always are. And even if you weren''t-which is impossible-I''d still be standing right beside you, proud to be your mate."
"I wish I felt half as confident as you do," I whisper with a tinyugh that has very little humor in it.
Arthur smirks. "Trust me, I get just as terrified before I have to do anything in public. That''s why fate brought us together, though, isn''t it? So support each other?"
I nod, and he leans down and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is just a gentle one, and yet...
A heat spreads through me, starting where our lips meet and flowing outward to every nerve ending, and it has
nothing to do with the steam from the shower filling the bathroom. It''s like nothing I''ve ever felt before-more intense, more primal than simple desire. Suddenly, as if a switch has been flipped, my body responds to his with a ferocity that surprises me. My hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer. The feeling is overwhelming, a hunger that''s both familiar and entirely new.
I feel something stirring deep inside of me, something wild and untamed.
Something that recognizes him as mine.
As I melt into him, giving myself over to the sensation, I know with sudden rity
that I need him—not just forfort or reassurance, but with a desperation that
feels almost feral. I need his touch, his scent, his strength.
I need him now.
Because I am a werewolf, and he is my mate.