Resistance (The Institute Series Book 2) (27 page)

Looking at the girl standing before me in the mirror, I barely recognise her as the tomboy farm girl she once was. I try to assure myself she’s still in there somewhere even if right now I’m convinced that girl is long gone.

A package sits on my bed when I come out of the bathroom. Every time I accompany Paxton to one of these benefit things, he buys me a new dress. I always insist that I could wear something he’s already given me, but he insists that the girlfriend of a presidential candidate can’t be seen in public wearing the same thing twice.

When he says this, I like to remind him that I’m
not
his girlfriend, even if the media thinks differently, and that a repeat outfit would not be the end of the world.

Lifting the lid off the package in front of me, I freeze the moment I see the dress. It’s deep emerald green. It’s the dress I was wearing when he proposed to me in my vision eighteen months ago. I jump back from the bed as if the dress was a vicious animal preparing to attack. Standing by my bed in only my underwear, I just stare at the dress as it mocks me.

I’ve lived with Paxton for just over six months. We have separate rooms; he and his daughter, Nuka, have one end of the penthouse apartment, and I have the other. There's nothing romantic going on between me and Paxton and there never has been. We’re friends, we respect each other, and I definitely do not see him as anything more than that.

After Chad died, and we were released from the Institute, I was living with my parents. Things got a little awkward not long after my baby brother came along.

Paxton and I made a deal – I attend these stupid publicity events with him as his date, and I get a place to live rent-free.

My eyes are glued to the dress. When Paxton first offered me a room in his apartment, I almost said no. I was so determined not to let my vision come true, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I needed to get away from my parents. Part of me was also hoping that moving in with Paxton would help me forget about Chad. If I fell in love unintentionally, it would make my thoughts of him go away. That was the theory anyway. Of course, it didn’t happen that way, and I still think about Chad constantly.

Still determined to keep my vision just that – a vision and not reality – I go to my closet. In my messed-up way, I think if I wear a different dress, he won’t propose.

Why does he want to propose anyway? Why now? Does he want to take that step into relationship territory? I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for that – with anyone, not just Paxton. And why marriage? Shouldn’t we at least go on a proper date first? I shake my head at the idea. I don’t think I’m even ready for
that
yet.

It’s been eighteen months since losing Chad and I have no desire to get my heart broken ever again. Saying I was a mess for the first twelve months would be an understatement. I barely even remember much from that time, just that I was a walking zombie who kept to myself and alienated everyone close to me. I stayed at home every day, ate myself into a walking blob of junk food, and was an all-round bitch.

When Aunt Kenna brought up her plans for the clinic, it was the first time I actually showed an interest in anything. Everyone was shocked when I put my hand up to help her. I not only saw it as a way to give back, but I also saw it as a way to escape my pain.

From there I worked out that if I kept busy, I wouldn’t have time to think about Chad, and when I didn’t think about him, I could carry myself in an adult and normal manner the majority of the time. Since then, I’ve mended some of the relationships I crapped all over during my grief, but not all could be righted. 

Going to my closet, I pull out a strapless, pale pink, tulle ball gown that was one of the first dresses Paxton ever bought me. Surely he won't remember a dress from months ago, right? Stepping into it, the fabric hugs my skin as I do up the zipper. I pull out my diamanté heels and prepare myself to walk out to the living room where I know Paxton is waiting.

My heels make a loud clacking noise as I walk on the hardwood floors. Paxton looks up at me as I make my appearance, his brown hair styled to perfection and his tailored tux fitting flawlessly. He’s a handsome man, I’ll give him that, but his face immediately falls in disappointment when he glimpses my dress.

“What? What’s wrong? I know it’s not the new dress but—”

“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” he says with a half-smile, rubbing his hand over his head and down his neck.

“Easy on you?”

“I know you had a vision of this. And I hate to disappoint you, but changing your dress won’t stop it from happening.”

My mouth falls open.

“Please, just come sit down – hear me out.”

I must give him a look because he comes over to meet me, grabs my hand, and directs me to the couch, knowing I wasn’t going to do it on my own. I try to feel something, anything when our fingers touch… but there’s nothing.

“I—”

“Just listen,” Paxton pleads, cutting me off. “Tate told me about the vision a few months ago.”

“You’ve known for months and didn’t say anything?” Probably not the issue I should be focussed on, but whatever.

Paxton laughs a little and sits down on the coffee table in front of me. “At first I thought he was joking. We were on one of our campaigning trips, and he asked how living with you was going with innuendo so thick even a child would know what he was implying. When I told him there was nothing going on, he said ‘Yeah, not yet anyway’. Then he told me about your vision, and I actually laughed.”

“I’m so happy that the idea of marrying me is such a joke,” I say sarcastically before wondering why I’m getting angry at that. It
is
a joke.

“The funny thing is, after I got over the initial shock, I realised it’s actually a pretty brilliant idea.”

“Paxton—” I say more whiney than intended.

“Let me finish! This kind of attitude won’t fly when we’re married,” he jokes and I crack a smile. “All I’m saying is, you’ve made it perfectly clear that you’re never going to date again, I don’t want to date again, and if we were to be married, it would show the kind of stability that voters want, and the polls would go in our favour.”

“The polls? You want to marry me for a political advantage?” I ask, shocked. I don’t know if that’s better or worse.

“Gah,” he whines. “This is coming out all wrong. I had a whole speech prepared and everything.”

“Then by all means,” I say, prepared to hear more. I lean back and fold my arms, ready to be entertained.

Paxton sighs, inching forward off the coffee table and landing on one knee. He pulls out a ring box, and I try to stifle a giggle. By the look of it, so does he. “Okay … So…” he stutters.

“This isn’t the best start.” I smirk at him.

He reaches for one of my hands and I reluctantly give it to him. “I know you only moved in here because you felt like you had no other option, but having you here these past few months has made me realise that I want to come home to you every day. I can provide for you, give you anything you want. You want to be a medic? Be a medic. You want to quit your job and go to university to study something? I’ll pull some strings. I want to give you the life you deserve, the life you want. And I would love nothing more than to have you by my side when I become President.”

I force a smile. “That’s a tempting offer, Paxton.” Leaning forward, I put my right hand on his shoulder. “And I have to admit, moving in here was exactly what I needed. I love living here. I love Nuka like a little sister. But you didn’t even mention her in your proposition. How would she feel knowing her dad was getting married? To someone not even old enough to be her mother? I mean… I guess fourteen was old enough, but I wasn’t that type of girl.”

“Allira,” Paxton interrupts my rambling. “You’re rambling. And Nuka would love to have you join our family.”

“I really would,” I hear her small voice come from down the hallway.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Paxton yells at Nuka, failing to hide his smile.

“I am!”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Paxton says, getting up to check Nuka really is going to bed.

Isn’t this what most girls dream about? A rich, handsome, eligible bachelor offering her the world? Could I actually do this?

“She’s back in bed,” Paxton says, sitting beside me on the couch this time instead of kneeling. He spins the ring box in his hand.

“Are you saying you’d be happy in a loveless marriage?” I ask.

“I love you,” he says. It comes out casual and wispy, not at all genuine or passionate.

“I love you too. We’ve been through a lot together… but we both know it’s not in the way a husband and wife should love each other.”

“That sometimes comes after. We could grow to love each other.”

I reach for his hand and take it in mine, then force myself to look at him. His hopeful eyes bore into my skeptical ones. I lean in, knowing I’m about to kiss Paxton, hoping that I will feel something,
anything.
Our lips come together as he lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer. The kiss is tender and soft… but nothing. I just feel nothing. No spark, no butterflies. Pulling away, I see the exact same feeling in his eyes that I have in mine. Not exactly disgust, but not pleasure either.

“Okay, I see your point,” he says, looking at the ring box he’s fiddling within his hand.

“If we were going to do this, it would literally only be for show, and I don’t think the poll numbers would increase enough to be worth it, would they?”

“I guess you’re right.” Paxton sighs before slumping back into the couch. “Will you at least think about it?”

“I can do that,” I say, not really meaning it.

“I guess we better get to this benefit thing,” he says with a sigh, preparing to stand up.

“Do we have to?” I whine.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay here, curl up on this couch with you, and watch that teenage drama crap you’re addicted to, but if I’m going to be President and Tate’s going to be Vice President, yes, we have to go. Now – go put on the real dress,” he orders as he helps me off of the couch.