The Girl He Marked by Laila Callaway novel Chapter 2

Lexi's POV.

I don't speak to my parents for three days.

We avoid each other easily, but I spend my time constantly hoping that there will be a knock on my door, and it will be them, ready to accept my mate.

I meet with Rixon the day before the ball, I drive over to his house and update him on the situation with my parents, not that there is much to say.

'Please can we go somewhere, somewhere other than here, I can't stay here with them hating you,' I beg him as tears run down my face.

He wipes them away with his large hands and pulls me against his chest. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his steady heartbeat to calm me down.

'Okay, we'll leave,' he whispers and kisses my forehead.

We come up with a plan to sneak him into the ball, his brother will create a diversion, allowing Rixon to cross the border unnoticed.

The day of the ball I go to work at the clinic as usual, but I leave early to get ready. I have a shower and dry my hair, leaving it in natural waves.

I'm just starting my make—up when there's a knock at my door, I freeze then slowly turn around.

'Come in,' I call, my heart racing as I see my mother enter the room. She glances anxiously at me before stepping inside and hanging my dress up on a hook.

'Don't let it crease, come down in an hour,' she says quietly, not looking at me as she heads back to the door.

'Mum, please—' I stand up and she pauses, her hand on the door.

'Don't Lexi, please don't, I can't do this right now,' she whispers, looking at me so I can see the tears brimming in her eyes.

She shuts the door behind her, and I sink back onto my chair, feeling like someone has just kicked me in the stomach. I finish my make—up, but before I put on my dress, I decide to give my father one last chance.

I walk over to their house, knowing that even with the ball in less than an hour, he'll probably be in his office.

The door is slightly ajar, so I push it open, seeing my father sat at his desk. He looks up and sets his mouth in a firm line as he sees me.

'I don't want an argument, I just want to know if you've thought any more about what I said,' I tell him, keeping my voice calm and quiet. He narrows his eyes at me and leans back in his chair, sighing heavily.

'Have you thought about what we said' He counters and I swallow my irritation.

'Do you not trust me to make my own decisions Do you honestly think I would be with him if he wasn't a good guy He treats me so well Dad, I wish you'd give him a chance,' I implore him, but I can see from his hard—set eyes that it's hopeless.

He's silent for a moment before he sits forward and picks up his pen.