: Chapter 13

By the time we get home, the anger and frustration has boiled over inside me; my mind has fallen into a blanket of numbness, nothing but the throb of my feet to be felt, the skin torn, bloody, and bruised.

Still, I don’t stop. I throw my body into overdrive and leap higher than I should, spin more than normal, and I allow my right foot to bear the weight of my body as I dip at the waist, whirling until my hand is sweeping across the floor.

As I come back up, my spine spasms and I jolt, falling over and hitting my hip on the hard floor. I hiss when my big toe slams into the wooden post of the bed.

“Dammit!” I swiftly sit up and tug my foot into my lap. I don’t have a single pair of pointe shoes, and I’m tearing my feet up more and more every day. The whole insisting I wear heels only makes it worse. So much worse.

Sure, I could likely ask for what I need, but Enzo likes to claim he knows me so well and these two key pieces—music and pointe shoes—are proof he does not.

I’m fully aware holding on to that is childish and does nothing but hurt myself, and I don’t care. There’s some sort of satisfaction that comes with knowing he’s wrong and thinks he’s right.

Sighing, I drop my head back, hating the feeling of my long hair sticking to my back, but I couldn’t be bothered with taking the time to tie it up.

I did strip from my dress, though, putting on the stupid bodysuit that’s intended to be a top but is all this place has to offer as far as an acceptable uniform, and started dancing to the hum of the music in my mind.

A slight breeze sweeps through the window, and I clench my eyes closed.

“I don’t want to be here,” I whisper to myself. I want to take it all back.

The fundraiser was a disaster and not something I want to repeat.

I want to return to Greyson Manor, even if I’m only allowed to stay in the basement level with my sister’s little helpers. Hell, I’ll move into the dorms at Greyson Elite if I have to. Anything is better than sharing a house with a man I’m married to and the girl whose spot I’ve taken.

At the dinner, Katana sat on Enzo’s left, mirroring my place beside him, and did her best to ignore me. The only positive point was when Enzo confiscated my steak knife the moment it was lowered before me, and she jerked in her seat, clearly understanding why he felt the need to do so.

She’s in her right mind to be scared.

There’s no telling if I might have used it or not, but I one hundred percent would have been tempted.

God, the night was a bust. A waste of energy and an eye-opener.

I fucked up, letting the words he spoke get to me, the glam squad and champagne only adding to my moment of mental weakness.

He said tonight was our night, yet Enzo and I were seen together for a total of thirty minutes, his attention locked on Katana like she was a flight risk he was afraid of losing.

Dinner was a silent event and used as a way to move the evening along; the speeches going on in the background, because no one really cared to listen.

We left the moment Enzo wrote out a check the damn crown-of-thorns starfish would never see a cent of. Them and four dozen other filthy rich men. Honestly, these fake little money washing fundraisers are as basic as they are brilliant.

To my surprise, Katana wasn’t in our car on the ride home, but rather the one ahead of us. Guess he was worried I might make a go at her throat.

Fuck them both.

If I wanted to kill her with that blade, she would be dead. Period.

If my father taught me anything firsthand, it was how to win in the game of who gets to keep breathing if it came to that. My aim is as accurate as a bee’s cues to pollen.

Katana is family, Enzo had said. Rocklin thinks she’s his little sister and it seems that is exactly what Enzo set her up to believe, even if the reason why has yet to reveal itself. Regardless, it means pretty, perfect Katana isn’t going anywhere.

“Fuck my life.” I huff, dropping my head into my hands.

A throat clears then, and I whip an icy glare toward the open door.

Enzo stands there in the same suit he wore to the fundraiser, but he’s removed his jacket, his guns now on full display. They’re clipped to his waist, and there’s a frown etched across his stupid handsome face.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

He ignores me, walking farther into the room, his eyes assessing every inch of me and hardening with each passing second at whatever it is he thinks he sees.

I promptly shift, tucking my feet beneath me and repositioning myself.

As casually as possible, I gather my hair and comb my fingers through it as I lay it across one shoulder, hoping I don’t look like the total mess I feel and hating that I care.

Enzo’s eyes meet mine and he crosses his arms, leaning back against the edge of the desk. He stares a moment, and then says, “I made a mistake bringing Katana tonight.”

Surprise settles in my bones at his confession, chipping at a bit of the ice wall that’s built itself up within me.

“Her presence overshadowed you,” he adds, and now I want to punch him again.

“Fuck you, Enzo.” I shake my head. “I don’t need to shine. I never have, never will.”

I reach for the robe thrown over the edge of the bed, tugging on the end so I don’t have to show him more than I want him to see, and tug my arms through it. Only once it’s tied do I jump to my feet, quickly shoving my bare feet in a pair of house shoes as I walk over to the small fridge.

“I wanted you to,” he claims.

“Yeah, well, I wanted a husband who didn’t already have a wife. Sucks to get it wrong, doesn’t it?” Uncapping a bottle of water, I take a slow sip, internally slapping myself when my hand starts to shake. “I need to shower if you can please go.”

“No.”

Sighing, I prop my ass on the edge of the coffee bar, staring out the window. “I don’t know what you want from me, Enzo. I’m here. I’m not running. I played your game tonight. I didn’t kill your precious Katana⁠—”

“She’s not my anything.”

“—so leave me to the little peace my life still has.”

“I told you I want this to be real.”

My eyes snap to his. “And I did all I could to validate the lie. I smiled and held your arm and paraded around like a gold digger waving my ring at anyone who would look. What more can I do?”

“You can try.”

I spin around, crossing my arms to mirror his position, happy there is half a room separating us. “I don’t understand.”

“You would if you would trust the words I speak and stop hearing them the way you want to.”

My head tugs back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I tell you I want you, and you say I want your name. I tell you she’s not mine, and you see her as nothing more. I tell you I want this marriage to be real, and you put on a show for others but act like this when you’re here.”

“You do want my name. It’s why you signed that contract with all those perks under your demands. She is yours, your fake sister, or your real ex, it doesn’t matter. She is yours because I’m sure as hell not the reason she’s here. And you are the one who said to make people believe us and this fucked-up game we’ve found ourselves in. I did that! What the fuck else do you want from me?”

He throws himself off the desk, flinging his arms out with a frustrated look. “See. You don’t hear what I say. That is a you problem that needs fixing.”

“I am well aware of the many flaws I have, thanks. I’ll add, ‘stop thinking like yourself’ to my list.”

“I had no idea you were this infuriating.” He glares.

“And I had no idea you were already married when you agreed to marry me.”

“Are you ever going to stop pointing that out? I’m already tired of hearing it.”

A mocking laugh leaves me, and I shake my head. “Sorry. I’ll be sure to stop saying it long enough for you to fuck. Off!”

“Stop being such a child.”

“Why? You seem to like your women that way.”

He raises a brow, stepping so close I have to put my arms down so my elbows will stop brushing against him with each breath. “There is nothing childish about the way I want you, Little Bride.”

My brows snap together, gaze bouncing between his eyes. The look on his face switches in a second, heat stirring in his hazel eyes, and my treacherous body responds in kind, warming from the inside out.

His lips part, his tongue sliding along the inside of his bottom one.

My chest expands.

His eyes fly up to mine.

I swallow.

He shuffles closer.

“How did you know Philip wanted to marry me?” I rush out in a panic.

It does exactly what I want. In a single blink, gone is the hint of hunger that slid into his gaze, now exchanged with nothing short of fury.

“How did you find out about that?” He grips my arms. “Did he tell you this tonight? What did you say to him?”

He fires off his questions in rapid succession, not taking a breath in between, and a sense of satisfaction settles over me at the crazed look in his eyes.

Even more so when his anger doubles at my silence. Good.

I spent the night pissed off. He can handle a couple minutes of it.

“Tell me! What did you say? Did you tell him you’d have said yes? That you would have picked him if you knew?”

I press my lips tighter and a literal growl rips from his throat.

“You did, didn’t you?” he seethes. “You—” He looks down and freezes. With each silent beat between us, his body begins to shake. “Boston…”

My name leaves him terrifyingly slow. It’s low and lethal, a threat, but I’m well-versed in threats, so he’s going to have to try a little harder than that if he wants me to visibly cower.

In what feels like slow motion, his eyes lift to mine. “Why the fuck aren’t you wearing your ring?”

I look down at my bare finger and back up at him.

To be honest, I forgot I took it off, but he doesn’t know that, so I tuck my hand behind myself as if I was caught red-handed. Or, well, bare-handed, considering.

Enzo’s glare doubles and he scoffs, backing up a step. His large hand comes up, fingers running through and messing up his hair as he paces back and forth twice, three times, only to get right back in my space. His jaw is set in stone, teeth clenched as he hisses in my face. “I will make your life miserable.”

“You’re off to a good start, congratulations,” I deadpan.

His eyes crinkle at the edges. “If you’re going to speak, you will answer my questions.”

“I asked mine first. How did you know?”

“I made it my business to know. Now your turn.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“I hired someone to find any and all things related to you. It wasn’t fucking hard considering the asshole wasn’t exactly quiet about his desire for you. Now answer mine.”

“Which one?”

“All of them.”

“You asked a lot.”

“Woman, I swear to you…”

“Which one is the most important?”

“Why is your ring off your finger?”

“Because I took it off.”

His pulse tics in his jaw. “When?”

“When I got changed.”

A slight narrowing of the eyes tells me he was expecting a different answer.

“So not at the event?”

“I said when I got changed.”

He cocks his head, probably wondering if he can believe me or not. If he’s as smart as I think he is, he wouldn’t.

I’m not above a good lie.

“How did you find out about Philip’s offer?” He watches me closely as he asks this.

“It’s really not as interesting a story as you seem to think.”

“Boston.”

I contemplate letting his stress mount a little longer, but the murderous look in his eyes is brimming with something deeper. Something I can’t quite read but feel the need to smother.

“Gorgio insinuated to a deal being on the table, and I remembered what you said. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

He studies me. “And you didn’t speak of it with him?”

Not sure which him he’s referring to, so I say, “I asked my father why he never told me.”

“And?”

“He said it was irrelevant.”

“And?” he pushes.

“And I disagree,” I answer honestly. “I deserved to know.”

“You want me to believe you just so happened to take your ring off when you got home after learning what you did tonight?”

“I don’t care what you believe, Enzo. Your thoughts mean exactly jack shit to me.”

Enzo’s jaw tics, his fists clenching at his sides. He continues to stare straight into my eyes, this fiery force in his I can’t quite read, one that seems to demand I put his mind at ease when really, I want to shove his tie in his mouth and watch him choke on it.

“I can’t wear a ring when I dance.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“That’s a you problem that needs fixing.” I throw his words back at him. “As much as you clearly plan to control me, you can’t make me wear the damn ring when you’re not around.”

“I can and I will. Why?” He pushes closer. “Because you are mine and every second of every day, there will be a reminder of that fact staring back at you,” he promises.

I close my eyes, wanting to scream and cry and tear his eyes out.

Revenaws aren’t supposed to cry, not even at our mother’s funeral when we were eight years old.

My mother was murdered.

I flinch when a warm palm meets my cheek, my lids flying open.

His hazel eyes lock on mine. “You came to me and asked me to marry you.”

“As if I could forget.”

“I did what you asked.” He frowns. “Gave you what you said you wanted.”

“Thanks?” When he simply stares, I lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I answered your questions. The interrogation is over, so why are you still standing here? What else do you want?”

“I want you to act like the girl I met that day on the island.”

A small scowl builds across my face, his words unexpected.

“She was determined to stand where you do,” he adds.

“She was a desperate daughter looking for a secure future she could control so down the line she wasn’t stuck with a third-rate asshole,” I counter.

“Third rate?” he muses, anger and…is that disappointment in his gaze? “Was I not your first choice, Little Bride?”

“No.”

His muscles freeze. “No?”

“No, Enzo.” I shake my head. “You weren’t my first choice.” His glare is heavy, deepening as my lips curve with a pitiful smile born of shame and an unshakable sense of regret. “You were my only choice.”

Something sweeps over Enzo then, his gaze piercing mine. “What if I said the same?”

“You’d be lying.”

“Says you.”

“Says the dark-haired girl who sleeps down the hall.”