Devil Mine: Part 3 – Chapter 36

Dagny and I spot each other from across the room at the exact same time. We run to each other, shrieking inappropriately and drawing attention to ourselves. She jumps into my arms and gives me the best hug I’ve ever received.

“It’s so good to see you, Tessie. I missed you so much. Next time you decide to run away from your life, take me with you, okay?”

“No more running away for me sadly, not unless you come and break me out of my tower.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” she says. When I give her a questioning look, she pulls her phone out of her clutch and starts going through her camera roll. “I saw your wedding announcement, darling, which means I saw the way you look at your husband. You guys are definitely getting it on.”

I’m momentarily stunned by what she says. So first Thiago decides to shoot my best friend and now he’s sending her our wedding announcement in the mail like they’re the best of friends?

One thing men will always have in spades is the audacity.

“We are not!” I answer, affronted.

She gives me an unimpressed look. “Don’t bullshit a professional bullshitter.”

“Dags, we’re really not.”

“Then either it’s only a matter of time until you actually will or you’re in complete denial,” she says, handing me her phone. “Look at this.”

Rolling my eyes, I take the phone from her and look at the picture, expecting to be unmoved.

Instead, I’m struck by the expression on my face. By the way I look up at Thiago; lips parted, eyes hooded and fixed intently on him, my stare…longing.

My hand flies to my mouth and I give Dagny a shocked look.

“I know,” she agrees, like I spoke my thoughts out loud. “I nearly fell out of my chair when I saw it. Your husband shot me like, a month ago, so I’m not exactly his number one fan, but it’s tough to argue with this,” she says, tapping my face with her index. “Or this,” she adds, tapping Thiago’s face next.

Because as longingly as I look up at him, he stares even more fiercely back down at me. He looks like he has blinders on, his gaze so focused on my face he couldn’t possibly be aware of anything else happening around him.

If Thiago wanted to sell the idea of us as a happy couple, then this photo does just that.

We look…intoxicated by each other.

“Couldn’t be me,” she adds. “I’ve decided I’m keeping all bloodthirsty psychos at arm’s length. One gunshot wound was enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.”

“You better pray you never catch one’s eye then. If you haven’t noticed, they’re not big on asking. Taking is more their thing.”

My head spins. I hand her phone back, clearing my throat to calm the tornado of emotion sweeping through me. She stares down at the photo once more and smiles.

“What’s that famous saying again,” Dagny ponders aloud, drumming her index thoughtfully against her pouted lips before snapping her fingers in a lightbulb moment. “Oh, right — the camera doesn’t lie, Tessie. You’ve got a thing for your husband.”

I scoff. “I’d have to have Stockholm’s Syndrome for that to be possible.”

“Hey, if you’re going to have a mental illness might as well have the one that gets you into bed playing naked hide the sausage with the insanely hot cartel boss who kidnapped you. Sounds way more fun to me than, say, having anxiety.”

I choke out a laugh at the visual, but opt to change the subject to a topic far safer than Thiago and I — gun violence. “How is your arm? Are you still in pain?”

Dagny’s strapless dress has a sweetheart neckline so her arms are on display, but she’s wearing a chic lace armband with a gold chain to cover her still fresh scar.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am that he… shot you,” I tell her for the dozenth time. “I still can’t believe he did.”

“Completely healed and zero pain,” she says, choosing to indulge my evasion tactics. “And I told you, you never need to apologize to me. I actually should thank that degenerate husband of yours for helping me create a new accessory. I’ve gotten dozens of requests for armbands like this one. Vogue even wants to interview me for, and I quote, “being a trendsetter”. If only they knew what I’m hiding under there.”

I laugh loudly. “Only you would see getting shot as a business opportunity.”

She does a few poses with the armband, pretending she’s in front of a camera.

“Bullet wound fashion, baby. Come and get yours before stocks run out, actual bullet wound not included and sold separately.”

I’m wiping tears of laughter from my eyes when I spot a woman in a gold dress over Dagny’s shoulder lean in and hug Thiago. The easy smile he gives her in return makes my heart shrivel up in my chest. She’s there and gone before I can even begin to process the wide array of emotions pummeling the battered organ. Thankfully, he doesn’t go after her.

Dagny is still talking about her recent work and doesn’t notice my abrupt change in mood.

“Wedding dresses still drive the largest part of my business. I actually have an appointment with a new bride in a few weeks who wants me to custom design a piece for her, so that’s exciting,” she says.

“It is!” I interject, still distracted.

Scenes of Thiago licking the alcohol off my stomach while I lay on the floor of the library flash through my mind. I’d wanted him to fuck me, had told him to just do it, but he’d been as stubborn as me, refusing to go any further unless I said the words he wanted to hear.

He left me needy and lightheaded with arousal, his anger clear in the way he slammed the door closed behind him. But I still went down to the kitchen in the middle of the night like I had every night before, and I waited for him.

He never came.

A nameless emotion had grown in the pit of my stomach as I sat there, hopeful minutes turning into lonely hours.

And now he’s on the other side of the room alone, because I was still upset with him for standing me up and I’d wanted to make him feel a sliver of what I felt last night, so I’d abandoned him the second we got here.

Sometimes the queen makes a bad move on the board, a mistake that she has to pay for.

I’m certainly paying for mine now.

“…I definitely want to diversify my portfolio though. I love wedding dresses, but I want to try everything. Gowns, every day attire, business wear, lingerie, you name it. I think this’ll be the last bridal client I take on for a while,” Dagny finishes.

Guilt lances through me. I’m a terrible friend, I can’t even listen to her for five minutes without worrying about my own problems.

“Please let me wear whatever you design,” I beg, grabbing her hand. “You know I’m your number one fan — whatever you make, I want to wear it. If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Duh,” she says with a smile. “A smoking hot blonde wearing all of my designs? You’re the one doing me a favor.”

I scoop her up into a tight hug, twirling her around. “You’re going to be a household name with the best of them in no time, Dags, and I can’t wait to have a front row seat to it when it happens.”

Her beaming smile wipes suddenly off her face, replaced by a dark scowl taking over her features. Her eyes are trained on something in the distance behind me.

“Are you alright?” I ask, concerned.

She growls angrily. “You’re going to turn around and see this for yourself so let me warn you first. There’s a doe-eyed, homewrecking bitch smiling vapidly up at your husband like he just told the funniest joke ever recorded.”

I deflate, the air exiting my lungs.

“Gold dress?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“No.”

My eyes snap to hers and I whirl around to find that it is indeed a completely different woman hitting on Thiago now. His back is to me so I can’t see his face or how he reacts to her.

My cheeks heat in anger.

The first one hugged him and left so I did nothing, but this second one fingering her hair and giving Thiago an inviting smile makes my blood boil.

Dagny gives me a pointed look. “That’s your man she’s publically salivating over, Tessie. Might be time for you to admit to the Stockholm’s Syndrome, don’t you think?”

I aim for nonchalance, for an unaffected shrug.

“I don’t ca—”

My words cut off abruptly when I watch the woman step closer. She puts her hand on Thiago’s arm, cocks her head to the side and laughs flirtily, the whole thing happening with the slow motion precision of a car crash, one I can’t look away from.

I’m charging across the room before I can even process it, my temper flaring bright red and my vision tunneling venomously in on them as I approach from behind him.

Even though the black haze of fury renders me nearly sightless, I manage to rip her hand off his arm and throw it back at her, enjoying the way it falls limply at her side. I position myself between them, my back turned to him.

The woman has the audacity to give me a puzzled look. I’ve never understood violence until this very moment when I have to physically restrain myself from scratching her eyes out for looking at my husband like he’s a snack and me like I’m crazy.

I might just be discovering that I am.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” she asks.

“Who am I? I’m his wife,” I snap.

An arm wraps around my waist and a large hand splays inappropriately low on my belly, sending a needy pang straight to my core. Thiago pulls me snuggly against his chest, his warmth immediately seeping into my back. When I angle my head against his shoulder and look up at him, I find darkly pleased eyes burning hotly into the side of my face. His obvious smugness at my interruption does nothing to calm my anger.

“Oh.” The clear disappointment in her tone has my eyes snapping right back to hers. “Well, I was just introducing mys–”

“There’s no need to introduce yourself to my husband,” I clip. “He already knows enough people.”

Thiago’s arm tightens bruisingly around me when I finally refer to him as my husband. His cock hardens, throbbing intently against my lower back. I’m momentarily stunned by how much two words spoken from my lips can affect him.

The woman looks to Thiago for help, laughing derisively. “Well, it can’t hurt,” she says.

That’s it.

I try to step up to her, deciding that in the end she does deserve that eye clawing, but Thiago keeps me pinned firmly against him.

She takes a fearful step back anyway.

My answering smile is slow and sharp, my voice deceptively sweet. “It just might.”

Thiago’s chest moves against my back and I know he’s trying not to openly laugh.

Bastard.

“Good to meet you, Claudia, but if you’ll excuse us, I need to take my wife for a dance. Say hello to your father for me.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgment, he curls me into his body and walks us both to the middle of the dancefloor just as a new song starts. Twisting me around, he clasps my hand in his and takes my waist with the other. My skin is hot from my anger, my body temperature at least ten degrees warmer than usual.

“Our first dance,” he purrs.

“And it’ll be our last if you don’t give me some answers,” I snap, fuming. “Tell me, was it “good to meet her”, Thiago? Hmm? Did you enjoy your chat?”

His smile is deeply smug and obviously pleased. “Are you feeling possessive, amor?”

“You said we needed to look in love tonight,” I huff. “Would a real wife stand idly by and let another woman put her hands all over her husband, especially in public?”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Who the hell is she?” I snap. “That’s two women you let touch you tonight, Thiago. Two.”

The look he gives me is inscrutable. “I don’t want either of them. The only woman I want is the one that refuses to admit she’s mine.”

“Who. Is. She?” I demand.

I’m barely aware of the fact that he twirls me around the dancefloor. I’m sure there’s music playing but it doesn’t filter in through the loud ringing in my ears.

“The daughter of one of my father’s generals,” he answers. He pauses, looking above my head, then adds. “When you ran away, it was suggested to me that I take her as my wife instead. She either didn’t see our wedding announcement or she did and thought she’d try her luck anyway.

Runaway anger coils in my core and poisons me, sending acidic bile shooting straight into my throat. “You’d flip to the next page of the bride catalog that easily, huh?” I ask, bitterly. “Just another nameless, faceless woman you can put a ring on and stick your cock in?”

“‘Stick my cock in’?” he repeats throatily, eyes pinned on me. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Screw you.”

Somewhere I know I’m being irrational but between her and Adriana, I feel sick to my stomach. I was right not to trust him if he believes I’m that easily replaceable.

“Believe me, I’d like nothing more.”

The cocky smile that pulls at his lips does nothing except piss me off further. I stomp on his foot. Hard. He winces, his arm tightening around me until he’s carrying me, my feet no longer touching the floor.

“Why are you upset, preciosa?” he coaxes seductively. “Tell me the truth.”

“Smile like that again and I’ll give you a dose of your own medicine,” I snarl, my jealousy making me spiral. I’ve never felt this way before. Making a point of looking around the room at all the men in attendance, I add. “After all, I don’t think a marriage is official if it hasn’t been consummated.”

Strong fingers wrap callously around my jaw, digging into my cheeks and using brute force to turn my face back towards his.

“Careful,” he warns, voice tight. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

I tip my chin stubbornly up at him.

“The infamous “Diablo”, you mean?”

“No, your husband who won’t fucking share you,” he corrects, livid. Squeezing my jaw, he brings his mouth inches from mine. “But if you push me to it, then yes, El Diablo. You’ve seen what I’ll do to a man who didn’t slight me. Imagine what I’m capable of doing to one who comes anywhere near you, one who touches what’s mine.”

I rip my jaw out of his hand and shove at his chest until he releases me. Back on my feet, I tilt my chin up until our faces are inches from each other’s. The other couples keep dancing around us, paying us no mind, while we stand off like we’re about to kill each other.

“It’s not sharing,” I hiss. His jaw clenches, the muscle in his cheek twitching erratically. “We haven’t slept together. I am not yours.”

I won’t ask him for anything when he’s made no room for me. Chasing me was all about his ego, not about me. Not when I was clearly so replaceable.

I’ve had enough.

“Don’t test me, Tess,” he warns, his voice dangerously soft now.

I walk right off the dancefloor without answering, leaving him standing in a sea of couples, staring after me.