: Chapter 58

An electric ding wakes me, and I feel completely out of sorts, flailing around, trying to find what’s making the noise.

My hand slaps down on the nightstand, since that’s where the sound was coming from, and my hand connects with something. Multiple somethings, as a clatter of items hitting the floor follows my movement.

Squinting, the first thing I see is a laptop and tablet stacked on the nightstand.

Then I roll and look over the side of the bed, finding a brand new phone––thankfully already in a case,––and a little case for earbuds on the floor. The phone’s screen is facing up, showing a missed text.

Bracing a hand on the nightstand so I don’t faceplant, I stretch down to pick up the items from the floor. Setting the earbuds on the stack of other electronics before looking at the phone.

I’m wondering what the code is, when the phone automatically unlocks with facial recognition.

Huh.

Programming this is hardly the most invasive thing King has done, so I decide not to dwell on it. Instead, I open my text from Husband.

I drop the phone onto the bed and groan.

He’s such a bossy bitch.

I’ve felt King’s heated gaze on me ever since we left the house. And even now, as we walk up the steps of some fancy place called The Syndicate Hotel, I can still feel his eyes on me.

Well, the feeling is mutual, buddy.

A doorman in a suit, holds the door open for us when we approach, dipping his chin to King. “Good evening, Mr. Vass.”

King places a hand on my back for me to step ahead, and I use that opportunity to catch another glimpse of him. Because goddamn, I’m married to a fine ass man.

Hair styled back, beard trimmed to show his jawline to perfection, and wrapped in a black tux… I mean, seriously. He’s the hottest human I’ve ever met.

King clears his throat.

My gaze snaps up, but I find him staring at my cleavage.

Focusing back on my steps, I move through the door, careful not to break my ankle in these ice pick shoes King picked out for tonight.

The dress King sent to the house fit like a glove… after I pulled on my pair of shapewear shorts. And though it’s not a style I would’ve ever picked to try on, I must admit that I look pretty good in it.

The material is a shimmery black. The V-neck is deep, held up by two small spaghetti straps, but then there’s also a drapey off-the-shoulder cap sleeve. I always worried this style would make my shoulders look huge, but with the pushup strapless bra I’m wearing, no one is paying attention to anything other than my boobs. The material gathers below the bust then it’s loose fitting to the floor, with a slit that goes halfway up one thigh.

It’s more provocative than I expected, but if King is gonna get worked up about how much skin I have on display, he only has himself to blame.

“Where is everyone?” I ask as King guides us through a fancy lobby and down a side hall, with no one in sight. “When does this thing start?”

“An hour ago.”

I almost trip. “An hour ago! Why didn’t we leave sooner? I could’ve been ready.”

Stress builds behind my eyes. I hate being late.

“Because that’s the agreement I have with Aspen.”

“Aspen’s here?!” I squeak.

“It’s her event,” he states, like this is all fine. “She lets me skip the first hour with the boring ass speaker bullshit, and I write her a five-figure check to support whatever fucking cause she’s going on about. It’s a win-win.”

I want to stop walking, but if I do that, and he pushes on my back, I’ll fall right out of these stupid heels.

“King.” He grunts, and I roll my eyes. “Husband, I don’t want to see Aspen.”

“She’s my sister.”

“Yeah, and last time I saw her, she called me a whore.”

“She won’t do that again.”

We’re approaching a pair of open doors and the noise of a fancy event happening inside spills out into the hall.

“Oh?” I make sure he can hear my doubt. “And how do you know that?”

We step around the corner and into the ballroom just as King replies. “Because I told her you never fucked Leland.”

“You…” I blink up at him. “What?”

King looks down at me. “You should’ve told me.”

Anger boils up inside of me. “You should’ve asked. Or not jumped to conclusions like a giant…dumbass.”

He clicks his tongue. “Now, now, Honey. We’re newlyweds, remember? Try to look happy.”

“How did you even…? Val.” I answer my own question, and then my jaw clenches on a suspicion. “Is this what that whole,” I lower my voice, “not gonna fuck you until you ask thing is about?”

When his nostrils flare, I know I nailed it.

This prick.

“King!” Someone hails him but we keep staring at each other.

“What’s the charity for?” I ask.

“No clue. Why?”

I bat my eyes up at him, “Because I’m going to go write your name on every auction item I can find.”

The side of his mouth pulls up. “Save me a dance.”

“Fat chance.” Then, before anyone reaches us, and I have to stand through being introduced as King’s new wife, I turn and walk away. Carefully picking my way through the crowd.

I went to enough events like this with my parents growing up, so I know how they go. The obligatory speeches that we’ve apparently missed. The tables of food. The live band in the corner and a dance floor that will only be used for mingling and not dancing. And then of course, the arrayment of auction items along one wall.

I spot Aspen heading toward the entrance, toward King, so I adjust my trajectory and head in the opposite direction, toward the buffet tables first.

Because you never fucked Leland.

I don’t even know why I’m so annoyed. I’m not mad at Val for telling him. But like, what does it really have to do with anything? We’ve already had sex, King and I, so why would this make any difference?

I guess I’d be even more pissed if he hadn’t had sex with me until he found out. Like as though having some other dick in me made me bad.

I accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and decide there’s no point in trying to figure out the reasons of a madman.

Stopping in the back of the line for food, I see the tactical error in grabbing this glass of champagne. I’m going to need two hands.

Before it’s my turn, I down the bubbly and hand the empty glass off to another passing waiter, waving off his offer of an immediate refill.

With two free hands, I load up one of the little plates and bite down on a smile as I think of one of my favorite movie lines: I’m only here for the food.

Plate in hand, I make my way to one of the many tall round cocktail tables and set up shop, refusing to look for my King.

I scoff as I dunk a cold shrimp into the dab of cocktail sauce on my plate.

My King or Husband, blah blah blah. What an idiot.

I have a shrimp half-in, half-out of my mouth when someone says my name.

My eyes snap up and I find a pretty brunette with bangs standing across the little table from me. I hadn’t noticed her approach, and now I have to decide if I pull the shrimp out of my mouth, or bite it off at the tail, like I was planning. Which would mean she’d have to wait for me to chew and swallow before I greet her.

So, instead of doing either of those things, I just stand in indecision, with a sea creature protruding from my lips.

“Sorry!” she holds her hands up. “My timing is terrible.” I watch her cheeks turn red. “But my husband pointed you out and I thought I’d come say hi.”

Breaking out of my stupor, I finally bite through and drop the shrimp tail onto my plate.

I hold a hand over my mouth while I chew and ask, “Husband?”

Her features soften, “Yeah, I’m married to Nero.”

And then my problems are over because I choke to death right then and there.

“Oh, um…” the woman’s eyes widen as she snags a new glass of champagne off a passing tray handing it to me.

Good thing these waiters are trying to get everyone drunk.

Taking it from her, I sip and blink away the watery eyes that come with near-death experiences, coughing the last piece of shellfish out of my lungs.

When I catch my breath, it’s my turn to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…” I shake my head. “I didn’t know he was married.”

What I want to say is who in their right fucking mind would marry that man. But that seems rude for a first meeting.

She holds her hand out. “I’m Payton.”

I wipe my fingers on the little napkin then take her hand. “Savannah.”

After shaking, we stand in awkward silence. Because I don’t know how much she knows about my situation. And I don’t know how to talk to the woman who married the man that I still basically hate.

“Nero told me everything,” she blurts out, hands pressed together in front of her chest. “And even though I know he believed he was doing the right thing, I told him he needs to apologize to you.” Payton looks so earnest as she says it that I have no idea how to reply. “He’s really…”

We both know she was about to say a good guy, but we both know that neither of us can say that about our husbands.

She tries again. “Him and King have been best friends for forever, and those two would do anything for each other.” Interest piqued. “And to be perfectly honest, I used to be terrified of King. But then he helped save my life, and well, now I’m not really scared of him anymore. I’m sure it will be the same for you and Nero.”

When my brows raise, she lifts her hands and presses them to her cheeks.

“I didn’t mean… Not that your life will need saving.”

“It’s alright, I know what you meant.” I take pity on the poor woman; she is married to Nero after all.

“Thanks…sorry.” She pats her cheeks again. “I was trying to make things better not worse.”

“It’s all weird, so it’s okay.”

Payton smiles and nods, agreeing.

She seems really nice, which makes me wonder how she ended up married into this shitshow.

“How did you and Nero meet?” I pick up another shrimp.

“Well,” she gives me a sheepish look, “he sorta broke into my house one day.”

I put my shrimp down.

Clearly if I eat here, I’ll just end up dying.

“Are you okay?” I whisper across the table.

Her eyes widen before a small laugh bubbles out of her. “Yes. I promise you that marrying Nero was my choice, and one I’d make over and over again.”

I eye her skeptically. Okay, sure.

“Well, it was nice meeting you.” I tell her, unsure if it was or not. “I’m gonna go spend some of King’s money.” I aim a thumb over to the auction tables.

I’m sure I’m being rude by cutting our conversation off and ditching my still full plate of food, but I honestly don’t know what I can, or should, say to this person.

But she takes my departure smoothly with a smile, “Have fun!”

“Have fun.” I mutter to myself as I start to eyeball the items.

There’s a whole container of pens next to the first item, so I pluck one up and slowly make my way down the row of tables, writing King’s name for the next open bid on every single item.

When I come to one that’s a weekend getaway in a private ski chalet, I up the current bid from ten thousand to thirty thousand, making sure to carefully print out King’s name.

I’ve never skied in my life. And I have no intention of learning. But I’d love to cost that fucker thirty grand just to sit on a couch and sip hot chocolate.

I’m straightening up from writing, when an arm passes in front of my view and a hand rubs across my exposed cleavage.

The touch is so unexpected and so unwelcome, I stumble back.

“Sorry, Miss, didn’t mean to bump you.” The smarmy jerk smiles at me as his eyes drop to my chest.

Any fun I was having evaporates.

That was no accident.

Like I said, I’ve been to events like this before. And just like my experiences growing up, I know there’s no point in yelling at him. He’d claim it was just an accident. I’d say otherwise. And the crowd––like my parents––will always believe the stupid man. Because everyone always believes the stupid man.

Hot angry tears fill my eyes as I turn away from the table.

I hate it here.

This ballroom.

This unfair sexist world.

I fight the urge to sniffle, pressing my lips together and blinking the moisture from my eyes.

And then I see King. Standing across the room. His head cocked, and his lion-gaze locked on me.

I’m still mad at him, but I don’t have anyone else to go to. And that moment, what just happened, just flung me so far back into my memories that I don’t even care that he’s standing next to Aspen.

I need him.