Page 100 of Hateful Games

I’m led toward another set of double doors with a historical painting of a royal party with dancers. One of the assistants has a headset and gives a thumbs-up right when music from inside begins to play.

An instrumental version of the song “Love Story” by Indila.

The beat matches the rhythm of my heart as I step forward, feigning confidence and the fake smile I’ve taught myself. Bright lights fall over my head and the navy blue carpet below my feet.

The moment my eyes adjust and collide with Nova standing tall in a black tuxedo at the front, my practiced smiles falters. While my heart goes boom.

Trouble, my head warns.

The closer I get, the harder it becomes to keep up the act of pretending I’m in love.

Because all I want to do is turn and run away.

His gaze crinkles at the corners just slightly, watching my face intensely. The only way he does, peering beneath my mask. Sensing my fright, he crosses the remaining distance between us and intertwines our hands. He does it every time I’m about to cause a blunder in public. Instead of leading me to the dais, he bends inches from my mouth.

“You’re not escaping me now, Rose,” he murmurs. His proximity making me dizzy. “Not after coming this far. You’re mine to burn for eternity, remember?”

Kissing my cheek, leaving the spot tingling, he straightens and gives the crowd his charming smile. Our hands locked, we finally reach the center, where our parents already wait. Suhana is perched in my mom’s arms, holding the ring box and attempting to open it.

Our fathers’ expressions are eased in reserved and civil smiles. Nowhere near friendly, not that the guests can tell the difference. Bad blood doesn’t go away so easily. Nova’s Mom, Teresa, and mine are the only ones conveying glowing and emotional emotions.

Teresa steps forward and cups my cheek. “So gorgeous. My son is lucky to have you, Rosalie. I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect girl for him. Both of you make such a beautiful couple.”

“Thank you, Mrs. D’Cruz.”

“You need to stop being so formal, sweetie,” she teases. “Call me Mom. We’re family now.”

Panic floods my system but before I can make a fool of myself, Nova saves me by saying, “Give her time, Ma.”

“Of course.” She smiles reassuringly and turns to my parents. “Shall we bring the rings?”

“Oh yes!” exclaims my mom, causing Danish, Nova’s father, to direct his gaze at her and linger. Their eyes meet and the smile he returns is actually genuine. Which is great, because I can’t have them hating each other too. After all, my mother is the reason behind this peace treaty.

The host, who has been entertaining the guests so far calls for attention after declaring the engagement ceremony is beginning. As he continues regaling everyone with stories of love and soulmates, Nova and I stand in front of each other, flanked by our parents.

His eyes, the color of whiskey, rake down my body. Warming places that have no business reacting to him. I lie to myself that it’s all for show. The con of the decade.

It’s certainly not because of the way the material of the tuxedo molds to his broad shoulders and chest. The bow tie that draws attention to his Adam’s apple. Or how his unruly hair has been tamed, kept longer on the top and trimmed on the slides.

“Rosa,” whispers Mom in my ear. “Give him your hand.”

I blink, not realizing I checked out whilst admiring him.

Nova smirks.

I have half a mind to slap him with the hand he’s supposed to put the ring on. Won’t that make this a memorable party? Instead, I do as I’ve been told and raise my left hand to his. He takes it and caresses the inside of my wrist, causing a shiver to zap down my spine. With his other hand, he slowly slides the ring on. The sight of it stealing my breath away.

A stunning iridescent black diamond in the shape of a rose.

That’s not all. Tiny diamonds surround the bigger rock in an intricate pattern.

The ring is custom-made without a doubt. I’m bewildered that Nova went above and beyond because no way anyone other than him put so much attention to the details.

Glancing up at Nova, I swallow at the satisfaction darkening his chiseled face. With my hand still in his, he brings it to his lips and kisses it while never breaking our connection.

“Your turn, Rosa,” says my mom, nudging the ring for Nova in my palm. That’s when I hear the loud claps and catcalls going around the room. The rapid flashes of the cameras.

Heart thundering behind my ribs, I grab Nova’s hand and slide the simple golden band onto his ring finger. My hand looking so small and frail against his. His fingers long and palms wide enough to wrap around my throat.

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