Page 92 of Hateful Games

“On her way with your precious bride. I got her text when they left. Must be here by now.” A mischievous grin lights up his face. “Might want to stay away from her. She has her ‘don’t hurt my best friend’ speech ready to give to you.”

“Oh yeah?”

Iris is a perfect goody-two-shoes girl. Shy, reserved, and too sweet for her own good. Even Nathan hasn’t been able to taint that. Though, now I’m sensing my fiancée is handling the role of corrupting her, if his statement is anything to go by.

Just the vision of her trying to threaten me is comical.

“She was practicing with me last night,” Nathan answers with a chuckle, a soft look in his eyes. “I might have given her some pointers. Stuff that makes you cry like a pussy.”

Before I can rebut with an insult, there’s a knock on the door. It clicks open and in strolls Malcolm Archford. My former roommate and a close friend. His face aglow with his perpetual stoic expression.

For a moment, my mood darkens with past memories.

Before it drives me into misplaced rage, I shove it down and stand to greet him. “Decided to come early, your royal highness?”

His scowl deepens at the mention of his royal heritage. Although he’s far down the line to the throne. Neither of us are touchy-feely, so we settle for a fist bump like old times. He takes the other chair next to Nathan and sits.

“It’s not every day I get invited to a notorious Indian wedding. Or asked to be the groomsman.” He skims his gaze around the room, briefly glancing at the joint in Nathan’s grip before flatly taunting, “Judging by the state here, reminds me more of a frat party.”

“Careful what you ask for, Ashford,” says Nathan. “There’s still a day left. Don’t say we didn’t warn you about aunties pulling you on the dance floor.”

He visibly shudders. “I’ll pass.”

I laugh and pass him the joint.

“When are you giving up this nasty habit?” he taunts, even as he accepts it and takes a long puff himself.

“Kinda pot meet kettle, don’t you think?”

Nathan chimes in with a smug look, “Might be sooner than you think. Iris says Rosalie hates smokers.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I change for her.” My tone is icy. “She’ll learn to live with it.”

Malcolm raises his eyebrows at that. “I see.”

“What?”

“Still making her life hell?”

“Still have a soft spot for my fiancée?”

Our eyes lock in a silent battle and the arrogant bastard doesn’t deny it. Worse, I hate that I even care. It’s a matter of principle. The friend’s girl is always off-limits, even if she’s an enemy.

Rosalie will be a means to an end, nothing more.

“Jesus! Don’t tell me you fucked Rosalie, Ashford,” mutters Nathan, staring between us.

“Does it matter?” calmly answers Malcolm, a small smirk lifting the corner of his mouth while my jaw tics. “Nova obviously doesn’t want her.”

“Miya is here with her boyfriend.” Now it’s his turn to fume. “Remind me to introduce you two.”

“First Rosalie, now Miya,” Nathan says amusedly, diffusing the tension. “Stay away from Iris.”

“His girlfriend,” I explain when he frowns in confusion.

“Are all Indian men hopelessly in love around here?”

“You two done?” quips Nathan, checking his phone. Looking up at me, he announces, “The bride’s here.”

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