Page 96 of Hateful Games

My wife will only ever be my Rose.

Her thorns painted in only my blood.

“It’s done, sir.”

I look down, seeing Rose scrawled in cursive in the middle of my palm. Crossing the distance to Rosalie once more, I let her see it for herself. “Your turn.”

When she raises her palms toward me, it only takes me a second to find my name written in small letters on the inner side of the ring finger on her left hand. Possessiveness flares that elicit urge to turn it into a tattoo so it’s permanent.

Forever marking her as mine.

So, even as I ravage her world and we’re no longer together, she’ll still be mine. That even trying to erase me will hurt twice as bad.

“Had your fill?” she tries to taunt but it comes out throaty.

“For now.”

Her gaze narrows in mild annoyance.

Smirking, I taunt, “After tomorrow, I’ll see it whenever and wherever I want. Won’t I, Mrs. D’Cruz?”

Once again, I leave her stunned. “You’ve become even more insufferable, know that?”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Tracing her parted mouth, my gaze turning greedy, and I promise, “I can’t wait to claim your lips, Rose. Once you’re my wife, I’ll be shutting it up quite often with my mine since you’re hell-bent on running it every chance to make me mad.”

“Then learn some patience.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing until now?”

Leaving her flabbergasted, I drop my hand and turn to leave. Except near the stairs, I find Nathan and Malcolm standing with shit-eating grins. Perfect. They saw everything, giving their stupid thoughts more ammunition.

Walking past them, I warn, “Not a word.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

Rosalie

“How the hell do women carry this around?” I complain.

“It’s just a sari, Ro,” says Bianca with a roll of her eyes.

“The damn pallu keeps falling off.”

“It’s supposed to,” adds Iris.

Bianca scolds, “You wanted it to be that way.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” I stop before we can walk out of my suite, where the makeup artists—Ria, Pia, and Mia; the rhyming trio, as refer to them—spent the last two hours primping me and working their magic. Although, the last one spent most of it trying to flirt her way into Bianca’s panties.

Too bad, Dash would castrate anyone—female or not—if they tried to steal her from him.

Since I’m impressed by the crazy and loud trio and want them here tomorrow, I cannot let that happen.

“Where are you going?” yells Bianca, ever the punctual one. “We’re already late.”

“I’m going to have Pia redo my sari like Deepika from Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani.”

When else will I get the chance to flaunt my curves in a black shimmery sari with a sleeveless maroon blouse knotted in the back? I love saris as much as the next Indian girl but there are not a lot of occasions to wear them often.

---