Page 43 of Vengeful Vows

“And why not?” She pops a shrimp into her mouth.

“Because you might as well be naked, that’s why.”

She tilts her head. “What, can’t handle a little friendly competition?”

“There is no competition.” Anger rushing through me. “You’re my wife.”

She just hums, and I realize that short of locking her in the room, I’m not going to win this one.

“Fine, but you stay near me.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not something you can just own, you know?”

“You are mine. I do own you,” I remind her, and her face flashes with something I can’t quite name. Hurt? Anger? A little of both?

“I know. My life is not my own.” She turns glum, and I want to kick myself. Why would I mess it up? We’ve been getting along so well.

Bree and I eat in silence, and finally, I let out a long breath.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I say softly.

“For what?” She looks at me.

I lick my lips. “For being a possessive asshole.”

She barks out a laugh. “Well, thank you, I guess? Never expected you to apologize.”

“I might have to apologize again. I can’t make any promises with you wearing that.”

She laughs again, and it seems less forced, more genuine. “I’ll stick close to you.”

“Thank you.” I smile, hoping that I’ve gotten her out of her bad mood.

Two hours later, Bree and I are swimming in the pool with a couple of cocktails on the pool edge. She breathes out a happy sigh and floats on her back.

Thank God, there’s no one else at the pool, so I don’t have to worry about men staring her down and undressing her in their minds. I don’t want just any asshole to see my wife like this.

She looks unbelievable, though, and I want her so badly I can’t wait to get her back to the bedroom.

She floats, looking up at the tall ceiling of the indoor pool. “When do you have to do your work?”

“Not until tomorrow.”

She smiles, sitting up and treading water, eventually swimming back over to me and looping her legs around my waist.

I hold her up with one hand on the small of her back, wanting to kiss the water beads off her chest and throat.

But in the end, she swims away from me, getting out of the pool and grabbing a towel.

I frown at her, still treading water. “Where are you going?”

“Your sisters told me I had to hit the slot machines.”

I laugh, following her back to the room.

We get dressed and again, she goes into the bathroom, as if I haven’t seen everything she has to offer. It’s a bit annoying, but if it makes her feel better, so be it.

I dress in a button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, not wanting to stand out too much. It’s possible that some of the bouncers still remember me from when I was in my early twenties.

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