Page 41 of Covetous

“Smith,” he replies with an easy smile and extended hand. Unlike Victor, his muscular arms are tattoo-free, with golden hair dusting his tanned skin. Liv takes Smith’s hand, and the two of them stand there with something like hearts in their eyes, giving off vibes straight out of a romance novel.

“Hey, Skylar,” Victor greets me with a slight smirk that makes my heart flutter.

“Hey,” I reply, pushing my glasses up my nose as a blush heats my cheeks.

Liv recovers first, letting go of Smith’s hand. Victor rolls his eyes at their exchange—at least I assume he does, because I want to do the same. I want to nudge Liv’s arm, but that wouldn’t be discreet.

“Let me get those for you,” Smith says, taking the bags from her hand.

“Thanks.” Her tone is polite but dismissive, and I know from experience that she’s shutting down like she does with every guy who expresses any interest in her. “I’ll show you inside. Come on,” she continues in a businesslike manner.

Smith chuckles at her bossiness before playfully responding, “Yes, ma’am.”

The two of them walk off together toward the house without another word to either me or Victor.

And now we’re alone.

I clumsily drop the bags in my hands, avoiding eye contact as I speak. “Esme’s upstairs packing.”

The sun beats down on us, and heat rises in my cheeks, though I’m not sure if it’s from the weather or the intensity of Victor’s gaze. He tilts his head to the side, squinting against the harsh sunlight. “How have you been?”

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “Good. You?” My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt, and I tuck a few flyaways behind my ear, all too aware of his eyes darting to my engagement ring.

Victor’s jaw clenches, and a flicker of something—hurt, anger, disappointment…jealousy? No freaking way—crosses his face before he composes himself. “So you’re still going through with it? You’re still marrying him,” he clarifies, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

I lift my chin defiantly, not wanting to have this conversation, but better now than later. “I’m still wearing his ring, aren’t I?”

“Did he tell you to stay away from me?” His words come out in a low, controlled voice, but I can hear the undercurrent of frustration beneath them.

I open my mouth, then close it again, struggling to find the right words. “He…I-I’ve been sleeping in lately.”

He drags both hands up and down the bridge of his nose. “He’s a manipulative asshole.”

“You don’t know him. We never talk about him. All you have to go off is that one time when we were together.”

“What else is there to know? He treats you like shit. I was there. I saw it with my own fucking eyes. You really want to be with someone like him?” Victor’s icy blues fill with sorrow and pity, making me feel weak and small. “You deserve better than him.”

“He has a good heart. He saves lives.” It feels like a lame excuse even as the words tumble out. But I want Victor’s approval. He needs to know I’m okay. They all do. “I’m okay. Really. We’re fine.”

“But you’re not, though. It’s just a comforting lie that you’re telling yourself because it’s easier than facing the truth.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. But I can’t back down. Not when he’s attacking the person I’ve chosen to be with. Shock, hurt, and anger wrap around me like an extension cord cutting off my air. “The truth? You need to stay out of my relationship and worry about your own.”

A flicker of pain crosses his face, vanishing instantly as his expression turns to stone. “The last thing I want to do is upset you. But answer me this.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Has he ever hit you?”

Panic courses through me, replacing my irritation. Why would he ask me that? Ian wouldn’t do that. “What? No,” I scoff. Doubt lingers in his eyes, skepticism etched into his features. Desperate to reassure him, I step closer and place my trembling hands on his warm, solid chest. “I’m serious, Victor. He’s never hit me.”

There’s an undeniable charge that hums through me as his gaze trails from where my hands rest on his chest to focusing on my uncertain smile. “Okay,” he murmurs, yet his eyes are clouded with lingering doubt.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Thank you for being my friend. And thank you for standing up for me that night.”

“I’ll do it again in a heartbeat. No question.”

A tiny, grateful smile twitches at my lips. “I know you would. But you don’t have to do that. You don’t have to worry about me. You can’t.” I move my hands from his chest, immediately mourning the loss.

---