Page 91 of Pitiful Lies

But now they made Giselle uncomfortable and I’m getting annoyed.

“Giovanna, play nice. Apologies, Mr. Fury, but I am so thrilled to make your acquaintance,” the stranger says.

I look at the man, John Chen, and at his extended hand and I don’t blink.

I have one hand on the back of Giselle’s neck and the other on her hip. Releasing her to shake this man’s hand is not something I’m inclined to do.

So, I don’t. John Chen raises an eyebrow and offers a quick bow.

“A pleasure, I’m sure. How are you enjoying your evening?” he asks with no trace of an accent.

He looks Asian, but I’m guessing he grew up right here in the states. Hell, for all I know his family has been here longer than mine.

I don’t answer because I don’t know him. And when his gaze flicks over Giselle, I accept I don’t need to know him. I just need him the fuck away from me.

My blood boils. I don’t know what the fuck Margaret is trying to pull tonight.

Maybe Luc and Nico are right. Maybe she’s a good fit. Ready to take over.

Or, more likely, little Miss O’Doyle is not ready for this responsibility.

But it’s still not my business. Giovanna is cuddling up to John now, but the fucker is still looking at my girl.

It’s not her fault. Giselle is a fucking knockout for sure. Truly, his aren’t the only eyes to stray her way tonight.

But he’s closer than those other fuckers. And his stare is lingering way too long.

The grip I have on my inner monster is starting to slip. I stand up straighter, pulling his attention back on me.

“Apologies, Mr. Fury, for staring. Your wife looks simply stunning tonight. You are a lucky man,” he says.

“Oh, thank you, but we—” Giselle starts to speak, but I apply some more pressure to her neck, and she closes her mouth.

“What brings you here, John?” I ask, ignoring his comment.

It’s better if I focus on why he’s there and not the way he talked about Giselle’s appearance.

Motherfucker.

Focus.

Suspicions swirl around my brain, and none of them are good.

“Oh, Margaret and I are old school friends, aren’t we? Of course, I am here to celebrate her ascension to the throne, as it were,” he says and Margaret smiles at him and nods.

But her smile is brittle.

It doesn’t reach her eyes. Giovanna is grabbing a shot of whiskey from the tray of a passing server, and I notice her smile is gone, too.

What the fuck?

Something isn’t right. And I am sick of all the pretense. But this is how the game is played. I have to bite my fucking tongue for now.

“I see,” I say, and offer one more nod before making our excuses.

“Perhaps I might have a dance with your wife,” John says, and if it wasn’t for Giselle’s tight grip on my arm, I swear I might hit this fucker.

I exhale and ignore him. Again.

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