Page 122 of Bad Little Bride

“Ourname.”

He slams his lips to mine, his tongue sweeping in and choking me, before tearing free. “You are all that I imagined you to be, Mrs. Fikile.”

“So you’ve said before.”

He smirks, but then he blinks, and a serious expression takes over. “I wasn’t just trying to get rid of her. We do have…unexpected business to attend to.”

“What kind of business?”

He frowns deeply, looking up at the top of the terrace. I follow his gaze, mine clashing with the dark-haired girl from the other day.

“Enzo, why is Raven Brayshaw standing in the very place I kicked her out of?”

“Because apparently, Bastian Bishop wants to get his ass kicked.”

“He didn’t tell you she was coming?”

“Oh no, he did.” He frowns. “But he left out the part where she was bringing her whole fucking family with her.”

“And what is it that they want?”

He waits for me to look his way before speaking. “Whatever it is, you’re the person they think they can get it from.”

My brows snap together, and I look up again. This time, the girl waves, hopping up and sitting on the edge of the terrace, her legs hanging over like it’s not a sixty-foot or more drop.

I watch as the tall, dark-haired one comes up behind her the minute she does, hauling her off, and smirk when I hear her start to bitch.

“Okay, well. If it’s me they want to talk to, they can wait until I’m ready to talk to them.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I need to shower and then we can hear what they have to say.”

“You need to shower,and eat,and then we can listen to what they have to say out of respect for Bastian before I tell them to fuck off.”

I can’t help the small laugh that leaves me, and Enzo smiles in response.

He holds a hand out, and I slip mine inside, the two of us heading to our room.

The unwanted guests are made to wait nearly two hours before I step out onto the terrace, dressed in armor in the form of winged liner and blood red lips.

They stop speaking as I approach, and I lower into the chair Enzo pulls out for me without a word, his hands instantly falling to my shoulders.

I nod my thanks when my cappuccino, already fixed to my liking, is instantly set in front of me, the server silently disappearing into the house. I take a small sip then look around from one person to the next, settling my gaze on the one who is clearly in charge here.

Raven herself.

She smirks.

I lift a brow.

“Is that hot chocolate?”

My head yanks toward the tattooed male who breaks the silence with his random-ass question, and just in time to watch the white-haired, clearly pregnant girl smack him in the chest. “Sorry.” She smiles, adjusting her sunglasses.

I’m tempted to tell her to take them off so I can see her face fully, but then one of the Fikile guards catches my attention, bandana slung across his face per usual, and decide she can keep them. For now.

“What do you want?” I say, slowly facing Raven again.

---