Page 46 of Bad Little Bride

“Oh my, Boston Revenaw, is this where you’ve been hiding?”

“When’s the wedding!”

“You make a lovely couple!”

“Does this mean he’ll be your date to the Greyson Gala this season?”

If he doesn’t divorce me and marry someone new by then, sure.

I discreetly fill my lungs.

Holy shit, this is happening. After months of hiding our arrangement, we’re finally to this point.

By morning, everyone will have heard. Envy will spin in the halls of Greyson Elite and anger will boil among the underground union that keeps the criminals in check.

Enzo’s jaw presses at my temple then, a deliberate move to look as though he can’t help but want to be closer, and the photographers damn near grow hearts in their eyes.

The bachelor is a bachelor no more.

Too bad he never was.

He gives me a small squeeze and we start moving once again. We get two steps off the curb, one step on the red carpet when he halts. Curious, I glance up and over my shoulder at him. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and when he looks behind us, one hand leaving my hip and outstretching toward the girl in the golden gown still frozen by the SUV, something in me cracks a little. Maybe it’s my pride. Maybe it’s my last shred of confidence, as fleeting as it was.

Maybe it’s that ugly little thing that starts with an H and ends with an E. I tried to drown that dangerous state of mind months ago when he brought me to his estate for that three-monthget to know my daughtercrap my dad demanded, only to completely ignore me the entire duration of my stay.

Whatever it is, it drags that metaphorical key in my back down, scraping and stabbing against my spine inch by treacherous inch.

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Katana steps up, smiling wide from him to me, clearly understanding her assignment. My head snaps forward, the curve of my lips lacking and strangled, the heat of humiliation threatening to set me aflame when his now free arm slings around her shoulders, tugging her in close like we’re some kind of fucking thriving throuple.

I don’t dare look at them; I’m too busy trying not to pass out from the lack of air in my lungs. The fingers on my hip loosen and then unlatch and a heavy pressure falls on my chest as I’m released, but I keep my head held high as I take the steps aheadalone. Just as I reach the last one, a strong hand wraps around my clammy one, halting me.

Aware of how bad it would look if I deliberately ignored his touch, I force myself to acknowledge him.

His dark eyes narrow, his brow furrowing, but only for a second before he rights himself. A cool mask of indifference, his standard expression, slips back in with ease.

I think I hate him.

He hurries up the steps he didn’t even know I had climbed, Katana’s arm now wrapped around his. My eyes meet hers a moment, but she doesn’t break the gleeful expression on her pretty fucking face.

Finally, we’re through the doors, the cameras closed off at our backs, and I subtly yank away, putting a few feet between us as I press my palms to my stomach, trying for a full breath.

The world must really hate me, though, because not a second later my sister bursts through the entryway, her red lips curved high. “Finally!” Rocklin smiles, a smile that falls flat the second her eyes meet mine.

Call it twin telepathy, but she catches the warning I don’t have to speak or express, and that smile comes right back. “I was about to send a team after proof of life,” she teases, wrapping me in a hug. “Are we planning a murder?” she whispers.

“Not yet,” I breathe back, both of us hold on for a moment longer than necessary, remembering the last time we saw each other was when our dad was out to kill her guy and give her to the man who was supposed to be mine.

The man who still has a certain, dark-haired ex under his arm.

God, this is so humiliating. How am I supposed to explain this in a way that will keep my family’s weapons hidden beneath their cocktail attire?

“What’s with the shoes?” Rocklin wonders aloud as she turns toward Enzo and hisotherdate.

I tense, waiting for her reaction, certain it will be a glare if not a second dagger thrown, making a twin-like mark to match mine. Rocklin does neither of those things.

My sister smiles, and to my horror, it’s real. “Katana! He finally let you out of the house.”

---