Page 15 of Corrupt Vows

“You misunderstand. Is better this way. I like,” he explains with a gesture toward his sculpture. His lopsided smirk doesn’t match the intensity in his eyes, but I follow his motion and study his artwork. I tilt my head, wondering if a different angle will reveal whatever he likes about it, but my clay-colored handprints clash with the different shades of black and grey.

“Is…” He turns his attention skyward, as though he’s struggling to translate a word, but the hard glint in his eye fills me with skepticism. “Enticing. Alluring. Erotic.”

My stomach tightens. I clear my throat and tilt my head the other way.

“It’s your artwork, so I won’t argue,” I say, attempting to defuse the tension between us.

Ralf chuckles and leans down as though to tell me a secret.

“My lines are stark. Bold. Your hands are soft. Fragile.”

I swallow and step away, both uncomfortable with his nearness and his tone, but the juxtaposition between the outline of his sculpture—which vaguely resembles a half-burnt tree with exposed roots—and the delicate shape of my fingers registers, and my queasiness grows as I agree with him.

My touch turned his artwork from bleak and tragic to sexy and thought provoking.

“I think is happy accident,nyet?” he says with a shrug. He crosses his arms in what would be a casual movement on a normal man, but he gives off too much of a sinister vibe for me to see anything but danger.

I’m most likely blowing this way out of proportion, but I’m not willing to risk being wrong, not with my safety, so I tuck my wariness away and offer him a small smile.

“I’m glad it worked out, and I’m sorry again for causing a scene. I’ll be more careful,” I say.

He tilts his head and lifts his brow. Without taking his eyes off mine, he murmurs, “Maybe you should not. Sometimes best things in life come from mistakes. I would like if you made more with me.”

And now I know the real reason he has groupies. My heart skips a beat, even though I’d rather jump out the window than touch him again.

“For art, of course,” he adds.

“Of course,” I parrot back, because otherwise the moment is just too fucking awkward. Needing to get the hell away as fast as possible, I give a polite farewell and head into the hall.

My phone buzzes, reminding me I’m still on a call. I curse and pull it out of my apron pocket.

“Sorry, Alfie, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”

“Are you okay? You sound—”

“I’m fine. Kind of. It’s been areallylong day. A long week, actually,” I manage as my adrenaline fades and my bones shake.

“Is it because Camilla came home yesterday? I heard she stayed at the hospital longer than expected. Is she okay?”

“She’s…” I don’t know how to answer the question.

I sigh as Sebastian rises from the chair in the hall and follows me around the corner.

“She’ll be okay, eventually. Stop asking questions and let me say what I need to say.”

If he keeps lobbing words at me, I may never tell him. His hesitantokayscares the shit out of me. I take a deep breath and blow it out, but my heart continues to race.

With a warning glance at Sebastian, I step into the bathroom and check each stall is empty before giving my bodyguard a thumbs up and shutting the door between us.

I stare at my haggard reflection for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, but in the end, I blurt out the words before I lose my nerve.

“I’m marrying Nico Russo in four months. They’ll announce our engagement in three days.”

Water drips from the faucet. The fluorescent lights hum with electricity. Air rushes through the vent. A toilet in the adjacent men’s restroom flushes. I hold my breath as the silence continues.

“Are you pregnant?”

His question stabs me in the heart.

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