Page 86 of A Game So Reckless

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed on two fronts tonight, pet.”

I hold up the bodice of my dress against my chest and pause.

“The first is that, despite all the ruining that happened tonight, you’ll still be married. And soon.”

My blood cools rapidly.

“What do you mean?” I demand. “What the hell are you-”

“The second,” he interrupts, “is that I will not be adhering to the other set of terms you laid out for our chess match. I took your virginity. But I won’t be staying away from you.”

Shameful relief, then anguish, pour through me in equal measure.

“But you… You can’t… That’s not fair!”

“Never said that I play fair. I said I play for keeps.”

“But you didn’t even win!”

“Doesn’t matter.” He closes the distance between us and pinches my chin between his fingers. “I won the day I convinced your da to give you to me.”

The blood that was cool turns to ice, and then feels like it leaves my body entirely.

“What are you saying?” I ask through numb lips.

“I’m saying that we are already engaged,” he replies simply. Bluntly. A brutal statement of fact. “We have been for the past two weeks.”

“Are you shitting me?” I smack his hand away from my face. “You got all pissed off about not knowing my true intentions for why I wanted to have sex with you tonight? And now, here you are, dropping this bomb on me? Really, Darragh?”

I’m shaking. I’m so angry I can’t think. I release my dress and let it fall, smacking my hands wildly against Darragh’s shoulders, his chest. He stands there and takes it, because it probably feels like nothing at all to him. But I have to dosomething. I might literally die from this feeling if I don’t.

“Fuck you, Darragh,” I spit, slapping and clawing and banging my fists on him. I can’t believe, after everything, that he’s trapped me like this. I thought I was the one moving the pieces around the chessboard. Meanwhile, he found a way to rig the entire fucking game. He went around me, past me, right over my head.

He went straight to my papà. Bought me the same way the Fabbris did.

“I hate you,” I cry. It’s only then that Darragh finally seizes my wrists and makes me stop. I wonder if I’ve finally pushed him too far, but all he says is, “Careful. You’ll break one of your pretty nails that way.”

“My pretty nails?” I laugh, but it’s so bitter. “Like the ones that gave you the marks you’ve now got tattooed on your arm?Thosenails?”

Darragh doesn’t answer me. Nor does he let go of my wrists. He holds them in his iron grip. His thumbs stroke, as if unconsciously, against my skin. When he finally does speak, he only mutters, “Valentina-” before he’s cut off by a sudden buzzing.

His cheeks tighten with irritation. He finally lets go of me to pull his phone out of his back pocket. As he swiftly rejects the call, I take advantage of my moment of freedom and yank on my bra and dress. I’m just fumbling with the zipper at the back when Darragh’s phone begins to buzz again.

This time, he doesn’t ignore the call. He stabs at the accept button and puts it to his ear.

“Rowan, this entire city better be on fucking fire.”

I can’t hear whatever the other guy Rowan is saying. All I can do is watch as Darragh’s jaw goes slack with shock. Then so tight I think his molars might crack.

He lowers his phone, stares at it for a second, as if he’s not quite sure how it got in his hand, then slowly puts it back in his pocket.

Then, he stabs his fingers under the chessboard and sends the entire thing – pieces and all – smashing against the nearest bookshelf. My stomach drops, then clenches painfully, as the sound of the impact crashes through the room. The pieces clatter chaotically to the floor like hail.

Darragh doesn’t look down at the disaster he’s created. I’m not sure he even registers it. His gaze is unfocused and remote as it rests on the spines of the books ahead. Stillness chains him. I’m not sure he even breathes.

But then, that stillness shatters. He bursts into agitated motion. His suit jacket flies from the back of the chair as he rips it away and yanks it on without looking at me. Out of nowhere, he says, “I have to go to Ireland.”

“Ireland?” I stare at the disaster of scattered chess pieces on the floor. Rooks and royalty and pawns. “What, you’re already so done with this conversation that you’re going to fly across the ocean?”

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