Page 45 of Sunshine & Sinful

But Dark isn’t ready to simmer down when he swings his ire from me to his father. “You’re fucking my wife!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sunshine shakes his head and sighs. “She’s not your wife, son. And yeah. Sure. We’re fucking. I already asked her to marry me.”

“You what?”

The older man strokes his beard and shrugs a single shoulder. “I warned you.”

Warned him of what?

A horrific laugh rips from Dark’s soul. His red-rimmed eyes fill with tears, and a single tear slides down his cheek. Whipping away from us as if he doesn’t want us to see him upset, the muscles in his shoulders bunch beneath the tight cotton of his shirt. He mumbles something to himself, then expels an audible breath.

From the couch, Anthony watches our little soap opera play out.

Sunshine wraps an arm around my waist and gives me a supportive squeeze as I pretend I’m not affected. But watching Dark come apart at the seams, showing his soft underbelly, does something to me. Something I don’t like. Something I don’t want to acknowledge, much less talk about.

Shuddering, he swipes wetness from his face and discards it on his pants.

“Are you marrying him?” Dark rasps, voice raw with emotion.

“I don’t know. But we’re not here about that. We’re here about Anthony.” I don’t know what he expects from me. I haven’t had a single moment to think about the insane marriage proposal, much less anything else, withtheir constant whiplash the past few days. I’m barely keeping my head above water.

On a nod, as if that reply is good enough for now, Dark spins back around to face the group. Lifting the hem of his t-shirt, exposing half his abs, he wipes his tear-stained face, leaving a blotchy mess in his wake.

“Penelope?” I ask, tapping my foot, determined to deal with the imminent stalker situation. Ya know. The man who has a shrine in his attic dedicated to me. I’m sorry, but that’s far more pressing than whether I’m fucking Dark’s father or not. Stalker Shrine always trumps dating, fucking, or marrying my ex-father-in-law. At least for now, until we get this situated. Afterward, we can mark another thing off our list, like asking said man why he wants to marry me in the first place.

“She’s Maxim’s wife,” Dark announces as if that’s answer enough.

“She’s your what?”

“Maxim’swife,” Dark emphasizes as if I can’t differentiate him from his distinguished alter ego. Clark Kent was always Clark Kent, even in the suit, and Dark is no Superman, even if he resembles Henry Cavil. So, he can quit it with the flip ‘em and reverse babble.

“You’re Maxim,” I point out, obviously. “So, you’re married to another woman? For how long?” Waiting for him to get to the point, my toe continues to tap the vintage carpet as my anxiety ratchets up to the next level. Something tells me I’m not going to like the answer. Not that I expect to.

Stuffing his hands into his front pockets, Dark stares off into the distance, deep in thought, and hums amoment later as if he’s plucked the answer from a sea of half-truths floating in his brain. “Ten-ish years?”

Yep. I was right. I don’t like that answer at all.

“Before Abby?” I verify, my voice eerily calm, even to my ears.

He pauses to think about it again before validating the horrible truth. “Yeah. Before Abby.” His reply is low and sulky—full of guilt, but not enough to sway him not to sleep with other women when we were a couple or, I don’t know, marry one when married to another.

Fed up with all these men and their lying, deceitful bullshit, I don’t hesitate when I launch myself at Dark like Harley Quinn, minus her weapon of choice. My fist will have to do when I swing first and worry about the consequences later. On an internal war cry, I connect with Dark’s cheek, and pain blasts up my arm. Gritting my teeth, I land another blow, then another, burning rage as my fuel. Dark doesn’t try to stop me. He takes it. Standing there like a goddamn martyr, absorbing anything I’ve got, and I’m not even close to being done.

“You lying, son of a bitch!” I shove him in the chest. Dark stumbles backward, hands still in his pockets.

“I didn’t mean for you to ever find out.”

“That’s worse!” I slap him across the face. The sharp sound echoes off the paneled walls, and he takes it in stride, absorbing the blow, and then the next as high-octane adrenaline mixed with a decade of hurt continues to dump into my system. Nobody tries to stop me. Not even Sunshine, who stands back when I sock Dark in the gut, and he folds in half, all the air expelling from his lungs in a rush.

“Fuck,” he croaks, dropping to a knee. “You’re a hellion, babe.”

“And you’re a lying piece of shit. Do you have kids with this one, too?” I snarl, bouncing on the balls of my feet, waiting for him to get back up so I can hurt him all over again.

Looking up at me from the floor, his expression pinches as if I’ve offended him. “No. Of course not.”

“Then you better tell me what the hell this pervert…” I jab two fingers at Anthony. “Has to do with your goddamn wife.”

“That. I don’t know. That’s what I came here to find out.”

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