Page 3 of Hate Mates

Of all the men in Manhattan…in the world, in fact, and I’ve ended up with Kingston Viacava as myunhappily ever after.

His reputation alone boils my blood. It doesn’t matter that his six-foot-four build packs out his wedding suit in all the right places. Or that ninety-nine percent of the female population would scratch out my eyes to have his wedding ring on their finger.

Me? I’m thinking of cutting that finger off so I don’t have to feel the weight of my vows every damn day.

Looks aren’t everything. And being his fake wife won’t change my opinion of his cutthroat family. Nor will it change how I’ll live my life after tonight.

My father promised me this arrangement with Kingston would be business only. No sharing of beds. No pointless time spent in each other’s company and definitely no display of affection beyond public appearances.

However, Kingston seems to have other ideas. Ideas that will give his new wife a motive to kill him.

The fairy light lit terrace is peaceful, except for the faint hum of the wedding party inside. Fresh air chills my bare shoulders. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself as I lean against the stone railing, staring over the Manhattan skyline.

Coming to America should have been my moment of freedom. I’d imagined it a hundred times over—living in New York as a twenty-one-year-old single woman on a mission to stay out of the family drug business.

But now, wearing a stupid-looking dress that I didn’t choose, a gaudy Italian tiara encrusted with blood diamonds, and having a surname that isn’t mine, I’m more trapped than I was back home in Dublin.

“Running away already, wife?”

His voice, smooth and taunting, sends a ripple of tension down my spine. I don’t turn to face him. I don’t have to. Kingston has a way of filling a space by just existing in it.

“You caught me,” I say flatly, though my heart hammers in my chest. “Now what are you going to do? Drag me back inside by my hair before anyone notices that I’d rather be out here alone than sit with you?”

His chuckle is low, dark, and seductively rich. “As tempting as that sounds, Livvie, I think I’d prefer to watch you sulk out here like a spoiled little princess.”

I turn, glaring at him. He prowls towards me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey. The amber liquid glints in the moonlight. But his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—they hold mine. Always watching. Always knowing.

“Sulking?” I shrug. “Nah, I just needed a break. Fromyou.”

He raises an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his drink as he considers me.

“You’re a smart woman, Livvie. You fully understand how that wedding band you’re wearing means you’re not single anymore. There’s no ‘break’ from me. Ever.”

The way he says it—so calm, so absolute—makes my stomach twist.

“C’mon, Kingston. I’m sure you’ve got a few working brain cells in that big head of yours,” I shoot back. “Youunderstand that our boring wedding was bullshit. All this is a pantomime. It means nothing to us as a couple. We don’t have to play house just because our families forced us into this. You stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine. It’s that simple.”

Kingston laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that sets my nerves on edge. He kills the distance between us in a few measured steps, his presence overwhelming.

“And here I thought you understood the position.”

He sets the glass on the railing beside me and leans in, caging me between his arms. The scent of whiskey and cedar invades my senses, making it impossible to focus.

“You don’t get your own lane, Livvie. Today, you crossed over into mine. You’remywife now. And you don’t get to walk away from me either, especially on our wedding night.”

I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze.

“I’m only your wife by name, Kingston. Nothing more.”

His dark eyes sweep over me, lingering on the neckline of my dress before meeting my glare. Slowly, purposely, he reaches for my hand.

“Let go of me,” I say, rolling my eyes. “No fucking touching.”

Ignoring me, he lifts my hand to his lips and presses a slow, searing kiss to my wedding finger, right below the huge diamond solitaire engagement ring that matches my jeweled wedding ring. His lips are warm, the scrape of his stubble sending tingles racing through me.

“Everyone knows the O’Callaghan men are ugly Irish fuckers, but you, Livvie, you stand out from the crowd,” he murmurs, his deep voice dripping with mock sincerity. “You’re the perfect Viacava bride.”

“Wow!” I fake a gasp. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think that was close to a compliment. You can’t bullshit me, Kingston. I won’t fall for your lies.”

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