Page 53 of Bound By Ruin

One blow job in front of an entire club was enough for me.

Rage’s entire demeanor changes in an instant. “Then we won’t.” He grabs Rebel’s shoulder and squeezes, making the other man wince. “Leave, brother.”

Rebel whines loudly. “Man, I’m hungry, too! Let me eat!”

“Go find something else.”

“But this is catered! I picked the steak!”

“You can take it to-go when we leave.”

A couple approaches our table, the woman smiling at us while her partner pulls out her seat. I give her a quick smile before turning back to my men, but then an icy shiver rolls down my spine as a flare of recognition goes off in my brain. I flinch as she says my name, her voice eerily familiar.

“Is that you, Celia? We haven’t seen you since the—” Charlotte’s smile pinches as she looks over her shoulder at Caleb “Teddy” Kissinger, the man stunned into awkward silence as he stares directly at me.

My ex-husband Ted.

“Since the divorce,” I finish for her, forcing my smile to stick. “How funny to bump into you here.”

It’s not funny at all.

“Darling,” I say to Rage, grabbing his lapel. “Why don’t we come back later? I’m not that hungry after all.” Nausea broils in my gut, turning my mood sour. I haven’t seen Ted in person in years, keeping to internet stalking him and his new wife Charlotte. She arches her back and holds out her hand for his to get his attention, and that’s when I see it.

The baby bump.

“You’re expecting,” I cry, somehow unable to shut up. “Oh, how wonderful. You must be overjoyed.”

Both Rebel and Rage share a look before turning to the couple seated across from us. Ruin grunts in my ear and then murmurs something, but I’m too blinded by hurt so deep to understand what he’s saying.

Ted is having a baby.

While I’mstillchildless.

Charlotte smiles politely. “Thank you. This will be our second. We’re hoping for a girl this time.”

Rebel’s fingers immediately twine in mine on the table, in direct view of Ted and Charlotte, while Rage’s hand travels beneath the slit in my skirt to stroke my bare skin. “You need to eat,” Rage says gently. “Why don’t you introduce us to your friends?”

I close my eyes and nod once. I can do this. It’s not that hard to pretend that my heart isn’t breaking all over again. I’ve done it a thousand times; I’m sure I can do it again. “Nikolai,” I say, opting to use Rage’s real name. “Emil,” I continue, also using Rebel’s. As easy as it is to lie to strangers about a name, the last thing I want to do now is claim that these men—Rage or Nikolai, Rebel or Emil—are anythingbutmine.

It doesn’t matter what we call each other as long as we stay together.

“This is Ted and Charlotte. My ex-husband and his new wife.” I loop my fingers around Rage’s tie, unclipping it from his shirt. “These are my boyfriends,” I say to the other couple, keeping my smile as bright as possible. “They own a night club in the city.”

Ted sits beside his wife, his eyes pinging between the three of us. “That’s…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, choosing to swallow instead. Reaching for his water glass, he drinks half in one go. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Rebel’s smile ripples before it falls. “What does that mean?”

“Let it go, Emil,” Rage says quickly. “Teddy is simply awestruck that his ex-wife is doing so well. We take good care of her.” Grabbing my thigh, he makes me jump, my knees knocking into the underside of the table. “Andshe’s killing it with her fashion line. Isn’t that one of your designs, Celia?” He nods towards Charlotte’s cream-colored sweater dress. “I think I recognize it from last winter’s collection.”

My blood pressure rises as I realize that Ihaveto look at her again. Carefully, I turn my head to check Charlotte’s dress and try not to stare at her baby bump.

Rage is completely correct; that’s one of my most popular dresses from a year ago.

Of course, he also knows that he’s correct. I catch him staring at me with all the pride in the world, his thumb stroking gentle arcs into my skin beneath the table. “You have good tastes,” I say finally, feeling a little better. Seeing one of my designs out in the wild—and not a custom one for this evening—is always a treat. “It’s a beautiful color for your complexion.”

“Thank you!” As the server brings a wooden serving board of freshly baked bread to our table, she asks for pats of real butter rather than the oil and balsamic vinegar already set out. Eying the bread, she knocks the back of her hand against Ted’s chest. “Would you slice the bread for the table?”

“Gladly,” Rebel cuts in, tugging the board to our side of the table. He grabs the bread knife and holds it up for us all to admire. Flames from the fire pit in the center of the dining area flicker in the blade’s mirrored edge. “Funny thing about knives,” he says slowly, touching the sharp, serrated tips. “They sure know how to stab you in the back. Especially when you’re distracted.”

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