Page 57 of Handsome Devil
Dylan balled her hands into fists, ready to physically assault my husband-to-be.
“We’re kind of in the middle of something.” I felt my face blistering with heat, still staring at the clerk. “Can’t it wait?”
“No.” Tate produced an AirPod from his pocket, tucking it into his ear. “It’s the Geneva client. He wants to pull out of the deal. I’m going to take this.” Tate pointed at his phone, pinningthe clerk with a glare. “When I’m back, you’ll cut through the red tape bullshit and seal the deal.”
He left me standing there, shooting embarrassed smiles at our witnesses, mumbling my apologies. He strolled in leisurely twenty minutes later like nothing happened.
My pulse hitched at the sight of him. I was so furious, I was surprised I didn’t burst into flames.
“Where were we?” Tate tucked his phone into his pocket, glancing between me and the clerk.
“You were getting married, sir.” The elderly clerk pushed his reading glasses up his nose with his middle finger. “And making a spectacle of the ceremony, if I may add.”
“You may not,” Tate said genially.
It took sheer resilience and all my restraint to go along with the wedding. The entire time, I reminded myself that I was doing it for Mum, saving what was left of my family. Tate continued texting his clients in Geneva throughout, ignoring everyone in the room.
I felt small and insignificant. A mere comma in somebody else’s story.
And then it was over. The papers had been signed. Vows were exchanged. Consent was given. Rings slid onto fingers.
We were husband and wife.
The clerk stood up and waddled his way to the door, shaking his head. Tate turned to face me.
“Iven’ll drive you home. I’m going to the Ferrantes’ to play some cards.”
I spun on my heel and burst out of the room before he had time to take a good look at my face.
He could have my future, but he’d never have my tears.
Usually runaway brides ditched their groomsbeforethe ceremony.
My wife was more creative than that, though.
Gia wasn’t in an agreeable mood. I followed her at a careful distance, cloaked by the night. What a pitiful creature. Not a single woman in the entire fucking GS Properties building who wouldn’t be ecstatic to take her place, and here she was, making a spectacle out of both of us.
She wandered aimlessly through the frosty streets of New York in her tiny shorts and hoodie. It was relatively warm for February, but I still didn’t like her chances of catching pneumonia. If she knew I was following her, she didn’t give it away.
My wife of ten minutes peered into bars and restaurants longingly, eyes halting on couples walking with their hands entwined.
How unreasonable of her to be mad that I was late, considering my plane was stranded. Equally unreasonable of her to expect I wouldn’t take an important business call, as I’d taken board meetings while buried in women’s pussies before.
I couldn’t believe she made me succumb to stalking her in full wedding attire in the middle of the fucking night.
She was so much work, I briefly considered asking her for a salary with full health benefits.
Eventually, the streets converged, and she edged into Times Square, blending in with the crowd.
Smart girl, I thought with satisfaction. Gia knew she was a target, so she wanted to disappear. She purposely walked into a sea of tourists, bought herself an ice cream, and stopped to look at Broadway schedules in a well-lit corner of the street.
It was two thirty in the morning when she decided to call it a night.
She walked briskly toward the street, tugging her phone out of her hoodie’s pocket, likely to order an Uber. She lowered her gaze to the screen and stopped at the curb.
In a flash, a nondescript black sedan pulled in front of her, camouflaged by the darkness. No license plate. Tinted windows.
A burly man wearing all black charged out of the back seat. He balled her hoodie in his fist, pulling her into the car.
