Page 35 of Dukes of Peril

Wicker casts his eyes around the restaurant. “She here to say otherwise? Ah, that’s right.” He snaps his fingers, like he’s remembering something. “She’s gone. Probably deader than a doornail.”

“That’s enough,” I growl, noticing the eyes on us. “Felix fucked around and found out. Don’t act like a Prince wouldn’t do the same for his Princess. You know, assuming you had the pedigree to be arealRoyal.”

He drags his eyes off Lavinia’s chest, and I see something flicker across his face. Anger? Offense? “The Princess would never be in a situation like that in the first place. At a hand-off?” He scoffs. “Our women are treated like queens from the day they’re chosen, not dragged around like dogs.”

He doesn’t mention what happens after that. But Lavinia doesn’t miss a beat.

“Until they can’t give you an heir, and you toss them to the gutter.” She snorts. “Yeah, I met your former Princess that night. Autumn is her name? Used up and discarded at twenty-one. That’s the dream, alright.”

“You don’t know anything about the inner workings of PNZ.” He straightens, expression inexplicably smug. His eyes dart over to where his girlfriend waits. “Gotta go.” He pauses and gives me a grin. “Pro tip, Perilini: Always get a booth. It’s the best way to get a handjob during dinner.” He pauses, doing that annoying finger snap again. “Probably still not enough cover for you, eh?”

He struts off, and I’m left plucking at my collar, the necktie feeling unbearably tight. It’s joined by the hard snare of my heartbeat, the hot rush of my blood, and tendons straining with the urge to take a running tackle at his retreating figure.

“I can’t do this,” I say, the feeling of suffocation surrounding me.

She tears her glare away from him, swinging an alarmed look my way. “Do what?”

“This date.” I yank at my tie, loosening it for air. It doesn’t help. My blood feels like a living thing, pulsing and energized. “This is a fucking disaster, Lavinia. You know it. I know it. Wicker-fuckboy-Ashby knows it.”

She blinks at me. “You want to leave?”

“There’s no reason to put us through it. I mean, look at us.” I wave my hand over the table. “We’re not even compatible–anywhere. We can’t communicate. We argue all the time. I can hardly touch you without you flinching. We can’t even fuck.” My voice clips off and I inhale, trying to calm the stampede of my heart. “I’ve busted my ass all night to be the kind of guy you deserve, but let’s face it. I’mnot.” I stand, grabbing my jacket, and then I shrug it on so aggressively that I’m pretty sure I hear a rip. I reach for the wallet in my pocket to pay for the drinks, but there’s nothing there. It’s gone.

“Sy,” Lavinia says, face falling. “I know this has been a clusterfuck, but don’t—”

“Shit.” I pat my other pockets.

“What?” Her tone shifts to concern.

“My fucking wallet is gone.” Jesus. This is what I mean. Total disaster.Did I forget it?No.I put the valet ticket in there when we got out of the car. I bend, looking on the floor, under the tablecloth. Lavinia hops up, and my eyes flick behind her, where I see Wicker in his booth. His arms are extended along the back of the bench, a wide, smug grin plastered across his face.

I straighten. “Motherfucker.”

Before I even finish marching my way to his table, Wicker has the wallet held up, giving it a little wave. “Lose something, big guy?”

Anger swells in my chest, and I lunge. Lavinia’s hands grab at my jacket in a panicked attempt to hold me back, but we both know she’s too small to really do so. I hold back anyway, snatching the wallet from his hand with a sneer. “Gutless, petty theft. You’re definitely East End garbage.”

“And you’re poor,” he says, laughing obnoxiously. “It’s not like I’d really use your credit card. It’d get declined on appetizers alone.” His eyes shift to Lavinia, tongue sucking his teeth. “Date going badly, sweetie? It’s not too late to join me. If those bandages on your knees mean anything, I’m betting you know just how to pay your way.” He says to his date, “Tiff, scooch over a bit, make room for the Duchess.”

“That’s it,” Lavinia says, pushing past me. She grabs the drink in front of him and tosses it in his face.

Tiffany squeals, jolting to her feet. “My dress!”

“Youbitch,” Wicker snarls, jumping up.

I slam a hand on his shoulder, shoving him back down, and then jerk back my elbow, preparing to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. “Don’tyou fucking dare. If you think my brother has a hair trigger for the Duchess, then you should see how I react.”

Wicker’s face pales under his tan, and even though his glare doesn’t fall, I still see his Adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow. Tiffany whimpers, scooching around the booth in a futile attempt to escape.

“Ahem.”

A throat clears behind us, and slowly, I turn. A man dressed in a suit stands behind me, nervously hovering. I assume he’s the manager and right behind him is our alarmed looking waiter and what appears to be a security guard.

I don’t lower my arm, but I hold my fist, waiting.

“Mr. Perilini, it’s time for you to leave,” the man in the suit says in a quiet but firm voice. “Immediately, or I will call the police.”

Wicker’s lips tug into the smallest of smirks, and if Nick hadn’t just given that speech about putting the frat first, to hold ourselves to a higher public standard, I’d be ruining Wicker’s pretty face right about now.

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