Page 26 of Hostile King

Seated beside him, Bianca flicks jet black hair over her shoulder so the ends skim the backrest. She straightens, doing a one-eighty to look me right in the eye.

“Tomás.” She blinks, a big smile reaching her eyes the color of mysterious obsidian. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I reply cordially.

All the rumors I’d heard were true. Bianca Morales is striking with fluttery lashes, symmetrical features, and brilliant white teeth. Her glossy red lips are full and sexy curves sit in all the right places.

The end.

She’d be the perfect princess for some other guy, but for me, she’s a consolation prize.

Second best.

Average.

I’d spent years in a world of inner chaos, buried under a blanket of darkness that no one could lift. I had hardened myself against the taunts of a father who demanded perfection from a son with a flaw. More or less believing I’d never be cured, that I’d remain forever broken.

There were no fanciful dreams of an elaborate white wedding. No wishes for a bond with a woman who’d be strong enough to handle me. So, standing here with the prospect of a wife I don’t even know, makes my skin itch under my expensive dress shirt.

Not because she’s Bianca Morales—because she’snotCarina Ferreira. The woman I didn’t know I needed until I had pushed her away.

And now it’s too fucking late. I’ve made my bed and the wrong woman would end up sharing it. Or…I could watch the world burn at my feet and hold Carina hostage in a cage filled with ashes and bad mistakes.

“Maybe you two should have some alone time?” Mikel’s voice penetrates the awkward silence of regret.

“No,” I say quickly before I’m trapped in a room with only her. “I’ve got urgent business to take care of back in Bogotá. My pilot is on standby. We’ll sign the prenup and talk more at the rehearsal dinner.”

Bianca nods, her long ebony lashes batting wildly. “I’m picking out my wedding dress this week. We should talk about the color of your suit. Which of your brothers will be your best man?”

Wedding dresses. Suits. Best men. Fuck!

I exhale with frustration. “My mother will confirm the details with you. However, a black suit seems fitting for the occasion.” I offer an unimpressed smirk.

“Good choice.” Bianca licks her lips and rests a hand on her belly. Still nothing. No urge to fuck and conquer. “You look good in black.” She adds, her eyes turning to liquid like she’s into me.

Mikel claps twice. “You both agree on something. Your new relationship’s off to a great start.” He muses.

The cocky asshole.

Anger shoots through my icy veins. If I was a terrible poker player, I’d mistakenly reveal my cards. I’d let him know how close I am to snapping. How my jaw almost spasms from clenching so hard to bite back the truth.

Instead, I saunter to the glass fronted drinks cabinet at the far end of table, pour myself a bourbon and down it in two long gulps.

The irony of this otherwise austerely decorated room isn’t missed, it’s designed for formal mergers—arranged marriages. A legally binding business deal. Not declarations of undying love and togetherness.

Christ, I’ve turned into a miserable bastard.

“You're right, it won’t be long until Bianca belongs to me in every way. And then she’ll figure out how our relationship will work.” I pivot on the wooden floorboards and pin him with a no-nonsense stare. “I like my women to behave themselves in public and be obedient whores in the bedroom.”

My bare-faced lie catches his full attention, sending a ripple of disorder over his expression. But what’s meant to rile him, only serves to annoy me more. I don’t want anything from this woman. And the longer I stand here debating it, the more I’m tempted to unleash mayhem.

I’ve endured heartache before. Perhaps that was only a test run for the real thing. I was foolish to think I could handle it again without the cracks of my heart hemorrhaging.

Mikel’s face reddens with anger while his fists open and close. Bianca glances over at me, her sad scowl more telling than her brother's visible wrath. It pinches my last nerve, so I actually feel guilty for being an asshole.

She’s not much older than Carina. Maybe a few years at most and I’d kill any fucker who disrespected her. Once we’re married, I’d ultimately defend Bianca too—because I take care of family.

I refill my glass, pour a second and reach her in four strides. “I hope you know what you’ve got yourself into.”

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