Page 31 of Till Death Do Us Part

“Should I be worried?”

“Noo.” She laughs, Georgina chuckling beside me. “It just loosens you up a bit. Mixed with alcohol, it won’t do much. You might just feel a little more mellow.”

Nodding, I pull it out of her hand, taking another drag. Mellow sounds like perfection. It goes down easier this time, the taste lingering on my tongue. Rosa has been smoking weed for years, but I’ve never dared to try it before now. Though I’m thinking I should have when it tickles my throat again, warming me nicely.

“This is nice,” I tell them happily, taking a sip of my drink to cool my throat. “It tastes pretty yummy, actually.”

“Hey, I can hook you up if you’re wanting some for at home,” Georgina says, resting her elbow on the table and dropping her head into her palm. “I can’t imagine it’s the easiest life being married to Antonio, a bit of grass might make it a more fun experience.”

“You know him?”

“Not well, but with Felicity living in that great big mansion, we’ve crossed paths a few times, and he always seems so grouchy. I can’t even think about what he’s like as a husband.”

“Not a good one,” I mumble, tipping more alcohol down my throat. “But thankfully, I don’t see a lot of him, so we manage all right, I guess.”

“Leo, though,” she gushes, continuing as if I hadn’t spoken as she fans her face dramatically. Felicity shakes her head in amusement, laughing lightly at her friends’ antics. “The things I would let that man do to me.”

My hand tightens around the glass, the grip strangling as my knuckles turn white. The girl isn’t saying anything I haven’t thought of myself.

So why, then, am I so bothered by her words?

There’s no denying Georgina is beautiful with her golden-brown skin, those chocolate eyes, and dark corkscrew curls that fall effortlessly to the middle of her back. Paired with the high-waisted tight black skirt she’s rocking and the red corset, she’s a solid ten out of ten.

Really, I should encourage her to go after him.

I am married to his friendand boss, after all.

And there is no doubt that they would make a stunning couple.

Yet the thought of her placing her hands anywhere on his body makes the pit in my stomach sink. Maybe it’s because he’s become my closest friend here. It has to be. Any other explanation is not something I can let myself think about.

“We need more alcohol,” Felicity shouts, swaying on her feet when she stands. “Let’s go girls.”

A chuckle flies out of my mouth at her choice of words, and all I can think of is Shania Twain singing “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” I push off the table, humming the song to myself as I stub out the rolled-up paper in my hand before following her inside.

Hours pass as we lose ourselves to the music filling the room. The mood is light and playful as we dance until hands grab at my waist, pulling me into the body behind me. I jerk away, reaching for the holster beneath my dress as my eyes close.

I’m not sure whether it’s the alcohol, or the weed—or maybe it’s just me—but something snaps inside of me as he places his hands on my body. The build-up of emotions comes flooding to the surface. I’m losing sight of everything around me as my fingers coil around the handle and I pull my SIG Sauer out into the open.

Gasps ring out as partiers realise what’s happening, but I don’t have the clear mind to give a shit about that right now. I press the barrel against his head, the metal kissing the centre of his forehead.

“You know.” I sigh, peeling my eyes open and locking on his face. “I’ve just about had enough of people touching me without my consent.”

“I di-d-n’t.” His head is shaking as his eyes fill with fear as his words fall out in a trembling breath.

“You did,” I tell him, cocking my head. I’d convinced myself I was doing okay and that being touched was okay. There is no anger when Leonardo puts his hands on me, no fear, just warmth and comfort.

But right now?

I can barely see over the red haze that has taken control of me. My reaction is more than over-the-top—I know that, and yet I can’t pull my hand away. “What gives you the right to place your hands on my body? To wrap your dirty fingers around my waist and pull me into you? What gives you the goddamn right?”

His eyes fill with tears, making him look nothing more than a scared little boy. If I was a better person, I might feel bad. I am a better person, usually.

Just not today.

My father taught me to shoot if I felt threatened, and deal with the consequences after. Shoot first, ask questions later. I’ve never agreed with the sentiments, but in this moment I’m too fuelled by rage. He’s actually lucky my brain is still coherent enough to ask the questions.

It’s a shame I can’t find it in myself to do this to my husband too. Maybe then my life wouldn’t be such a shitshow of pent-up emotions and rage that can only come out after a ridiculous amount of alcohol, weed, and one unlucky man who is in the wrong place at the wrong time.

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