Rafael took me out to the Egyptian room and down a hall to a room where no one was in sight.
“What do you mean his plane crash wasn’t an accident? How do you know this? Are you lying just to get me here? There’s nothing between us. I’ve moved on, and so have you.”
“You’re going back to Paris with me. We’re getting married, and you’ll be saving your husband and your fashion brand. I’ve got an event next week. The paparazzi will be there. It’ll boost our personas and businesses. Our union will benefit both of us.”
I flicked him a disgusted gaze. “You don’t get it, Rafael. I’mnotmarrying you. The engagement was a mistake from the beginning. I’m not interested in a business transaction. We don’t love each other. Go home. Find another girl. You don’t have a problem with that. How about Elise or Chloe?”
“I wantyou.”
“Let’s be clear. You want the LaRue name, not me.”
He raked a gaze down my body. “I want you too.” He gripped my ass, and I slapped him, making my way out of the room. He reached for my arm, whirled me around, gripped my throat, and pushed me against the wall with his body pressing hard into mine. “Don’t you walk away from me! You need to learn how to—”
Rafael’s body flew away from me, and Grayson’s fist connected with the creep’s face. Rafael regained his composure as embarrassment coupled with anger flashed in his eyes. “You’re the fucker who killed Adonis.”
“No, you did.” Grayson’s voice was calm, but lethal, like a cobra surveying its prey. “You killed him and framed me. I’ve got a solid alibi. I heard he died from a gunshot wound. The cops are closing in on you.”
Rafael’s chin ticked with dismay. “I didn’t kill him, but yeah, I framed you.” A sly smile formed on his lips. “Anyone who touches my property deserves to be punished.” He looked at me.
Grayson stood between Rafael and me, his fingers flexing for battle. I sensed a dangerous storm erupting, so I interlaced my fingers with his, hoping that would calm him.
“Natalie is my girlfriend. It’s in your best interest to stay away from her.”
Rafael glared at our joined hands, then at me. “Slut.”
Grayson released my hand and charged at him. They fought with their bodies, fists, and legs. Grayson dodged a long arm and swung an uppercut that connected to Rafael’s chin. He punched him again before shoving Rafael against the wall with his forearm at his throat.
“Call her that again and Iwillkill you.” The violence in Grayson’s voice chilled me. “You as much as speak her name, walk into the same room as her, or even think about her—I’ll kill you. I’ll make sure everyone at Caputo Holdings knows how sick you are with young kids. Do you understand me?”
What was Grayson referring to?
Rafael’s eyes widened, but I wasn’t sure if it resulted from Grayson’s threat or if he was struggling to breathe.
“Do. You. Understand. Me?”
Rafael nodded, trying to yank Grayson’s forearm away.
Fearing Grayson might kill Rafael, I said, “I’m okay, Grayson. Let him go.”
Grayson released Rafael but kept his glare on him. If there was ever a glare that sliced like swords, this was it. My skin crawled from the promised threat.
Two security guards arrived, surrounded by four people who probably went to get help after witnessing the altercation.
“Is everything okay here?” The tall security guard walked up and examined the artifacts and paintings, probably making sure nothing was damaged.
I hadn’t realized I’d been trembling until Grayson wrapped his arm around my waist. “Everything’s fine with me. Check on him.”
“Are you okay, sir?” asked the shorter security guard with the bald head.
Rafael rubbed his chin, face, and neck before straightening his tuxedo. “Fine.” He shot Grayson a look before leaving the room abruptly. Image was important to Rafael, so he’d want to exit as fast as he could, fearing bad press. Had something happened to him? I hadn’t seen this kind of desperation in him before.
How did he know I’d be attending this event? What did he know about my dad’s death?
After speaking to the security guards and Attikus, who owned the museum, we could stay for the rest of the event.
Grayson led me to a private washroom, locked the door, and surveyed me. “Are you okay?” The tense lines between his eyebrows and his taut jaw showed he was still reeling from the fight.
I took his hand in mine, examining his fingers. “I’m okay. How’s your hand? Does it hurt?”