Page 91 of Forbidden Romeo

“What?” I say, maybe a little too short.

Ray puts his hands up in surrender. “I was just wanting to ask if you’d had a chance to go to the bookies yet?”

“Not today, Ray,” I reply a little bitterly, continuing to scan the crowds.

“You sure?” Ray gives me a concerned look. “Kennedy is fighting; you always stick something on him.”

That distracts me enough to give him some attention. “Against who?”

Ray nods to Padraic, a few chairs down from me. “Ask him; he’s not told anyone yet.”

I glance over at theDead Eyeleader curiously. It’s not like him to be secretive about his fighters.

“He told me he has someone good,” I say, recalling our earlier conversation. “Bad luck to bet against him.”

Ray seems to consider this. “For you, maybe. I’m keeping my money on the guy I’ve seen KO in a single punch. Want me to stick a couple grand on for you? I won’t tell.”

I shake my head, and Ray offers me a half-hearted salute as he turns away.

The weight of the empty chair next to me feels heavier than it has any right to be.

Only tonight, it’s not going to be empty. That, I, at least, can reassure myself of. I’ve not seen Aimee since our meeting with Padraic. There’s so much we have yet to unpack about that little almost-disaster. But where Kate kept her all day, I still don’t know. And as if my nerves weren’t already fried, the two of them have yet to arrive.

But I’m not the only one glancing at the VIP entrance every few minutes, either. I’ve seen Padraic’s eyes dart over there a few times already. It seems he put out a gag order on our engagement—no one seems to know why he’s not yet made his welcome speech or announced his secret fighter. Apparently, he wants our guest of honor to be a surprise.

Just to add to the pressure on our performance.

“You will socialize, delight, and charm as many of our allies as you can. But most importantly, that girl needs to appear as if she’s in love with you.”

I wish I’d had a chance to speak to her before all this to let her know what she’s getting herself into tonight. It’s not fair that she has to come out here so ill-prepared for the wolves that will likely descend on her the moment she steps through those doors.

I try to distract myself by resuming my scans of the crowds. Every seat is now occupied, and more than a few are glancing at the clock. No doubt wondering when Padraic will finally begin.

Then it goes quiet.

It’s like someone hit the mute button. Every single person turns to look up at the VIP box.

I spin around, half expecting to find Connor Maguire himself poised to stab me in the back. Only for my knees to almost give out from under me.

Kate descends the stairs into the VIP box first—a vision in black, her hair perfectly parted down the middle. Objectively stunning, but no more so than one might expect at these kinds of events.

It’s the woman behind her that holds everyone’s utmost attention.

Aimee is nothing short of breathtaking. Her restored red hair fans out from her face in soft curls, making it look as if she’s been shrouded by fire itself. Perfectly darkened lashes frame her deep chocolate eyes. She gazes out into the crowd, a picture of indifference.

As if she is entirely unaware that there’s not a single man or woman in this room that wouldn’t want to be her or bed her.

The growling demon of jealousy lurches from my stomach. It wants to claw out every eye that looks at her with even an ounce of desire.

Mine.

She ismine.She’s my fiance. My wife.

But how can I blame them when she’s wearing that dress?

That red fucking dress.

Jesus Christ. She looks like sin incarnate.

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