Page 17 of Violent Reign (Violent Kingdom)

I’ll never enterthe ballroom at the Palatial Hotel again without seeing the memory of my father standing there, looking confused while that red patch on his shirt grew bigger and bigger. Some part of me will always be frozen there, watching him fall into the pool.

A loud bang echoes in the night, and everyone still on the outside deck draws in a collective gasp.

Joshua’s hand wraps around my wrist as he jerks me into his side. For once I’m not trying to stop him — I’m craning my neck, searching for the origin of the noise, or at least the damage. The first thing that comes to mind is ‘It’s probably just fireworks’. The second is ‘What the fuck has Will done?’

I get my answer soon enough. I scan the guests, but nobody seems to be hurt, just rattled. I check off my nearest and dearest — Nathan and Jennifer are standing beside the exit, seemingly oblivious as she tucks her blonde hair behind her ear and giggles at whatever story he’s telling her. Uncle Enzo is at the bar that sits beside the far end of the pool, his hand outstretched and waiting for a fresh beverage. And my father is standing at a long table beside the pool that is groaning with food and champagne glasses, a few feet from Enzo, a strange expression on his face.

It’s dark, but not dark enough that I don’t see the red spot on my father’s white shirt. At first I dismiss it, thinking it’s just the rose he had tucked into his suit jacket earlier, but then I see the round spot spread across his shirt, getting wider.

“Daddy?” I yell across the pool. My father takes a faltering step toward the pool’s edge, still on his feet, still looking completely fine apart from the red on his shirt and the strange, frozen expression on his face. He looks toward me, his glass falling from his hand in slow motion as he grabs for something to steady himself. He catches the end of the table with his hand, but it doesn’t slow his trajectory forward, into the pool. I hear a scream as he hits the water’s surface, and it takes me a second to realize the sound is coming from me.

The table full of food crashes into the pool a second later, tortilla chips and napkins scattering across the water’s surface as a widening puddle of blood marks the spot where my father is rapidly sinking to the pool’s bottom. People scream and flee, confusion in the herd, everyone trying to fit through the double doors that lead to the ballroom and beyond.

That’s why Nathan chose this place for our wedding reception. God, I hate him. I hate him more than I ever thought possible. Back on that night, when everything started, I thought I couldn’t possibly hate anything more than the fact of having to be engaged to Joshua Grayson. I wore that dress like it was a ten-thousand-dollar gilded cage. That version of Avery Capulet had no idea. Now the cage is inside me. The dress is a pretty decoration to hide it from everyone else.

When the doors to the ballroom open, Nathan and I are in a picture-worthy pose. He’s leaning down to nuzzle my forehead with his nose, a wide grin on his face. I’m beaming, looking as elegant as I possibly can while I take in the room. While I watch my father fall again and again and again. Every noise in here sounds like the splash his body made when it hit the water. Applause bleeds into screams. A knife against a plate turns into a gunshot. I don’t realize I’m trembling until Nathan speaks.

“Stop shaking.”

“I can’t,” I reply quietly. “I think it’s called PTSD.”

“You want a valium?”

I fake smile for the crowd. “No, I don’t want a fucking valium,” I hiss under my breath.

Nathan’s grip on me tightens, and I can tell he’s annoyed. “I’ve got some of those heart-shaped pills your little boyfriend makes.”

“Just give me some champagne already to drown my sorrows,” I mutter. We’re walking through the crowd, almost to the dancefloor, when Nathan grabs two champagne flutes from a nearby waiter’s tray and hands one to me. The wedding planner looks alarmed as Nathan looks at her, mouthing the wordToast. She quickly recovers, though, nudging Eliza and whispering in her ear. Without missing a beat, Eliza steps out of the crowd and raises her own glass.

“A toast to the bride and groom!” she says loudly, the smile on her face as fake as the goddamn spray tan Nathan insisted I get yesterday to make me look “less sickly”.

I raise my own glass, my smile genuine for a moment. The champagne is cold, and crisp, and bubbly, and it tickles my nose as I gulp the entire glass. At least getting a slight buzz might help me get through this complete fucking farce of a wedding reception.

I’m swallowing my last mouthful when I see Tyler Capulet standing near Eliza, a phone in his hand, recording all of this as he eyeballs me with those cold, dead eyes at the same time. I start to choke. Nathan whacks me on the back, following my gaze to see Tyler staring back at us.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” I cough behind the safety of my empty glass.

“Facetiming your little boyfriend,” Nathan murmurs. “Can’t let him miss out on your special day, right?”

I turn to face Nathan, because as much as I’d love to scream out to the crowd for assistance, if someone does manage to read my lips and figure out what I’m saying, Rome is as good as dead and buried. “I don’t want him here,” I grind out. “I don’t feel safe with him anywhere near me. Give me this one mercy, Nathan.”

Nathan smiles affectionately, as if I’ve just told him the funniest private joke. “No need to worry, Aves. Everything’s perfectly safe. Capulet security is here. And now that we’re together, they’re more invested than ever in keeping us safe.”

“Make him leave,” I beg. “Please.”

“If you’re averywell-behaved bride, I’ll tell him to go in a bit.” Nathan’s voice slithers into my thoughts and makes my stomach turn.

The best DJ in San Francisco is playing “our song” in the corner while Nathan takes me into the center of the giant room. It’s a shame. I actually liked this song, once upon a time. Now, I want to burst my own eardrums and let them bleed out of my ears if it means I don’t have to hear this godforsaken tune for one more second.

The music transitions smoothly to a slow dance. Eliza watches, misty-eyed, while Nathan takes one hand in his and puts his other on my waist, and we come together like only Capulets could. A fucked-up childhood does not excuse a Capulet from learning how to dance. And Nathan, I have to admit, is excellent at it. I can turn my mind off and let him move my body. Eliza’s not crying out of happiness, I see. Nathan whirls me around and I get a third look at her, and a fourth. She doesn’t want to let her precious baby go. She looks almost jealous. I guess he can’t be in her bed every night if he’s in mine.Gross.

When the dance finishes Nathan is loose, his eyes bright. He’s won, for the moment, and I’m just as trapped here as I would be in his apartment. The tracker and the guests are enough for him to give me some breathing room. A group of guy friends surround him, patting his shoulders and congratulating him with sharp eyes at me. For a hot second it feels like we’re in olden times, when two families would come together and make bawdy jokes right up until they tucked us both into bed and listened outside the door for proof of consummation.

Eugh.

I don’t have a group of women, aside from Jennifer, who needs to sit down. We go to the bridal table and I pull her down next to me.

“People-watching.” I arrange her hair over her shoulder and she gives me a weak smile. “We can just—”

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