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She drops her eyes from mine to her empty ring finger in a meaningful gesture.

“Look, Adonis. You can have your plaything on the side, but you have to admit it was in poor taste to bring her to the gala. Especially when she doesn’t know her place.” She feigns a shudder. “The poor girl looked devastated when I told her who I was.”

That’s the first thing she’s said that holds my attention, and I inch closer, not missing the triumphant smirk on her lips.

Delilah doesn’t deserve the confusion she’s feeling right now and that’s on me.

I fucked up. Regret sits in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight.

“You went out of your way to talk to her. And for what? To hurt her feelings? You could have left that shit alone and said what you wanted to me.”

I almost miss the flash of remorse in her eyes. She hides it by looking away from me. “She’s nice. But you know shedoesn’t belong here. That’s a hard lesson to learn but somebody had to teach her.”

Without warning, my fingers clamp around her jaw, squeezing once, then twice when her eyes buck. “What the fuck did you say to her?”

“I already told you. I introduced myself as your fiancée.” She shrugs. “That’s it.”

I stare her down as people pass us by, not caring that they see me with my hand locked around my future wife’s face in public. As far as they know, we’re having a passionate debate.

Chiara’s pupils shrink as she stares up at me, and I shake my head.

“Why do you care if your side piece gets her feelings hurt, anyway? You should be worried about how I feel.”

“That’s a two-way street, Chiara. If you wanted me to care about how you feel, you shouldn’t have followed her to the bathroom to stake your claim when you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I had my assumptions and you’re proving them right.”

“Fuck your assumptions. You should have left it alone.”

“You’re telling me you don’t feel anything for her?”

“Nah, I’m telling you what I feel for anybody is none of your business.”

“Youaremy business. You’re going to be my husband.” Her voice is tight, and not because of the grip I have on her.

Just as quickly as I grabbed her, I release her and create space between us. That’s the most I ever touched her, and it feels like a betrayal.

In the absence of my touch, she works her jaw from side to side. “Wow, if you had a fraction of the feelings you clearly have for her for me, our marriage wouldn’t be doomed before we signed the license.”

“Don’t act like you want me suddenly, Chiara. I know the real reason you spend all your time in France. Tell Rafael I said what’s up.”

She doesn’t conceal the languid smile his name elicits. “At least I had enough sense not to bring him here tonight.”

A second later, Chiara erases the space I just created and stands on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “And since you look so helpless, you should know little Ms. Delilah has been in the corner, talking to Percy Peterson for the last fifteen minutes.”

The din of everything except her voice fades.

“I know how much you love him,” she adds in a deceptively sweet voice. “So, I’ll let you go, Adonis.” With that, she walks away, hips swaying too hard, head held too high.

In the corner.

Percy Peterson.

I find them in seconds and clench my hand in my pocket at the arm he has draped over her shoulder.

I know it’s my fault. I know I fucked up. But I still don’t like that shit.

Twenty steps. That’s how far I make it in their direction before Percy grabs Delilah’s hand in his and shelets him. Two more steps and I watch them walk out of the ballroom through a side exit.