Page 5 of A Taste like Sin

“He wants you to arrest me, doesn’t he?” I suspect, my voice breaking. “Or commit me, or whatever

you can do to lock me away—”

“Juliana.” Damien’s hand lands over my shoulder. Even I know how insane I sound out loud.

Paranoid. Irrational.

Days of obsessing over Heyworth’s next move might do that to a person.

“You can tell him to go fuck himself,” I hiss. “Tell him to—”

“I believe you have witnessed more than enough to be assured that Ms. Thorne is perfectly safe, as

well as in her right mind,” Damien says over me. “If you please.”

When he touches my arm again, I have enough sense to follow, allowing him to guide me into another

section of the shadowy lobby. Then through a door and into a small sitting room.

“That will be all,” Damien says to the attendant, who scurries off. “Breathe,” he commands me.

“Getting upset now would only play into Thorne’s hands.”

I hate that he’s right. That he can read me—and my father—so damn well. Like pawns on a well-

studied chessboard. That’s all we are to him really. Mere pieces in a giant game.

“You think like him,” I croak, tearing my hands through my hair, desperate to keep them from shaking

—it doesn’t help. Helpless, I tug at the sleeves of my coat instead, straightening it over my black

cocktail dress. He suggested formal attire for tonight’s engagement—a bit of irony all things

considered. My life is in shambles, but at least I’m well dressed for the occasion. “Always about

appearances and propriety, and—”

“My reputation doesn’t depend on you,” Damien argues. “Frankly, we haven’t been publicly linked,

so I have no stake in ensuring the paparazzi doesn’t capture a front-page story of you having a

meltdown in a private club. So scream if you so choose. Rant. I will not judge you.”

God, it’s the wrong thing for him to say. Patient. Understanding.

Disarming.

“I would rather you be an ass right now,” I admit. “It would be easier to be furious.”

And I need to stay angry. Bitter. Callous.

Because if I can’t…

“Forget the rest of the world.” Like a wall of muscle, every contour of Damien hardens against me

from behind. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather we return to the show. Your sanitized narration has grown

on me—”