Page 11 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

Instead of pulling away, I wrap my arm around his waist and press my body against his.

He turns toward me in question, and I take advantage, slotting my chest against his front.

With our height difference, my breasts rest right below his pecs, and I can feel every pronounced ripple of his abs. Jesus, he must live at the gym.

I gaze up at Mace and bite my lip.

His eyes narrow and his plush mouth parts to ask a question.

Before I can think better of it, I rise on my toes, grab the back of his head and pull his lips to meet mine.

Mine smooth over his, and I swipe my tongue between the seam of his mouth.

He tastes like coffee and bad decisions.

Bittersweet. For a second, he’s too shocked to do anything, and before he can respond, I drop back to my heels and end the kiss as abruptly as he ended the conversation earlier.

Dark blue irises, endless like the ocean, search my face.

Someone beside us clears their throat. “Get a room, Red,” a guy grumbles.

Confusion morphs to irritation, and that shimmer of violence I catch from time to time radiates from Mace. The hairs on my forearm rise. He cuts a sharp look toward the man. The guy is wearing a department store suit and a sneer until he spots the way Mace is watching him.

He doesn’t even have to speak to make the threat known. The guy blanches and faces forward again, smartly minding his own business. I tilt my head. Everyone was always intimidated by him in high school, and I guess things haven’t really changed.

The elevator stops at the floor for some accounting firm, and they all shuffle off, creating space I desperately crave. My hands fall away from Mace, and I move to step back, but he catches my chin in his firm grip. Warmth bursts inside of me.

The doors swoosh closed.

“Don’t start games you’re not ready to play,” he warns.

His intimidation tactics might work on other people, but I’m not going to let him push me around. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He runs his thumb along my bottom lip. “You should be, Little Red .”

“Height jokes are beneath you, Mace.”

He smirks. “I like the name.”

“Are you the big bad wolf?” I ask with a sardonic laugh.

Mace leans in until our noses brush. “I’d eat you if you’d let me.” His breath tickles my skin.

Tension crackles between us, electric and dangerous.

All it would take is a few centimeters for our mouths to crash together.

That magnetic energy Mace has threatens to snare me.

It would be easy to get lost in lust rather than my anxiety.

I’m tempted, but the kiss was meant to give me some type of control, not hand him everything he wants on a silver platter.

The elevator stops and the moment breaks. I press my lips together.

Mace pulls back first, lifting an eyebrow. “Don’t forget to pretend like you like me,” he says as the doors open and reveal one of the nicest jewelry stores I’ve ever seen.

Rows and rows of diamonds glitter under the warm white glow of the overhead lights. Gold bands, silver, white gold. Rocks big enough to make me wonder why anyone would wear it. Smaller, more conservative rings, and even those I’d never be able to afford on my own.

A few couples mill about, carefully searching the rings one by one. I swallow the dry ache in my throat. They’re all here because they actually love each other. It’s hard to watch as one guy puts his arm around his fiancée and they kiss.

It’s too harsh a reminder of what I’ll never have.

All my attempts at dating ended, either because the guys were total douchebags, or because I was too afraid to lose something before I even had it.

As sad as it might seem, keeping my heart protected has always been worth more than fleeting moments of happiness before inevitable heartbreak.

Mace places his hand on my lower back and guides me out of the elevator.

My heart clenches. After so much loss, it’s a cruel twist of destiny that my marriage would be fake.

Almost like fate is mocking me for choosing not to date.

If I won’t open myself to romance, it’ll thrust always and forever upon me and laugh as my life is obliterated .

God is a petty-ass bitch.

Definitely going to hell for that thought .

Mace nods at one of the employees when she makes eye contact, and she rushes over to help us.

“Welcome in. Did you have an appointment?” she asks.

“No, but my fiancée wants to be a part of her ring selection.” Mace drapes his arm over my shoulder. “She can have whatever she wants.”

I don’t want to get married. How about that?

The woman, who’s wearing a simple black uniform dress and a gold nameplate that reads Barbie , raises her eyebrows.

“Well, okay, we love to hear that, don’t we?

” She grins at me like we’re in on some secret.

Little does she know, I’m only here to avoid being thrown into the ocean with a brick tied to my ankle.

I bare my teeth in an attempted smile, but it doesn’t trip her up. She’s probably used to rich assholes.

“What sort of rings do you like?” Barbie asks me.

I gaze around the room, a little overwhelmed by all the options. I’ve spent plenty of time looking at jewelry online, but I never really pictured myself coming to pick out a ring for a fake marriage.

Had I known last week I’d piss off the mafia and suddenly find myself careening toward a marriage I don’t want, I would have prepared. You know what they say— when life throws you lemons, it really fucking hurts . Not as much as I’m about to hurt Mace’s wallet, though.

“I’m thinking something really, really expensive.”

Barbie titters and chatters away, guiding us toward a case with the finest diamonds I’ve ever seen. Mace watches with a bored expression as I try on one that’s a million dollars.

“What about this one, baby?” I ask, pouting my lip .

His eyes linger on my mouth. “If that’s what you want.”

I should have known better than to try and call his bluff.

He’s a billionaire. He could probably buy the entire store’s worth of rings and still have plenty of money.

Shaking my head, I slip it off and try on a few more.

Barbie coos and lavishes me with compliments, but none of them is really my aesthetic.

They’re all too big and gaudy. More of a display of money than a profession of love.

This arrangement has nothing to do with love , I remind myself. But if I’m going to have to wear the thing, I should at least like the way it looks. I don’t want to walk around with some ostentatious rock. That’s not who I am or who I’ll ever be.

After trying on a few more, I wander around the store, overly conscious of Mace trailing behind me. His presence raises the hairs on the nape of my neck. I bite my cheek and ignore him, stopping in front of a case with various shades of diamonds.

A row of dark gray ones snares my attention. “Oh, wow,” I murmur.

“Mmm. The black diamonds,” Barbie says, walking around the counter and opening the case with the spiral key ring hanging around her wrist. “Beautiful. A little different, and definitely a statement piece. These are natural black diamonds, not lab-created.” The velvet-lined case quietly clacks against the glass as she sets the tray down.

My eyes fall to a marquise cut with a white gold band. A princess or round cut might have a little more sparkle and shine, but something about the oblong shape calls to me. Barbie patiently waits while I study the other options. My gaze keeps straying back to the marquise.

Mace runs his palm down my spine. “Try it on. ”

I shiver and bite my cheek, shooting him an irritated look, but then remember we’re meant to be in love, so I give him a fake smile instead.

“Can I see that one?” I ask.

Barbie nods in approval. “This is a little more modest, at only three carats, but it is quite exquisite.” She helps fit it on my finger.

The ring, as delicate as it is, is surprisingly heavy. The black diamond isn’t shimmering like the others in the store. It’s intense. Not a voidless black, but dark and moody.

More than appropriate, given the situation.

Barbie wiggles it a little to check if the fit is too big, but it’s perfect. “Oh,” she says with a chuckle. “That usually doesn’t happen.”

“Guess it was meant to be,” Mace says.

I wish I could eviscerate him with a simple look. Cheeky motherfucker.

“Well?” Barbie asks with a gentle, warm smile. “Do you feel the love?”

Realizing we’re being watched, I wipe the scowl from my face as my lungs burn, like no matter how much I breathe in, it’ll never be enough air.

Fluttering like an erratic butterfly, my pulse races, knowing that, soon enough, I’ll be trapped in a marriage that I can’t afford to escape.

I want to run. To kick Mace in the nuts and tell him to get fucked, but I can’t. I don’t get a choice.

Swallowing and ignoring the heavy weight pressing in on me at all sides, I study the ring. “I feel something,” I confess, knees weakening as gravity starts to pull me down. “It’s beautiful.”

“It really is, isn’t it?” She releases my hand and presses her palms to her chest. “Have we found the one?”

“I know I have,” Mace says, tugging me into his side .

It’s a vicious lie. Cruel, even. My gaze cuts to him.

Lay off, asshole. He simply smiles and swoops in for a kiss, retreating before I have a chance to pull away.

My lips tingle with the echo of his soft caress.

I bring my hand up, ready to wipe away the sensation, but drop it when Barbie’s aw slices through the air.

“Oh god, you two are so cute together,” she gushes. “And that ring, it’s perfect on you.”

Nice sales tactic, Barbs.

“Do you like it?” Mace asks. “I want you to be happy.”

It’s a battle to keep from rolling my eyes. Who is he trying to kid? Mace loves to piss me off. Our favorite pastimes involve bickering and vaguely threatening one another. The ring is a shackle, trapping me and stealing my future. My life as I know it is over.

“I love it.” The lie curdles inside of me.

Like it or not, I’m going to be Mrs. Astor.