Page 27 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

I move to the fridge, Mace’s attention rippling down my arms in a wave of goosefleshed awareness, and force another breath.

This is the closest I’ve come to confronting him about how he made my life harder.

Since he’s obviously in no shape to hear the criticism, I swallow it and open the fridge.

A simple, three-layer cake sits pretty on the middle shelf.

Realistic buttercream roses in a deep shade of red lay delicately atop the pleated border.

The bottom of the cake is rimmed in pearls, but that’s it. There’s elegance in the simplicity.

Mace either didn’t know this was here or he forgot when Crue showed up. Either way, it was made for us, and it would be a crime to let it go to waste. Cake fixes everything. I carefully take it out and set it on the counter, closing the fridge and grabbing a knife.

Mace shifts.

I look over at him, pointing the knife at him. “Lesson one of our marriage, always eat the cake.”

It’s dumb, but it worked. The edges of his lips twitch.

Relief rushes through me. Focusing on the cake, I cut two pieces, grimacing at the lack of symmetry that’ll probably have Chef cursing, and place them on small plates.

Red velvet. Did she know that’s my favorite or was it a lucky guess?

Equipped with forks, I join Mace at the island and set the plates down in front of us.

Mace studies me so intensely, my chest tightens with worry.

Forcing my gaze away, I take a bite. Subtle chocolaty flavor and the tang from the cream cheese frosting burst across my tongue. The cake is baked to perfection, which is a relief. I don’t know how I’d feel about a chef who bakes a dry cake.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole.”

Pausing with another forkful halfway to my mouth, I side-eye Mace. His face is lined with regret. “Which time?”

He glances away. “Every time, I suppose, but mostly in high school. I knew people were shitty to you. I never considered how I played a role in how you were treated.”

I could be terrible and make him feel worse, cuss him out, rip him to shreds, but I’ve never been that type of person. At least he’s owning up to it. “It’s not okay,” I tell him. “Your family is powerful. You have influence. With great power?—”

“A Spiderman reference?”

“Rule number two, don’t interrupt me.”

He lifts an eyebrow, but smartly keeps his trap shut.

“As I was saying, with great power comes little dicks.”

A smirk cuts across his face, and I know without a doubt Mace’s cock is big.

“Just kidding,” I say quickly before he can inform me of that very fact. “All I’m saying is, people watch what you say and do, so be careful with how you use your power. And I appreciate the apology.”

“I hear you.”

“Good, now shut up and eat the cake.”

“Right, rule number one,” he mumbles, shaking his head like he’s disappointed with himself.

“Don’t worry, you’ll learn.”

“I love it when you’re mean.”

Flutters erupt in my chest. He has no idea how mean I’m about to be. I hate liars, but I’m going to play the role I have to play to keep my family safe, and if I break Mace’s heart in the process...

So be it.

Our wedding night was anything but sexy. After sharing the cake, Mace said he had something to take care of and left. I’m not sure how to feel about being left alone after saying our vows. I should probably be happy there was no awkward so are we going to bang to consummate the marriage situation.

On the plus side, I slept in my room and had hours alone to plan.

Mace is smart. If I continue to put up a fight, he’ll see me coming.

To do this right, he needs to be distracted, and what better way to distract him than with sex?

There’s enough tension between us that it won’t be hard to pretend to enjoy myself.

Plus, he knows exactly what to do to make me come.

I’ve run through every scenario, and it’s the only viable option.

I can’t fake falling in love to get close to him—that would be too cruel—but I can play the game. Like chess, I need to divert his attention, use whatever I can to my advantage to win.

Step one: give in to the lust.

Step two: find something to use against him.

Easy enough, right?

I’m almost done with my makeup the next morning when the doorbell rings.

None of the staff is here. Finishing the swipe of eyeliner, I check my hair for any flyaways before tugging on the onyx, goth-chic shift dress and sliding my feet into black ankle boots.

The doorbell rings again as I’m zipping them.

“Yeah, yeah. I hear you,” I mutter, floating my hand along the railing to make sure I don’t fall as I hurry down the stairs.

I have no idea who is here, but the woman waiting on the front porch is not what I expected.

A classic tweed Chanel dress is draped over a lithe and elegant frame.

The heels are simple but expensive. She holds herself like a lady, one foot slightly in front of the other, hands delicately clasped in front of her, and a friendly smile that’s all lip and no teeth.

Her brunette hair is loose but artfully styled.

She’s the embodiment of old money. Not too flashy, but not afraid to show off that wealth either. There are faint wrinkle lines at the edges of her mouth and eyes, and the shape of her face is faintly familiar.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

Her smile deepens. “Cassia, is it? I’m Elaine, Mace’s mother.”

My expression immediately hardens. Even though Rose said only his dad made him fight, how could she not know? Why didn’t she do anything to stop it? Mace is a full-grown adult and can take care of himself, but I find myself suddenly protective. “Mace isn’t here.”

Head pulling back, surprised at my tone, she studies me. “I see. May I come in?”

I casually shift to the side so she can’t force her way inside. “I don’t mean to be rude,” I say with a vapid titter, “but I was just heading out.”

“Oh, then I’ll be short. I wanted to invite you and my son over for dinner this Friday.” Her eyes move to the ring on my finger. “My way of congratulating you both.”

There’s no way I’m agreeing to anything without making sure Mace is good with it. For all I know, she could be trying to manipulate him through me. “I’ll speak with Mace. It was so lovely to meet you, Elaine.”

She purses her lips, probably annoyed I’m dismissing her, but I have no sympathy for shitty parents. “Yes, well.” She smooths her hands down her dress. “I hope to see you Friday.”

It takes every ounce of my control to keep from slamming the door as she walks down the steps. Anger is lava in my veins, coursing through me as I tug out my phone and send a message to Mace but see he’s already messaged me.

MACE

Be nice to my mom.

My face wrinkles. Why the hell would I be nice to her? Secondly, he doesn’t get to tell me what to do.

I’ll take it under consideration. I assume you were stalking me via camera again?

Dinner on Friday sounds wonderful.

Oh, great. There’s audio on these cameras; no need to text my next message.

“You’re a fucking creep,” I call over my shoulder, directing the words at the camera hidden by the entryway. Shaking my head, I turn to gather my things but stop short when his voice rolls through the foyer.

“You look so pretty when you walk away.”

My eyes narrow. I flip him the bird, hating the laughter that rolls through the speaker, and grab my stuff from the credenza. “I enjoy my privacy.” How am I supposed to sneak around if there are cameras? I’ll have to disable them or loop the security footage.

“The bedrooms and bathrooms don’t have cameras. The rest of the house is recorded for security.”

“Don’t you have better things to do than watch me all day?” I sling my purse over my shoulder, check my makeup in the reflection of my phone, and head toward the door.

“You’re more entertaining.”

“I’m going to work. Don’t follow me. ”

“No promises.”

“You’re going to piss me off.”

“I know,” he says, tone light with amusement. Why he likes me being mad is beyond me, but if he keeps virtually stalking me, I might shave his head while he sleeps.

“Whatever,” I mutter.

“See you tonight, Wife.”

I slam the door shut behind me and walk toward the car. Elliot and Tony are waiting with the door open. Elliot nods at me and Tony scrutinizes me before glancing around, checking for threats.

“What’s up, boys?”

A smile cuts across Elliot’s face. “Morning, Mrs. Astor.”

I pause outside the car. “Don’t call me that. It’s Cassia.”

“Mr. Astor?—”

“Is not the boss of you.” Or me, for that matter.

He lifts an eyebrow.

Tony chuckles.

“Okay, technically, he’s your boss, but he’s not here, and if you keep calling me Mrs. Astor, I’m going to walk.”

“You wouldn’t make it,” Elliot says, shaking his head.

“He’s right. It’s pretty far,” Tony says. “Even if you made it, your shoes would never make it.”

They’re both right and it’s annoying. “Yeah, well, no one asked for your logic. Call me Cassia, okay? If Mace gives you shit, tell him I demanded it.”

“All right, Cassia.”

With a nod, I slip into the car and glare at the house. How am I going to seduce Mace if he keeps pissing me off?