Page 29 of Marrying Mr. Wentworth (Austen Hunks #3)

Saturday night — Christopher

I followed every rule today.

Didn’t touch her. Didn’t flirt. Didn’t tell her I loved her—even though I thought it when she argued with a bartender over the appropriate gin-to-tonic ratio like she was cross-examining a hostile witness.

I kept my hands to myself this morning when we all walked through the Bellagio conservatory and she stopped to smell the orchids.

I didn’t kiss her in the elevator when we both reached for the same button and her hand brushed mine and her breath caught like she felt it.

I followed every damn rule.

And it still wasn’t enough.

Because she still pretended none of this meant anything. Like we were just riding out a stupid bet. Like she wasn’t clenching her jaw every time I stood too close. Like she didn’t notice the way her pulse jumped when I said her name low and quiet.

But I saw it.

I know her.

I’ve always known her. If that trivia game didn’t prove it, I don’t know what will.

It rattled her. I could see it. Which is why she bolted back to the hotel like something was chasing her.

But tonight we have our last dinner. With the group. She can’t hide from me.

Our table at Superfrico—a restaurant so over-the-top it made the rest of Vegas look understated—was loud and chaotic. Neon everywhere. Velvet booths. Performers walking around in wigs and sequins, doing card tricks one minute, delivering pasta the next. It was pure Vegas weirdness.

Perfect for blending in.

Not so perfect when you’re trying not to stare at the woman sitting across from you like she’s your last goddamn meal.

Ariana was doing her best to ignore me. She was holding court with Meg and Ellie, laughing at something Liam said, twirling a ridiculously curly straw in her drink.

And then Courtney slid into the seat next to me.

Fantastic.

“You know,” she said, leaning in like we were mid-seduction, “I think it’s so cute that you’re pretending to be married for a joke. I mean, commitment is sexy. Especially on you.”

Ariana’s head snapped up so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash.

Courtney’s hand landed on my arm. A little too familiar. A lot too much. I saw Ariana’s eyes narrow. Just a fraction. But enough.

Showtime.

I leaned back, giving Courtney a polite smile. “It’s not really pretending.”

Courtney giggled. Actually giggled. “Sure, but it’s Vegas! What happens here?—”

“Doesn’t stay here,” Ariana cut in, sliding into the seat on my other side like she belonged there.

She shot Courtney a smile so sharp it should’ve come with a warning label. “Christopher’s very committed. Aren’t you, darling?”

The endearment was a shot across the bow. And I’d never heard anything sweeter.

“Completely,” I said, matching her tone. “For better or worse.”

“For richer or poorer,” she added, crossing her legs. Her bare knee brushed mine. Not an accident.

Courtney’s smile wobbled. “Well. Aren’t you two just adorable?”

Ariana sipped her drink, eyes never leaving mine. “We try.”

Meg called Courtney’s name from the other end of the table, and bless her for it. Courtney flounced away, leaving a cloud of flowery body spray in her wake.

Ariana swirled the ice in her glass. “You didn’t need rescuing, did you?”

“Not in the way you think.” I let my gaze drop to where her dress—red tonight, because she was trying to kill me—cut across her thigh. “But I’m not complaining.”

“That wasn’t jealousy,” she said breezily. “It was self-preservation. I can only take so much vapid in my personal space.”

“Mmm.” I leaned in closer. “So you weren’t picturing stabbing her with that curly straw?”

Her lips twitched. “That would be undignified.”

“I won’t tell.”

We were so close now. Her leg pressed against mine. Her shoulder brushing my arm. Casual. Coincidental. No way.

“Do you know what I was thinking though?” she asked, voice low.

“What?”

She tilted her head, feigning innocence. “That you looked…bored.”

“Maybe I was just waiting for someone to make it interesting.”

“Careful.” Her smile was pure trouble. “You’re flirting. Clause Two violation.”

“Technically, you started it. And speaking of violations, you’re touching me.” I stared down at where our shoulders met.

She didn’t deny it, just slowly pulled away an inch.

The conversation swirled around us—laughter, stories, toasts—but for those few minutes, it was like we were back in our own little orbit. The way we used to be. Trading jabs and daring each other closer.

“Tell me something,” I said, dropping my voice so only she could hear. “Did it bother you? Seeing her hand on me?”

She sipped her drink slowly. “Why would it?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t care what you do, Christopher.”

I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath. Close enough to smell her perfume, which was driving me insane. “You’re a terrible liar, Ari.”

Her pupils dilated. Her lips parted. But before she could retort, the server arrived with a round of shots and the moment broke.

Ariana turned away, tossing back her drink like she needed the burn.

But she didn’t move her leg. And I didn’t stop smiling.

Because I’d seen it. Felt it.

She wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she wanted to be.