Page 33 of Phantasm

As he hands it to me, I happily accept it, and they watch me gulp it down.

“Where did you find her again?” Sinclair asks, amused, sipping his bubbly.

“Either a back alley of some dingey bar or a circus,” Darian replies drily, snatching the flute from my hand before I’ve had time to drink it all.

“Hey!” I protest.

Ignoring me, they scan the room. “Think Beaumont will show his face?” Sinclair asks.

“I know he will.” Darian puts the half-full flute on a floating tray. “Now that the news about my mysterious marriage has broken, he’ll sniff blood.”

“He’s harmless.” Sinclair smacks Darian on the back the way men do—a little too hard. Darian grunts. “You’ve dealt with worse sharks.”

“Who’s Beaumont?” I ask, pretending to be very interested in the scenery.

“Oh, no one special.” Sinclair sounds conversational, but there’s a bite to his tone.

“I sense a story.” I inch closer and trail my tongue over my lip, if only to evoke a reaction from my husband, who looks mildly annoyed by the inconvenience of attending such atedious event.

Those were his words. Not mine.

Sinclair smirks around the rim of his flute when I place my hand on his arm.

“I love a good story.”

“Is that so?”

I make an agreeing sound, but it turns into a very unladylike squeak when Darian rips me away from Sinclair by the neck.

“That’s enough flirting with Mr. Sinclair,” he says tersely, disposing me unceremoniously by his side.

Sinclair chuckles as he pushes his circular glasses up his nose, having forgone an eye mask. “Are you sure you have a handle on your wife? She’s a wild one.”

“About that story?—”

Darian shuts me up with a single glare.

Sinclair’s amused gaze bounces between us. He drinks the last of his champagne and hands it to a man in a tux who is certainly not a waiter, and then he interrupts mine and Darian’s stare-off with another one of his smooth laughs. “I see you’ve met your match, Delacroix. She’s a keeper.”

Darian snorts, and I narrow my eyes.

Sinclair focuses on me. “Beaumont is your husband’s archenemy.”

“Archenemy?” I deadpan. “Seriously?”

“Oh yes, quite. Beaumont is a… What’s the word?” He pretends to think and then clicks his fingers. “Asshole.”

“Oookay.” I give him a ‘you’re weird’ look.

Sinclair humors me. “Your husband is such a friendly gentleman. Last year, in fact, he took immense pleasure insabotaging Mr. Beaumont’s weapon trade, which ruined his career.”

My mouth falls open, and I look at Darian. “You did what?”

He rolls his eyes and then surveys the crowd.

“In his defense…” Sinclair continues. “Their feud goes way back. The Beaumonts have tried to destroy his family’s business and reputation for generations.”

“I don’t see how that justifies ruining a man. Shouldn’t you turn the other cheek or something?”