Page 26 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

Damn that woman! And her crazy family. I could also kick my own ass for being a dumb fuck.

If I bothered to ask the time this grand lunch was supposed to happen (six in the evening, apparently) instead of assuming a noon-hour meal like every normal person out there, I would have avoided being dragged into this madness.

I could have done some of the actual work that keeps piling up on my desk instead of being treated like one of the clowns in the Popov circus.

There I was, in my custom-made Tom Ford, carrying stacks of foldable chairs.

Spit-roasting a goddamned pig over the fire, while surrounded by four more.

Chasing one of Drago’s dogs that got loose and tried to take a bite of that slow-cooked meat.

And then, I got recruited to help set up a tent the size of a small country. A fucking tent!

Thank God that monkey business is done now.

With all the prep finished just in time, the guests have been arriving for the past half hour, taking their seats at long tables arranged beneath the canopy of the open-sided tent.

Their chatter is competing with the music blaring from enormous speakers in all four corners of the canvas palace.

I wonder if these new arrivals will have stupid death threats for me, as well.

Most of Drago’s men have tossed theirs out already.

That was fun. Nothing says “Welcome to the family” like, We’re gonna fry your ass.

That was the message from Jovan, the guy I relieved at the fire pit.

Before he went off, he felt the need to tell me that skewering a person like a pig was a common practice in the past. Then, he congratulated me on my engagement.

Later, as I was helping chase the dog, Drago’s second-in-command, Filip, mentioned that with only a word from my brother-in-law, his beasts would tear me to pieces.

Then, he asked if Tara and I had created a gift registry somewhere.

Even Keva, their housekeeper and de facto mother, from what I’ve been told, didn’t hold back.

She approached me with large meat shears when I went into the kitchen to get something to drink.

Snapping the blades right in front of my face in a not-so-subtle show of force, she told me just how much she loves Tara.

That bullshit kept happening the whole afternoon.

A veiled threat, followed by happy wishes for my upcoming marriage.

“Oh. There’s your fiancée, Mr. DeVille.” Riggo pushes his arm through the car window, pointing somewhere between the tent and the house.

I follow the direction of his finger, trying to locate the woman in washed-out jeans and a cropped top, with a mass of tangled dark-brown hair piled haphazardly at the crown of her head. No luck. Only a crowd of men and women in elegant attire, heading toward the buffet tables.

“She’s not—” My gaze freezes on a woman in a long pale-blue gown.

She’s talking with a guy near the edge of the tent.

The side of her wrap dress flutters in a slight breeze, once in a while lifting to bare her entire leg.

If she hadn’t just moved her hand to hold it down, I bet she’d be flashing everyone her underwear.

As much as the view of a hot chick gets my blood pumping, I’d never let my woman—

Wait!

I know that dress. The last time I saw it, its wearer doused me with punch.

My eyes snap up, zeroing in on Tara’s face. Her smile is wide and friendly as she chats with the guy at her side.

Are they flirting?

I grind my teeth.

Doesn’t matter. She can flirt with whoever she wants for all I care.

The guy’s hand rises to Tara’s upper arm.

“Hey, Mr. DeVille!” Riggo shouts behind me. “Should I wait for you or…”

My feet eat the distance to the tent while my eyes stay glued on the scumbag’s hand on Tara. How dare he—

I stop in my tracks halfway to my destination. Nope. I will not act like some jealous oaf and make a scene in front of all these people. Just because—

The asshole’s hand slides down to her forearm.

A red haze fills my vision.

I close the distance to the schmuck in ten seconds flat.

Snaking my right arm around Tara’s waist, I lift her out of the way while burying my left fist in the guy’s solar plexus.

The man stumbles back, his foot catching on the speaker’s power cable.

The giant electronic device, mounted on a tripod stand, tilts when its wire is yanked by the falling man.

For a brief second, it hovers in place, but then the whole thing crashes down on the end of the buffet table.

Several bowls and platters of food launch like projectiles in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck!” Tara wriggles in my hold. “What’s the matter with you? Why the hell did you knock out my cousin?”

Cousin ? “You don’t have any cousins.”

“Of course I do. Baki is my great-grandmother’s second husband’s daughter’s nephew.”

I glance at the guy lying unconscious on the ground, then at the woman in my arms. “He looked…” Like he was flirting with you. “He looked suspicious.”

“Suspicious?”

He was caressing your arm! I clear my throat. “He has a gun.”

“Of course he has a gun, DeVille! He’s working security, for crying out loud. But in case you didn’t notice, every man here has a gun! Now let me down so I can check on h—” She takes my chin and tilts my head to the side. “Um… there’s something on your forehead.”

“What?”

“I think it’s…” She reaches out, swiping her thumb over my skin.

It comes away smeared with something white and gooey.

Squinting her eyes, she brings that finger to her lips and licks.

“Yup. It’s tuna salad. Sienna spent tons of time arranging the garnish on it.

She’s gonna kill you when she hears you demolished it.

Put me down so I can help clean up this mess. ”

I don’t want to set her down. The way her front is crushed against mine makes me aware of every inch of contact between our bodies. It feels so good. And her lips. So, so close. God, I want to ravage her lips again. I want to—

“Mm-hmm.” I quickly lower her to the ground and take a step back. “Right.”

Still, I can’t make myself look away from her, watching as if bewitched as she crouches and starts collecting overturned serving bowls and platters off the grass.

She hollers something in Serbian, and several guests join her in straightening everything out.

The rest don’t appear overly perturbed by what just happened.

Most remain at their tables, drinking and laughing, and not even glancing this way.

The band keeps playing on the far side of the tent.

Come to think of it, the music didn’t even pause while I caused that scene.

Everyone is acting like nothing at all happened.

If anything like this occurred at one of our Family gatherings, people would be in an uproar.

Shocked. Outraged. Indignant. Hell, at the moment, even I’m appalled by my own behavior.

“Hey, you. Italian boy.”

I look over at an old man in denim overalls who somehow materialized next to me out of thin air. He’s got a shaggy head of white hair and a long, scruffy-looking beard covering half his face. Deep-set, wrinkle-lined eyes glower at me from beneath his bushy brows.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“You hurt our Tara”—he leans toward me—“we kill you.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“And it will hurt. A lot.” He lifts his hand and makes a slicing motion across his throat. “Chop, chop head. Closed casket funeral. Capisce?”

I blink. Who the fuck is this guy?

“Very good. Good Italian.” He slaps me on the back and thrusts a beer bottle into my hand. “Cheers.”

I watch as the wacky grandpa walks away, headed toward the garden shed a few yards from the kitchen loading doors.

He grabs a rake from where it leans against the structure and lumbers over to a flower bed that’s still covered in last season’s leaves.

Great. Even Popov’s gardener is now dishing out death threats.

Squeezing my temples, I sigh. This marriage is an idiotic idea.

A fucking mistake. If anything deserves that label, it’s this.

What alternate reality did I land in? I’m just thankful that Tara and I agreed to set an expiration date for this disaster.

Otherwise, if I were forced to associate with this family for the rest of my life, I might go completely bonkers.

Turning away, I let my gaze sweep the crowd around me, looking for a particular pale-blue dress.

A moment later, I locate Tara squatting next to the fallen speaker, a platter of ruined salad in her hands.

A scrawny black cat is beside her, licking the offering as my fiancée runs her fingers along the feline’s back.

Suddenly, everything around me seems to fade.

The people and their clamor. The dreadful music that is way too loud to be ignored.

That damn black cat, which looks identical to the one I’ve run into on several occasions in the past few months.

All that’s left is the dark-haired woman in an outrageously sexy blue dress.

She becomes the focal point of my attention. The only thing I see.

When did her lips become so rosy and soft-looking? Are they to blame for the overpowering urge I feel to kiss her?

Nah, it must be just a trick of the light. And I only kissed her to play my part in this unhinged escapade. There’s no other reason. There never could be. Thinking otherwise would surely mean I need to see a shrink.

As if hypnotized, though, I keep staring at Tara as she pets the cat.

Her slender fingers comb through the animal’s silky fur, and I all too vividly recall how it felt to have them rake through my hair while I devoured her lips.

The very air around us felt heated, and each of my nerve receptors pulsed with raw, fervent voltage.

I wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere without other people.

Just me and her. Alone. So I could do much more than merely kiss her.

So I could slide my hand beneath that dre—

Enough!

I lift the bottle of beer to my mouth and throw back the contents. Exhaustion and lack of sleep are obviously taking their toll on me. That’s the only explanation for me losing my fucking mind. Tossing the empty bottle into the trash can, I set off toward Tara.

“The wedding’s in two weeks. Have you started packing?” I bark when I come up to her.

“No. Why?”

“Get started. But don’t bother with this getup or anything like it that makes you look like a common tramp. No one wants to see you flashing your ass in civilized society.”

I believe my words have momentarily stunned her. But she recovers quickly and juts out her chin. Her green eyes harden into clear crystals. Cold. Narrowed. Shooting daggers at me.

That did it. Reset us to how we were before.

Loathing everything about each other.

As we should.

Good.