Page 59 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

“Arturo!” Sienna’s shriek carries down the line. “Drago and I have both been trying to reach you and Tara for hours! I can’t believe you’d let me worry—”

“It’s me,” I whisper into the phone. Leaning against the bathroom wall, I slide down until my naked ass hits the cold marble tiles.

“Tara? Well, how nice of you to call. Eventually! Drago has been going out of his mind, even though Jelena tried to reassure him that you were okay. He’s been ready to storm Arturo’s house for hours, and it took everything I had to keep him away. Why didn’t you call us sooner?”

“Um… I’m not sure where my phone is. But I’m fine. We’re both fine. Sorry for not reaching out right away. I was… busy.”

“Busy? With what? What’s more important than—”

“Busy being fucked senseless against the front door.”

“Oh.” There is a short pause. “Okay, well… In this case, you’re forgiven.”

“Thank you. How are things at Naos? Did anyone else get hurt?”

“It’s a mess. There was one casualty among the customers; the rest are only flesh wounds. Aside from Iliya, but he’ll be alright. We’re not changing the subject, though, chickie. Without going into too many details… because, ew, he’s my brother… was it good?”

I close my eyes and sigh. “Sex with Arturo is always good. Better than good, actually. Sometimes, it feels like it’s too good to be true.”

“I knew it!” she shrieks with glee. “I told you you’d grow to like him!

It’s so great that we’ll get to stay sisters-in-law on the double front.

Drago is going to lose his shit, though, when he hears this.

He keeps telling me you’ll be dumping my brother any day now.

I saw that video of Arturo going batty after you slashed his tires, and it was beyond funny—”

“What?” I whisper yell. “What video?”

“Oops. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Sienna!”

“Well… My resourceful husband had Mirko hack into Arturo’s security feed. Please don’t be mad at him, he only did it to check up on you.”

“Check up? WTF, he was spying—”

“Well, considering the circumstances, he was worried.” Sienna’s voice is barely audible. “You can’t really blame him for it.”

“What do you mean? What circumstances?”

“Um… Drago knows, Tara.”

“Knows what?”

“That Arturo blackmailed you into marriage. He doesn’t know the specifics, nothing beyond what Ajello told him. Which wasn’t that much. Just that you and Arturo have an agreement, and that Drago should stay out of it.”

“What?” My stomach drops to the floor. “Since when?”

“Just before your wedding.”

I drop my face into my palm. Figures. I should’ve known there was something up with Drago. He was much too unconcerned after our engagement was announced.

“But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” she continues in a light, chirpy tone. “With you two falling for each other, this is basically a real marriage now. Who would’ve guessed that Ajello’s meddling would result in another love match?”

A love match. Yeah. I shake my head. What a half-baked idea.

“Nothing has changed, Sienna. Arturo and I are still trying to drive each other nuts, only now we end our arguments in bed.”

“God, the race between you two to see who’s more stubborn is a dead heat! Why won’t you both stop acting foolishly and talk to each other? Just tell Arturo how you feel about him.”

“I feel nothing toward him,” I sniff, surly.

“Sure. Could have fooled me. If you feel nothing, you’d be sawing logs right now instead of crying in the middle of the night.”

The phone case cracks in my hand from the force of my squeeze. “I refuse to feel anything for a man who is incapable of loving me back.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t work like that, girly. And for the record, Arturo is head over heels smitten with you.”

“Mm-hmm. He has a weird way of showing it. I can really feel his love when he makes it absolutely clear how I’m the total opposite of what he considers a perfect partner.

For crying out loud, he made me sign a prenup with clauses detailing how I’m allowed to dress!

Does that sound like something a man who’s head over heels smitten would do, Sienna? ”

“When it comes to Arturo, yes. It’s exactly what he would do,” she sighs. “I know it’s hard to understand, but that’s just how he’s wired. If the two of you would simply sit down and talk. Admit your feelings, then maybe—”

“I’m not confessing to that jerk that I’m in love with him!” My hand flies to my mouth, but it’s too late to hold back the words. “Um… I gotta go. Bye.”

Throwing the phone to the floor as if the fucking thing is poisonous, I scramble up and all but run out of the bathroom. Only to stop in my tracks, right there on the threshold.

My husband is sprawled face down on the bed, asleep with his right arm extended toward the empty space beside him. Next to him is the still-dented pillow I used when I lay motionless for nearly two hours, staring at nothing after we collapsed following our second round of hate fucking.

Hate fucking. Can I call it that anymore? Knowing I don’t hate him?

How long can I continue to lie to myself?

How long will I pretend to believe it?

When I agreed to this stupid, stupid marriage, I thought I’d put my life on hold for a year, max.

In the meantime, my Prince Charming… my knight in shining armor…

and our happily ever after would be out there somewhere, waiting for me.

The moment when I finally found him would simply be delayed, nothing more. But I’m afraid that’s no longer true.

Whether I want it or not, I now know that I’ll forever compare every other man to Arturo DeVille.

And I’m fairly certain Satan wouldn’t hold a candle to any of them.

How could they not be better with all of his many faults?

His idiotic devotion to silly traditions, like we’re still in the nineteenth century, is truly ridiculous.

It’s also kind of funny, though, and I love calling him out on it every time.

But… although he might be half-stuck in the past, his dedication to his convictions is actually endearing.

And I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit that there’s a place for chivalry in the modern world.

I’d give him zero points for being gentlemanly, but I can’t.

Even though he brought me “funeral” flowers.

And Arturo never hesitated to lend me his jacket, despite probably knowing that I was only messing with him.

Then, there’s his grumpiness. When it comes to being moody, it’d be impossible to find anyone who scores higher on that scale than him.

Still, even Arturo’s cantankerous disposition is kinda sweet.

He acts bossy, like an unmitigated tyrant, yet he does things no other overlord would do.

I mean, the guy forbade Greta to make food for me and dictated that I couldn’t even get delivery.

But he keeps cooking all of my meals. Even knowing that I refuse to touch anything he prepares himself.

Still, he’s all too quick to remind me that he’s only with me because of his don’s decree.

As if without that frequent statement, I’d get the silly idea that he might actually like me.

There’s no need for him to go through all that effort; I’m completely clear on his feelings without him spelling them out for me.

It’s obvious since he never misses a chance to point out what a disaster I am.

Although I must admit, he does it with that rather irritating smirk on his handsome face.

And there’s never any malice shining in his eyes, but something else…

something different. It’s almost as if he finds my constant screwups…

amusing? I also have to give it to him—he’s never brought up my shortcomings unless we’ve been alone.

And now, this latest. Arturo barged his way into an all-out firefight, killing who knows how many attackers, just to get to me.

Who does that kind of shit? I mean, I know Drago would do it.

He wouldn’t even hesitate. But anyone else?

Especially for me? I never imagined anyone but my knight doing something like that.

And Satan DeVille’s armor is certainly not that shiny. He probably did it just to show off.

Whatever. It doesn’t change my feelings. Maybe I don’t hate him, but I… will deny anything more.

With my footfalls muted by the thick carpet, I cross to the bed and climb in.

As soon as the mattress dips, Arturo stirs and throws his trunk-like arm over me, pulling me into his side.

I let him. Actually, I snuggle closer until our bodies seem to fuse together, with my leg tangled with his and my cheek pressed to his shoulder.

Pure warm bliss.

Yup. A textbook example of a red flag. That’s who Arturo DeVille is.

The man who ruined the fantasy in my life. Because I know… I fucking know! Once our year together is up, once my search for that perfect prince resumes… every man… every other man in the world, I’ll somehow find lacking. There’s no one out there who compares to Arturo DeVille.

It’s dark. Perpetual midnight. No moon. No light of any kind.

Around me, a thunderous roaring. Whistling. Howling.

The wind.

I’m in the eye of a hurricane. Stuck inside a black abyss.

Far, far away, a drumbeat.

Heartbeat?

I know it’s my only hope of finding a way out.

That sound becomes my beacon. Beckoning to me through the nothingness, through the relentless frenzy that I can feel, but cannot see. I follow the beat. It’s important. It is everything to me.

I can’t lose it. So I run. I don’t know where I’m headed, but I need to get there before the drumming stops. Before that beat falls silent. I can’t lose it.

Air rushes past me. Cold. Bitter. Biting. Blowing me off my feet.

I run, stumbling blindly, but I can’t slow down. Can’t falter. Can’t quit.

Can’t let anything stop me. I need to hurry, or I’ll be lost.

Not because I fear the darkness, but because that rhythmic beating is my life.

Inside the void, inside the swirling vortex, I’m searching…