Page 23 of Twisted Fate

I’m not immune, either. Warmth flows over my skin at his touch.

The back of my dress is cut low, enough for his fingertips to brush bare skin, and electricity runs up my spine as I feel a simmering heat between my thighs.

There’s an ache there, one that begs to be sated, and I press my lips together, forcing the smile to stay on my face as I start to follow him through the steps of the dance.

Konstantin is silent, keeping a hand’s space between us, his gaze off somewhere in the middle distance over my shoulder. I search frantically for some way to draw him in, something to feel around for a possible chink in his armor.

“Is this how our marriage is always going to be?” I ask softly, just loud enough for him to hear over the music, but only him.

His gaze snaps to mine. “Luxury vacations in far-off countries? Don’t bet on it, Sophia. My life is in Miami, and yours will be too. I expect you to make a home and a life there with me, since you and my father brokered this marriage.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean that. I meant this… coldness, between us.”

“It could be less cold if you accepted my terms.” His eyes meet mine. “You keep pushing, Sophia. Trying for something that I’ve already told you won’t be a part of our marriage.”

“It’s not fair to me that you’re withholding it,” I whisper. “Without telling me beforehand that I’d be sleeping in a cold bed…”

“We’ve already established that it wouldn’t have changed anything.” He spins me out and away from him, pulling me back in and carefully stopping me before I can brush up against him.

“You want me,” I accuse softly. “You wouldn’t try so hard not to touch me if you didn’t.

” I look up at him with a hint of a challenge in my eyes, pushing just a little, the way he just accused me of a moment ago.

“Why not enjoy it, Konstantin? It could be so good. Most men would be happy to have a wife who wants them, who?—”

“I’m not most men.” He cuts me off abruptly, letting go of me before the song has even ended. “And I need another drink.”

He pivots on his heel, leaving me there as he strides back toward the bar.

I’m stunned enough that I don’t move for a moment, my pulse fluttering in my throat.

A simmering frustration burns in my chest; I’m not used to having to fight this hard to get my way with a man.

Why did this have to be Kane’s last job for me?

I think with mounting irritation as I follow in Konstantin’s wake, trying to ignore the eyes on me as I go.

I don’t typically care what others think, but even I’m not impervious to the embarrassment of being left on the dance floor by my husband.

My irritation only grows when I see the woman standing next to Konstantin at the bar.

I pause briefly, watching her from a distance.

She’s tall and willowy, draped in a red gown that plunges far below her cleavage and splits up one side, her blonde hair piled on top of her head in an artful updo of curls.

A long, gold and ruby lasso necklace shaped like a snake drapes between her breasts—as if they needed anything else to draw the eye.

She’s talking to Konstantin, and when she touches his forearm, I feel something in my blood start to boil.

Why the fuck do I care? He’s not really my husband.

I tell myself, as I start to stride toward them, that I’m only pissed off because the last thing I need to deal with is another woman trying to seduce the man that I need to get to.

But there’s something else to it, too. Something possessive that stirs in my veins as I glare at this other woman touching his arm.

When he chuckles at something she said, just before I’m close enough to hear, I’m glad I didn’t find a way to bring a weapon out here with me. She’d be a dead woman if I had.

“ Husband ,” I emphasize the word a little too hard as I reach them. “Are you going to introduce me?”

Konstantin’s face instantly shutters, and I can’t tell whether he’s guilty or merely annoyed that he’s been put in a position that looks bad. The woman speaks before he can, flashing me a brilliantly white smile, set off by her perfect red lipstick.

“Elia.” She holds out a finely manicured hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I was just complimenting Konstantin on his suit. I need to know the tailor.”

“For your own husband?” I smile tightly. “And already on a first-name basis?”

Konstantin chuckles dryly. Elia’s smile doesn’t falter. “For my brother. I’m afraid I haven’t found the one, just yet.” She waves her left hand idly in the air, displaying her bare ring finger. “You’re lucky to have found this one. So handsome!”

That burn in my veins only increases, and I feel my jaw tighten.

I have no real reason to be as jealous as I am—Konstantin is my target, not my husband in anything but the strictest sense of the word—but for some reason, the way Elia is looking at him makes me want to break every single one of her perfectly manicured fingers.

“He’s lucky to have me.” I glance back at Konstantin. “I’m tired, I think. We should go back to the room— oh! ”

Konstantin reaches out to nudge my drink toward me. Or at least, that’s what he wants me to think. But I see the moment that he ‘accidentally’ tips it toward me, and I can see that it’s not an accident at all.

Reflexively, I step back, neatly dodging the splash of clear liquid. It hits the ground between Konstantin and Elia, splashing over her sandals, and she lets out a yelp of displeasure as she steps quickly backwards, glaring at him as she shakes one foot and then the other.

“I’m so sorry,” he says smoothly, righting the cup and reaching for a bar napkin. “Let me help?—”

Elia snatches the napkin out of his hand, muttering something under her breath as she retreats. I see Konstantin’s gaze cut sideways toward me, and I feel very, very sure that the drink tipping was no accident.

He wanted to see what I would do. How quickly I would move. He suspects something—and after the way I woke up when he disturbed me during that nightmare, how could he not? My excuse was flimsy at best.

I curse inwardly, glaring at him. “I’m tired,” I repeat. “I think I’ve had enough of the party.”

Konstantin’s eyebrow rises. “Jealous?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement, and my glare deepens.

“I’m your wife,” I remind him. “You were quick to tell me about how mafia men live their lives, but you could be discreet enough to not do it on our honeymoon?—”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says smoothly. “I was just having a conversation.”

“She touched your arm.” I sound as petty as a new bride might, especially one that’s been rejected more than once by her husband, but I’m inwardly disturbed by just how much it bothered me.

Actual jealousy is a distraction that I definitely don’t need.

I’m meant to be playing a part, not actually feeling something for my new husband.

I need to be thinking about how I’m going to get past the obstacle of his disinterest—and now possibly the obstacle of another woman paying attention to him—not seething over how I wish it was me instead.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He tosses back his drink, his expression cool when he looks at me. “You want to go back to the rooms? Fine. I’ll walk you there.”

“And then what?” I press my lips together, and Konstantin frowns at me.

“I don’t know, Sophia. Maybe I’ll come back for another drink?”

“With her?”

“No.” He sounds exasperated as he starts to walk, and I quickly follow, picking up my pace to match his. “I’m not an asshole, Sophia. I’m not going to fuck another woman on our honeymoon.”

“But you won’t fuck me.” My voice sounds a little too petulant. I bite my lip, trying to rein it in a little. But my frustration is burning in my chest, making it hard to stay calm, to think about how I should handle the situation. “Damnit, Konstantin?—”

He stops as we reach the door to my room, pivoting to face me. “I’ve been very clear, Sophia. I’m tired of revisiting this?—”

“And I’m tired of being ignored by my husband.” I turn to face him, my back to the door. “We’re on our honeymoon?—”

“As you keep reminding me.” He takes a step forward, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not ignoring you, Sophia. I just went to a party with you?—”

“Where you flirted with another woman?—”

“Enough!” His hand smacks against the door next to my head, and I stiffen, suddenly very aware of how close he is to me. I could reach out and touch him, and a part of me wonders what he would do if I grabbed a handful of his shirt, yanked him in, and kissed him the way he should be kissing me.

But Sophia Moretti wouldn’t do that. Valentina Kane would. And right now, I’ve never wished so much that I could just be myself.

Konstantin takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Goodnight, Sophia,” he says curtly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And with that, he turns on his heel, and walks away.

—

Once again, he avoids me for most of the next day.

I spend my morning sunning by the pool and going for a swim, before eating a light lunch and spending my afternoon at the spa again, this time getting a facial and a hot stone massage.

It’s relaxing, to be sure, but it doesn’t get me any closer to my goal.

And since Konstantin spends most of the day in his room, I can’t even use the time to do recon on what weapons he might have stashed in there.