Page 35 of Violent Little Thing

ADONIS

W here the fuck is Delilah?

Twenty minutes ago, she left to use the bathroom.

Ten minutes ago, I noticed Victor back in place at the edge of the ballroom.

Which means nine minutes ago, Delilah should have reclaimed her spot by my side.

And yet, she’s nowhere near me.

Victor wouldn’t be in here if she wasn’t. But I still can’t lean into the relief that realization offers because she should be with me.

For the next five minutes, my eyes jump from one corner of the room to the next, landing on everything and nothing.

Red dresses. Black suits. Fake smiles. No Delilah.

My already stiff jaw strains from the pressure of grinding my teeth .

Where is she?

Where is she?

Where is she?

“I can tell when I’m boring somebody.” In front of me, the mayor’s son laughs dryly. “Just give me a call Monday morning so we can finalize some things before my trip.”

With an absent nod, my feet begin carrying me to Victor. But that trip gets interrupted when a cloud of red fills my vision.

“Hey, Adonis.”

“Chiara.”

“Don’t look so happy to see me.” The flutter of her lashes is wasted on me. “I’m your fiancée, at least pretend to look moved by my presence.”

“What happened to France?” According to Victor’s last update regarding her whereabouts, she was in France. Marseille, to be exact. The same place she’d been for the past two months.

“I took a red eye back yesterday at your mother’s insistence,” she answers in a saccharine voice. “She thought it would be good for us to be seen together leading up to your official proposal. When is that happening, by the way?”

I’m not surprised to hear the shitty source of that advice is my mom, but it doesn’t alleviate the tightness bunching my shoulders, either.

Animosity doesn’t exist between me and my so-called future wife. My irritation stems from the situation in general. Falling for Delilah wasn’t supposed to be on my list of things to do before I walked down the aisle, but I did, and I can’t undo it. I don’t want to undo it.

Chiara lets out a long-suffering sigh I can hear over the low hum of music for the pre-dinner drink reception. And when she shifts in her heels, I momentarily let my attention shift from searching for Delilah to taking her in.

The woman in front of me is beautiful. Some would even say stunning. But the only woman I want is the one I can’t find right now. The one who would be rolling her eyes at me instead of batting her lashes. The one who smells like strawberries and feels like my own personal hell.

I’m about to walk away and deal with the fallout later when Chiara’s voice and firm hand on my forearm lock me in place.

I look at her hand on my arm then back at her. Then I do it again before I shake my head and turn around to fully face her for a second time. “You flew home to make a statement when I didn’t tell you I wanted you here?”

Her brows jump at my strident tone, but she keeps her hand on my arm. And because I know people I can’t see are watching this exchange, I let her touch me.

“So tense. Don’t tell me that woman has you wound this tight.”

“If the woman you’re referring to is you, then yeah.”

Mischief and maliciousness battle for dominance on her face before she settles for something in between.

Over the years, Chiara and I have never spent…

quality time together. But what we had established in the time we’d known each other was that our marriage would be one in name only.

We’d exchanged enough words for her to be familiar with my boundaries, no matter how long ago I laid them out for her.

Before tonight, she never put her hands on me because she knows I don’t like being touched.

Before tonight, she never wanted to have a conversation with me because she hates my one-word answers.

But the sneaky slant of her mouth is all I need to see to know she won’t be playing by the rules tonight .

So, I let her speak while I go back to scanning the room for a champagne gown and deep, golden-brown skin.

“I met her in the bathroom,” she says, her expression more affected than her tone lets on. “She’s a sweetheart. Looked kind of surprised when I told her we were engaged though.”

A dark and humorless laugh flows into the space between us, the sound enough to make Chiara break contact.

“I’m not engaged to you.”

Even though she isn’t touching me anymore, she’s still too close. That’s why I hear the subtle click of her tongue before she tells me, “Technically, we’ve been engaged all our lives. The ring would just be a formality at this point.”

She drops her eyes from mine to her empty ring finger in a meaningful gesture.

“Look, Adonis. You can have your plaything on the side, but you have to admit it was in poor taste to bring her to the gala. Especially when she doesn’t know her place.” She feigns a shudder. “The poor girl looked devastated when I told her who I was.”

That’s the first thing she’s said that holds my attention, and I inch closer, not missing the triumphant smirk on her lips.

Delilah doesn’t deserve the confusion she’s feeling right now and that’s on me.

I fucked up . Regret sits in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight.

“You went out of your way to talk to her. And for what? To hurt her feelings? You could have left that shit alone and said what you wanted to me.”

I almost miss the flash of remorse in her eyes. She hides it by looking away from me. “She’s nice. But you know she doesn’t belong here. That’s a hard lesson to learn but somebody had to teach her.”

Without warning, my fingers clamp around her jaw, squeezing once, then twice when her eyes buck. “What the fuck did you say to her?”

“I already told you. I introduced myself as your fiancée.” She shrugs. “That’s it.”

I stare her down as people pass us by, not caring that they see me with my hand locked around my future wife’s face in public. As far as they know, we’re having a passionate debate.

Chiara’s pupils shrink as she stares up at me, and I shake my head.

“Why do you care if your side piece gets her feelings hurt, anyway? You should be worried about how I feel.”

“That’s a two-way street, Chiara. If you wanted me to care about how you feel, you shouldn’t have followed her to the bathroom to stake your claim when you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I had my assumptions and you’re proving them right.”

“Fuck your assumptions. You should have left it alone.”

“You’re telling me you don’t feel anything for her?”

“Nah, I’m telling you what I feel for anybody is none of your business.”

“You are my business. You’re going to be my husband.” Her voice is tight, and not because of the grip I have on her.

Just as quickly as I grabbed her, I release her and create space between us. That’s the most I ever touched her, and it feels like a betrayal.

In the absence of my touch, she works her jaw from side to side. “Wow, if you had a fraction of the feelings you clearly have for her for me, our marriage wouldn’t be doomed before we signed the license. ”

“Don’t act like you want me suddenly, Chiara. I know the real reason you spend all your time in France. Tell Rafael I said what’s up.”

She doesn’t conceal the languid smile his name elicits. “At least I had enough sense not to bring him here tonight.”

A second later, Chiara erases the space I just created and stands on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “And since you look so helpless, you should know little Ms. Delilah has been in the corner, talking to Percy Peterson for the last fifteen minutes.”

The din of everything except her voice fades.

“I know how much you love him,” she adds in a deceptively sweet voice. “So, I’ll let you go, Adonis.” With that, she walks away, hips swaying too hard, head held too high.

In the corner.

Percy Peterson.

I find them in seconds and clench my hand in my pocket at the arm he has draped over her shoulder.

I know it’s my fault. I know I fucked up. But I still don’t like that shit.

Twenty steps. That’s how far I make it in their direction before Percy grabs Delilah’s hand in his and she lets him . Two more steps and I watch them walk out of the ballroom through a side exit.

I don’t know how many steps it takes to cover the distance to the door, but it’s fast enough that the room around me blurs.

“Where the fuck is he taking her?” Why is she letting him?

I’m in the hall, searching for the crimson color of his suit and coming up empty until Delilah’s laugh pulls me up the staircase and back to a room a lot like the one I found her in with her brother the night of the auction .

For a tense second, I stand at the door, obsessively observing every interaction until my fingers curl around the butt of my gun, pulling it from the holster under my suit jacket.

My thumb comes down in a familiar motion, disengaging the safety.

Then I tilt my head, listening to Delilah’s fake laugh and the arrogant notes of Percy’s voice until the curve of my pointer finger around the trigger is a reflex instead of a decision.

The bullet hits his knee just like I intended, so when I walk in the tight space, Percy’s hobbling makes it feel even smaller. His bitch ass screams don’t help either. But all I care about is the woman watching me with a scowl on her face and fiery fury filling her eyes.

Tucking the gun back in its rightful place, I pick Delilah up and throw her over my shoulder before walking out.