It’s always obvious from one red-blooded male to another when he’s attracted to a woman. When he’s shooting his shot and trying to win her over.
One glance at Heath gesturing animatedly and encroaching on Simone’s space, and I know he’s got it bad. Kaufman still very much carries a torch for her.
But she’s damn sure not signaling she minds. As he talks, she nods and smiles.
Actually fucking smiles.
It’s her first real, genuine smile of the night. Then she laughs. She laughs at something he’s said as if it’s the most hilarious thing she’s heard all evening.
A sharp, visceral spike of jealousy twists into my chest like a knife.
I grip my whiskey glass tighter, my jaw clenching.
She’s never smiled at me like that. Never laughed at anything I’ve said or done. Not once in the two weeks we’ve been married.
With me, she’s nothing but fire and venom. But with him? She’s soft. Warm. Happy.
She giggles.
If I’m being honest, I don’t fucking like it.
I hate that she can be that way with him and not with me. I hate that she’s standing there, glowing in that gold dress, the most beautiful woman in the building, giving him her attention when she won’t give me anything but contempt.
But why do I care?
I don’t even like her. I don’t want this marriage. She’s a spoiled, defiant princess who makes my life harder with every breath she takes. She’s stubborn and rebellious and refuses to fall in line. She hates me as much as I hate her.
So why does seeing her with him make me want to cross this room and drag her away?
Why does the thought of her being happy with someone else—someone safe and boring and utterly forgettable like Heath Kaufman—make my blood boil?
I take another drink, trying to drown the feeling. But it doesn’t work. The jealousy is still alive and well, hot and irrational, gnawing at me.
Maybe it’s possession.
She’s mine now, whether either of us likes it. She wears my ring. Sleeps in my bed. Carries my name. Some primal part of me can’t stand the idea of another man making her smile.
I’m still trying to make sense of it when suddenly Byrdie sidles up, appearing out of nowhere like a bad habit I can’t shake.
She’s dressed in a tight red gown that clings to her waifish frame, what little cleavage she has on full display. Her matching red lips spread in a naughty smirk as she runs a finger along my tie.
“How’s the marriage going, Ronan?” she purrs, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Your princess doesn’t seem so into her prince.”
I glare at her, my patience already worn thin. “None of your damn business.”
She gives a sultry laugh, stepping closer. “I’m always available if you get bored with her. We both know a frigid little princess like that won’t hold your attention for long.”
I glance over at Simone. She’s stopped talking to Heath. She’s noticed me now, her gaze locked on me and Byrdie. Her brows are knitted, her mouth turned down almost in a frown. She doesn’t like what she’s seeing.
Me and Byrdie standing so close. Byrdie with her hand trailing down my chest. The waif knows this as her smirk deepens and she whispers, “You know what you really want, Ronan. Now come get it.”
My gaze returns to her, and I step back, breaking contact. “You’re about to be waiting a long time. I’m not interested. Haven’t been in a long time. You know that.”
“You will be eventually,” she scoffs. “Men like you always are.”
She stalks off as quickly as she’s shown up, but I hardly notice. I look back over to the stage and realize Simone’s gone.
She’s disappeared.