“Well, you haven’t known me my whole life. We only met three years ago.” His deadpan expression makes me believe he is not joking.
“Augh, you don’t need to take everything someone says literally, Ro…”
“Why not? Why speak if it is not the truth? That makes no sense to me.”
Against my better judgement, I chuckle at the seriousness of his voice. “You are something else, did you know that?”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Hmm, sometimes.”
A commotion pulls our attention to the back of the hall. Charles Langford walks in with a woman who is not his wife on his arm.
The fucking audacity of these men, honestly.
I still cannot work out how he even gets one woman, let alone multiple. He is the same height as me, his once-brown hair now grey, his hairline so far back it looks like he has a five-head rather than a forehead, and the back of it is thinning.
What makes it worse is that he always looks like he is sweating. His beady eyes scan the room as his stomach enters before him.
“Showtime,” Roman mutters.
Spinning around to talk to him, my breath catches as I realise he has leaned forward. His face is so close to mine that if I move even a fraction, our lips would graze. Our breath mingles and for a split second I swear I see desire in those beautiful, haunted eyes of his.
Roman licks his lips as I track the motion and my heart pounds at the thought of his tongue on me.
Neither of us move. The moment stretches until the tension feels like it physically hums. Roman’s hand shifts slowly and deliberately as it comes to rest on my thigh, where the slit in my dress has fallen open and his gaze drops to where he is touching my warm skin. The touch is light, almost reverent, but it still sends a sharp pulse through me, and heat curls low in my stomach as his thumb presses down on my inner thigh.
I feel like I’m hallucinating at the unchecked lust reflected in his eyes. The whole world stops as he leans forward, as if silently daring me to match it.
I do.
My mouth barely grazing his, as I touch his pillow soft lips…
“Is this seat taken?” A sickly-sweet female voice cuts in, the tension snapping as I jolt back like I have been electrocuted.
Turning around, I take in the woman before me. Her yellow silk dress flows against her curves like water and her bleach-blonde hair looks like it could use a good conditioner. Charles’mistress stares at us with a haughty look as I try to come back down to reality.
“Please, sit,” Roman states, saving me from fumbling over my words.
I take a deep breath, glance at him, and then smile demurely at the woman.
“Thank you,” she sits opposite me, giving me another once-over.
“Are you here on your own?” I ask, pretending like I give a fuck and that I do not already know the answer.
Picking up my wineglass, I drink it in two gulps and place it back down in front of me. I can see Roman’s quizzed expression out of the corner of my eye, but he follows suit and empties his whiskey.
“No,” the mystery lady responds curtly. “My date is just getting drinks.”
Grabbing my handbag, I take out my tube of gloss and start to apply the contaminated product onto my lips. For a moment, I second-guess whether this is the right thing to do. But I have no other option. Go big or die… or whatever the phrase is.
“Oh, who is your date? Maybe we know him?” Roman responds.
“Oh, he’s… there he is!”
Twisting around, I see Charles two steps behind me. Taking a deep breath, I centre myself. Murder is one thing, murdering in plain sight? Well, that takes a different level of confidence. Wiping my palms on my dress, I shoot up and spin around to him. Charles looks slightly startled, which is perfect for what I want to do.
“Charles,” I crow in the most melodramatic voice I can. “Oh darling, how have you been?”