So I grabbed the bottle. “I will drink.”
The burn seared down my throat, fire spreading through my chest as I forced the sip down. I hissed against the heat, but I didn’t stop.
The lounge went silent, eyes pinned on me.
“There,” I said through clenched teeth.
The blonde smirked. “Clear the bottle, or kiss.”
“You can’t be serious,” I shot back.
“Oh, we are,” the redhead said, her voice sing-song.
I raised the bottle again and swallowed a sip. It clawed down my throat, stinging my eyes. A curse slipped out, but I kept drinking. The next mouthful dragged tears down my cheeks. Still, I drank, because it was better than kissing another man.
Before I could finish, Vincenzo’s hand closed over mine. He took the bottle, tipped it back, and emptied it in one drag. The slam of glass against the table made the wood shudder. “There.”
The air thickened with tension; no one laughed again. One of his friends tilted his head. “What’s wrong with you two, man? Are you forcing her into this?”
Vincenzo’s glare cut across the room. “Fuck off.”
“Clearly, something is off here,” the blonde started, but Vincenzo stood abruptly.
“You know what, we’re leaving.”
Oh, hallelujah.
He didn’t need to tell me twice. I pushed to my feet, my head already light, and hurried after him as he cut his way through the lounge. We moved down the stairs quickly, Vincenzo’s stride faster, while I rushed to keep up.
Outside, the night air struck me like a blessing. Cool and fresh, it cleared nothing, only confirmed what I already felt—I was tipsy.
The valet pulled up in the car. Vincenzo snatched the keys, and we slid inside.
The drive was quiet, the city lights blurring into streaks of color through the window.
“She likes you,” I murmured, the words spilling before I could stop them. “The blonde. She still likes you.”
“Shut up,” he snapped.
I chuckled, tapping a fingertip against the glass, tracing little shapes into the fog. “And you like her too.”
“If you think this is how you’ll convince me to call off the wedding, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not convincing you. I’m just telling you.” A laugh slipped out, light and careless. I leaned my forehead against the window. “You’re in love.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
“I’ve figured you don’t hate me. You’re just going along with the wedding because it’s supposed to happen.”
He scoffed. “It will happen. And I’m preparing for it. Trust me.”
“Why?” I turned my head toward him, though his eyes never left the road. “But I get it. That’s how this life works. If I were you, I wouldn’t let it happen.”
I shut my eyes, shaking my head as if that would stop the spinning.
“No, listen.” I shifted in my seat. “If it were just an arranged marriage, fine. But when your father is using you? That’s different.”
A burp slipped out, bitter alcohol rising in my throat. I grimaced, then kept going.