Bastard.
Why invite me to this business dinner when you fully intended to parade your lover in the same space as your so-called fiancée? It didn’t matter that the only two people who knew of the “engagement” were him and me; it was fucking humiliating.And in this moment, I had a crystal clear vision of how any marriage to him would be. From the time he left my apartment yesterday, I’ve actively avoided thinking about my imminent future. But I can’t avoid it anymore.
Side chicks out the ass while I would be expected to sit there like a good little Mafia wife and suck it up ’cause men would be men.
Fuck. That. Shit.
That had been my mother’s life. Michelle’s life. But fuck what Asad thought, it would never be mine.
“Answer me,” he demands. “What did Michelle want?”
“Same ol’, same ol’.” I wave off his question. Like he doesn’t know his mother. Shit, they cut from the same cloth. “I ain’t shit. I’m a lonely bitch. I’m not worthy of breathing the same rarefied air as everyone here. Blah blah blah.”
Raising my glass, I peer at him over the rim, and sipping my whiskey, I frown at the bolt of… something in his eyes. Couldn’t be anger; hell, he cosigned her bullshit from the time Marcus introduced him, his brother, and his mother to me.
“Funny thing though.” I pause, mimicking him and tilting my head. “She wasn’t aware I was here at your invitation. Not that I can blame her, considering you have your girlfriend and fiancée”—I damn near choke on that blasphemous word—“at the same dinner together. Still, I thought you two were besties. Don’t tell me you didn’t let your mother know of our intended nuptials.” I hike an eyebrow. “Let me find out you’re ashamed of me already.”
Thatsomethingmoves in his eyes again, and I stiffen, coils of disquiet and an unsettling… eagerness twisting low in my belly.
He chuckles, and the sound is raspy, and utterly absent of humor.
“We just had a conversation about assumptions and here you go. You claim you know me, and yet, it’s like you trying me on purpose, fully aware how I get down. Are you that desperate to see how much of a beating that pussy can take, ma?”
I mug him even though my heart beats between my legs. “You got me fu—”
“Hey, everything okay over here?” Kareem asks, standing next to me, his arm brushing my shoulder.
Asad and I had been so focused on each other, we hadn’t noticed his brother approaching us. And while I was thankful for Kareem’s timely interruption, from the flattening of his full lips and flaring of his nostrils, Asad looks like he seconds from forgetting Kareem is his little brother. His narrowed scrutiny lowers, momentarily fixing on where we touch before lifting to meet Kareem’s gaze.
“Does it look like it isn’t?” he asks, his voice calm. Too calm. Like the eye before a destructive, deadly storm.
Kareem’s either gloriously oblivious to the quiet warning his brother is issuing, or he’s just decided to ignore it. I can’t decide if that’s brave or foolish.
“It just seemed a little… intense. And some of our guests were beginning to notice.” Unlike the other men at the dinner party, Kareem opted for a beer, and he raises the dark brown bottle to his lips for a sip. I admire that about him. He doesn’t give a fuck to be different, though he often gets the backside of his mother’s tongue for it.
Asad keeps his focus trained on his brother, but I surreptitiously glance around the room. A couple of women brave enough to perch on those ornate, too-fragile-looking chairs. Aryn and Michelle hovering in the doorway between the drawing and dining rooms. And sure enough, several pairs of eyes are focused on us—Naoki Sato, the Yakuza oyabun; Don Amato and his wife, Chelsea; Demarcus and Carter Williams; Michelle and Aryn.
The weight of their attention crawls across my skin like a battalion of ants in search of a picnic to ruin. The fragrant scents I’d found so delicious just minutes earlier congeal in my stomach like a ball of old, greasy lard. I barely keep the hand not clutching my glass restrained to my side and not rubbing over my arms. Exposed. I feel exposed.
Fuck.
I hate being the center ofanyattention.
Another reason to resent Asad.
Why couldn’t he leave me alone and bother his fuck buddy? She appears to love his attention. And dick. Can’t forget his dick.
“Like I give a fuck who’s noticing what. I didn’t invite them here to mind my business,” Asad coldly says.
“Oh.” Kareem glances between the two of us. “So you and Em have business?”
Shit. I rear back just a little. Questioning Asad? Is Kareem drunk?
I’m not God. I’m not protecting babies or drunks. If his brother goes for his throat, I’m not jumping in the way of a gotdamn thing. Kareem might be the lesser, kinder evil of his family but nothing I’m willing to sacrifice my body over.
“Hold that thought, bruh.” Kareem holds up his beer bottle like a church finger and shoots a pointed look over Asad’s shoulder. “Incoming.”
Again, Asad doesn’t bother glancing behind him, but I do. And inside, I cringe and smother a huge sigh. Michelle and Aryn are walking our way.