God, this evening is like fuckingGroundhog Day.
Endless.
“Prince, your mother said dinner is ready. We should be heading in.” She loops an arm through his and offers me a polite if bland smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’ve met before.”
I don’t return the ingenuine gesture. I’m too busy staring at first, that hand on his body, and then Asad. Too busy waiting to see if he’s going to push this bitch away or let her lay claim to him in front of me. When he does nothing—doesn’t admonish her, step away from her—I loose a low, dry chuckle. And shift backward, my shoulder brushing Kareem’s chest.
“She’s no one of importance,” Michelle butts in with a flicker of her hand. She shifts in front of Asad and Aryn, giving me and Kareem her back, dismissing me. “Asad, as the host, you shouldlead the guests into the dining area. You and Aryn shouldn’t keep everyone waiting. I’m sure our guests are ready to finally eat.”
The shit Michelle just pulled is childish and expected, and yet… it stings. It shouldn’t, but it does.
Maybe because, although Asad’s gaze is still fixed on me, he doesn’t disagree with her.
Doesn’t defend me.
Doesn’t protect me.
I disgust myself for the hurt trickling through me. What did I expect? This is him; this is his MO. Who he is. Who he has shown me he is since we were young. Why should I expect anything different now?
No man has ever shielded me. Not my grandfather. Not my father. And for damn sure not Asad, my childhood bully and would-be husband.
The only person I’ve ever been able to count on is Ember Cross.
The sooner I remember that—the quicker I stop believing that maybe, just maybe people can change and exhibit just a little humanity—the less disappointed I’ll be.
“Kareem.” Michelle turns to her youngest son. “I have you escorting Demarcus’s daughter—”
“I’m sure D will be fine taking his own daughter to the table. I’ll go in with Em.” Kareem shuts his mother down with a finality in his voice that brooks no argument.
I blink, stiffening, and Michelle gawks at him, lips parted. I don’t know who’s more shocked—me or her.
The Kareem I’m used to usually bows to his mother’s every order with little resistance. For him to buck a demand now? And for my sake? What number beer is he on?
Michelle’s smile freezes in place, the corners strained, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. No, they flash with promises of retribution, and for a second, I almost feel sorry for Kareem. Almost. This isn’tWho Wants to Be a Millionaire?, and I didn’t ask for a lifeline or phone a friend. And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be from him or anyone in his family.
“Fine,” she grits out between clenched teeth, that phony smile still in place. After several seconds, she spins around and faces Asad and his girlfriend again. “Asad, baby, you—”
“Michelle.”
Just that one word. In that voice. And she shuts right the fuck up. Even Aryn looks uneasy, slightly fidgeting beside him. They can sense in the air what we all can—the impatience of the predator in our midst. Even Michelle knows she can push her son only so far. That unblinking stare moves from his mother to me, and I meet it without flinching.
I want him to glimpse the loathing in my eyes. Hope he chokes on it.
But who am I kidding? Not only does he dine on my hate, he gorges on it with relish.
’Cause that’s what monsters do.
I should know.
Just before our visual battle becomes awkward for those around us, he pivots and stalks away, leaving Aryn, who still clings to his arm, to keep up with him. Michelle follows them.
Clapping her hands once, she stops in the middle of the drawing room. “If you’ll follow my son, dinner is ready and waiting to be served. Thank you,” she announces, face wreathed in a wide smile.
Some of the men and women set their glasses down on the smaller tables littering the room, and they break into couples, filing behind Michelle to the adjacent room, appearing like a macabre bridal party.
“Something you want to tell the class, Ember?” Kareem asks, arching an eyebrow at me.
“Nope.”