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As I step out of the washroom at the bar, I see the several men who have to follow me around. Christian promised that they wouldn’t be there if he was around, but something came up before the show, and he had to take off.
I toss my hair over my shoulder, trying to maintain a false sense of bravado as I walk down the hall and back onto the dance floor.
The men disperse, hiding among the crowd as I start to dance. I have time to kill before my set, and I want to spend that time dancing away the nerves.
The last thing I thought I was going to be able to do was chase my dreams. When I got married last night, I thought my life was going to come to an end.
Even though I don’t like having a bunch of men follow me around, it’s better than the alternative. I could have to kiss my dreams goodbye, but Christian doesn’t seem to want that.
The busier I am, the less time he has to spend with me.
The thought is fleeting.
Spending as little time with Christian as possible should be a good thing. I don’t want any part of whatever he is involved in. Because whatever it might be, I suspect it isn’t good.
Why else would he have to force me to marry him.
“You look stunning tonight.” Christian appears at my side with a grin that promises nothing but trouble. “It’s like another version of you comes to life when it’s time to perform.”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” I stop dancing, my attention lasered in on him.
My stomach does a little flip flop when the smile falls, and his gaze drifts up and down my body.
“What is it? Should I have worn something else?”
He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.
“Why would I want you to wear anything else? You look amazing. Although, I should probably get you a ring or something. I’m not the kind of man who is going to enjoy people hitting on my wife.”
My cheeks warm as I roll my eyes. “I might be your wife, but that doesn’t mean that we have to act like it. You can carry on with your life, and I can carry on with mine.”
Christian leans closer to me, stealing the air from my lungs with a single heated look.
I hate how flustered I feel when I’m around him. He just looks in my direction, and I feel like I’m melting into a puddle at his feet.
It has to be the tattoos. No man has any business looking that good and having tattoos. It’s not fair.
“What makes you think that carrying on with our lives would be in any way acceptable to me?” he asks, his tone low as he takes my hand and pulls me to him. “We’re married. Which means that you’re not going to be seeing anyone else.”
I snatch my hand back from him, crossing my arms. “And what about you? Do you get to sleep around with whoever you want?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and he shrugs. “Would it matter to you?”
“If I don’t get to sleep around, then neither do you!”
Not that I sleep around at all. Hell, I have never even slept with a man, not that I’m going to tell him that.
The closest I’ve gotten to sleeping with someone was when he had me pressed up against the wall last night.
He chuckles and straightens up. “I guess that’s only fair. Until you come begging for me to make you feel good.”
I roll my eyes. “I doubt whatever you’re working with could ever make me feel good.”
As I stand there, considering whether or not to wipe the smug smirk off his face, I wonder why I can’t be this version of myself all the time.
This is the version I like the best. The Zoe who doesn’t let other people take advantage of her. The Zoe who is kind but is still able to speak up for herself.
That’s the person I want to be all the time, but I’ve always struggled to come to terms with her.
