Page 113 of Vicious Kingdom

I could be a good husband. It should be easy. Annaliese was every man’s fantasy, and instead of embracing the lucky hand I’d been dealt, I was playing recklessly.

“How do you like the meal?” I asked, leaning over.

The abruptness of my question made Anna start. She looked up at me. “It’s gross.”

A rough laugh escaped me. Dio, she was blunt. We’d paid a thousand dollars a plate to be here, and while the money was for charity, the least they could do was provide a decent meal.

“I agree.” I pushed mine away. “What do you say we grab a bite of something when we leave?”

Annaliese looked at me as if I’d sprouted two heads. “Ookkaayy?”

“Oh, darling, you’re here!” a shrill voice beamed.

In a cloud of stinking perfume, a woman swept into our space, interrupting my attempt at mending things with my wife.

“But of course I am, Janet,” Annaliese smiled. “Who else is going to offer a scathing review of society’s behavior, expose their scandalous secrets?”

“I keep saying you should write a blog. You’d be a veritable Lady Whistledown!” Janet leaned in conspiratorially, her diamond earrings catching the light. “Speaking of scandalous secrets, did you hear about Vivian Hartley’s husband?”

“No!” Annaliese gasped, her eyes lighting up with interest. “What happened?”

“Well.” Janet lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Apparently he’s been spotted three times this month at that new club downtown. You know, the one with the private rooms upstairs?”

Annaliese covered her mouth, a giggle escaping between her fingers. “He went to the Jade Temple—again! That’s where he was caught the last time.”

Janet nodded. “Guess he never learned.”

“Not with his secretary?” Annaliese leaned on the back of her chair, tipping it onto two legs.

I braced myself, ready to reach out and catch her should she tip. While I didn’t give two shits about their topic of conversation, it was mesmerizing to watch her come alive like this. I would wager that while she seemed to be eating thiscontent up like any other hungry socialite, my sweet Annaliese, the talented little authoress, was actually making a deeper case study of humanity, storing the information for use in future stories.

“Worse! With his wife’s yoga instructor!”

They both erupted into peals of laughter, Janet nearly spilling her champagne.

“That’s nothing,” Annaliese countered, dabbing at her eyes. “Did you see Margaret Thornton tonight? That necklace she's wearing?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Janet pouted. “Bigger than the one I had last month.”

“Where did you leave yours?” There was a damn twinkle in the musical lilt of my wife’s voice.

“I took it to the jeweler’s to be cleaned and reset—”

“And?” Annaliese mused.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“That witch! She’s dead,” Janet gasped, straightening. “She wouldn’t dare.”

The woman dashed off, but not before embracing my wife in a swift, parting hug.

I frowned.

Because Annaliese had winced. It was quick, and if I hadn’t been watching her like a hawk, in tune with her every breath and enchanted by her features, I wouldn’t have caught it.

“Come with me,” I beckoned, keeping my voice level.