“Youstillcorny.”
“And youstillblushing.”
She shook her head. “I’m hot.”
“You could be.”
Her jaw dropped. “See? Just terrible.”
I smiled and took her hand.
The event was heldin a private lounge tucked inside a hotel that charged more per night than most people's monthly mortgage. Rielle was going to read excerpts from her new book before her signing, and the stage was set for that with a microphone, a stool, and a covered pitcher of ice water.
The murmur of the well-dressed crowd was low, allowing me to focus. I clocked exits first—one behind the stage, one leading to the hallway, another out the side, and a service door near the small bar. There were two guards that belonged to the venue. I had two stationed in here, too, not including Mikhail and Juvie. Mikhail lounged against the far wall, looking casual. He wasn’t. Juvie was whispering to a red head, sending her into giggles, but I knew he was paying attention, too. He always was.
Theory slowed beside me, her curious gaze moving around the room.
“What is this?”
“A reading.”
“A reading?” She looked up at me, frowning. “Youbrought me to a reading?”
I glanced at her like I was offended. “I read, thank you very much.”
She scoffed. “Not sureThe Mafia Murder Manualcounts.”
“I read that in a day. Got an A+ on the quiz. I'm on to your books when you leave them open.”
She stopped walking. “What?”
I pressed against the small of her back until she moved again. “Gotta know what makes my wife a best seller. Also gotta see what you interested in.”
“First of all, mind your business. Second, if you stretched out the spine on any of my paperbacks, we divorcing.”
“First of all, youaremy business. Second, we not divorcing.”
“We are if you damaged my books.”
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“That’s not the point. I annotate my books. Even write in the margins. And some of them are my emotional support books.”
I looked at her skeptically. “Emotional support books?”
“Yes. Important for my mental health,” she whispered as she smiled at random people in the audience.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“Mm,” I replied noncommittally.
We reached the small, private room off the lounge before she could ask another question. I opened the door and let her step in first. Rielle Bright stood inside. Theory froze.
My wife, who had asked Andrei how to threaten to stab me in Russian just yesterday, who had gotten smart with my father,and who glared at Maxim every chance she got, went perfectly still except for the widening of those pretty brown eyes.
Rielle smiled.
