I finish getting dressed before I answer. “Maybe.”
“Tomás,” she says my name with slight reprimand.
“Would you stop me if I told you the truth?”
“No. Just don’t do something impulsive.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Like marry my sister’s best friend I barely knew after getting drunk at a Salsa night?”
“I guess that was pretty impulsive.”
“I’d say so, but I don’t regret it,” I admit, putting myself out there more than I already have.
She tugs on the bottom of my shirt as she ventures onto her tip toes, poking her lips out for a kiss. “Neither do I. Hurry back to me.”
“Always.”
If knocking on James’ door is already sending my blood pressure through the roof, I can only imagine how I’m going to feel when he answers it. I’m not left to wonder long, since he answers surprisingly fast.
“Well, look who it is. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I dismiss his sarcasm, knowing that the only way I’m going to get through this interaction is by playing nice… for now. “I came to speak to you about something.”
He quirks a brow. “If by speak, you mean apologize for getting me kicked out of Luxe. I’m all ears.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but that won’t be happening.”
This guy is unreal. The disappointment glossed over his features has me thinking he really thought he was in a position to be apologized to. “Well, what the fuck is it then? You interrupted my morning dick suck, to beat around the bush. Spit it out or get the hell off my property.”
The laugh I let out stood no chance of being suppressed. “Stop lying. With how quickly you answered the door there’s no way you have anyone in there. But that’s beside the point. I have a wedding to get to with my wife, so I’ll just get to why I came here.”
“Wife, huh?” The slimy fuck reaches for my left hand, grabbing onto it to inspect my barren ring finger. “This the samewifeyou pretended was yours at Luxe?”
Half a dozen snide remarks float through my head, yet none of them feel as satisfying as twisting his wrist does as I walk him inside his own house. Shutting the door and pressing him against it with a bent arm to his neck.
“I know what you did,” I say through a tense jaw, letting up on the pressure I have on his throat.
“What the fuck are you ta-”
“The will,” I interrupt.
He looks as if he’s seen a ghost, or maybe he’s looking pale as can be because my fist is now crashing into his jaw. He doesn’t try to fight back, instead he exerts his energy running to the mirror in the entryway, assessing the damage done to his face.
“You’re going to pay for this. I’m pressing charges,” he exclaims, pointing to where I may or may not have busted his lip open.
“No, you’re not.” I lunge toward him, and this time he tries to fight back, but I have too much adrenaline, and too many years of pent-up anger, to let him get away.
“You can deny it all you want, but I have this.” I keep him pinned with one hand and reach for the original will.
It’s unbelievable how even in the position he’s in, he still manages to deny the evidence.
“That’s her old will, before I became her attorney and we redrafted it.”
I click my tongue. “You mean when you doctored it.” All I have to do to prove my case is point at the signatures. Both say Sarina’s grandmother’s name, in two completely different styles.
“If you’re going to forge a signature at least study the original. What is this garbage?”
The insult to his poor penmanship ignites a fire within him as he drones on about how I don’t know what I’m talking about. Truthfully, the more indignant he becomes, the more I grow bored, ready to get this over with so I can get what I came here for and get back to my wife.
