Princesa: So you’re not going to respond? Okay…Is this about Frank? You know what, I don’t care. I was going to stop by to see you, but since you haven’t bothered to respond, what’s the point?
Shit. I grab the phone and type a frantic reply.
Me: I’m so sorry for not responding. Something came up. I’m glad your mom’s well. Gabe hasn’t told me anything about Yuri. I can ask? I don't trust Frank.
I check the time. It’s eight in the evening.Fuck,I slept all day. I pull up her location, and just as I thought, she’s at the restaurant. I grab my laptop and hack into the security feed, scanning the cameras until I find them. The place is small and intimate. They’re sitting at a corner table. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing another sweater dress. He’s dressed up. I stare at the screen, a knot forming in my stomach. Is she on a date?
Like hell she is.
I head to the bathroom to splash cold water onto my face, ignoring the sharp protest from my ribs. I don't have time for pain. Grabbing my jacket, I head out the door, driving straight to the restaurant. She needs to know exactly who the fuck she belongs to.
Veronica
Chapter 30
I’m halfway through explainingthe engagement party seating chart to Frank when the air in the restaurant turns heavy. I feel the shift before I see him. My heart skips a beat when I look up and meet his dizzying mix of white-hot fury, and a traitorous, familiar thrill rushes through me.
He looks like hell. One eye is swollen and bruised, and his lip is split. But it's the look in his eyes that stops my breath. He tracked me. He saw I was with Frank, and he came to claim what’s his. I hate that he doesn't trust me to sit across from another man, but god, I love that he can't stand the thought of it. What the hell is wrong with me?
He doesn't even look at Frank. He walks straight to our table and plants his hand on the back of my chair. His fingers dig into the wool of my sweater dress, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric.
"Dinner is over," he says. His voice is a low, jagged growl that sends a shiver straight down my spine.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my blood is humming. "You tracked my location? You really don't trust me to have a meal with a friend without you hunting me down?"
"I'm taking you home." He ignores my question entirely, his focus shifting to Frank, who is pale and frozen. "You have ten seconds to pay the check and leave. If I ever see you sitting across from her again, a black eye will be the least of your worries."
Frank tries to put on a brave front. “You can't just—"
He doesn't let Frank finish. He picks up Frank’s wineglass and slowly, deliberately, pours the red liquid over Frank's steak. The disrespect is evident to anyone who’s looking. It’s extreme, arrogant, and exactly what I expected.
"You're still talking," he says to Frank, his voice flat and deadly.
Frank looks at his ruined plate, then at the man looming over him. He grabs his wallet and throws a mess of cash on the table. He looks at me and then at Miles.
“I’ll see you later, Veronica.”
I stand up, my heart hammering against my ribs. My eyes lock with Miles’s, trying to look offended, even as the possessiveness in his gaze makes my knees weak. "You have no right," I hiss, stepping close enough so I don’t cause a scene. "You didn't answer my messages, but you had time to hack my location? You're a paranoid bastard."
"Time to go," he commands, his jaw tight, his hand moving to the nape of my neck.
"Fine, only because you ruined my dinner," I spit back, grabbing my purse. But I lean into his touch just a fraction, a silent admission that he’s won.
He winces as he grabs my coat, a flicker of genuine pain crossing his face, but his grip on me doesn't loosen. "We’re taking my car. I told Kai he has the night off, Princesa. We can argue about my trust issues once I have you behind a locked door."
The walk to the car is tense and silent. He keeps his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the restaurant as diners whisper behind their napkins. Outside, the night air is sharp, but the heat radiating off him is enough to keep me warm.
He unlocks the car, and I slide into the passenger seat. I see him wince as he climbs in beside me, his hand clutching his side as he settles into the leather.
"You're a mess," I say, my voice softer now that we’re away from the prying eyes of the bistro. I reach out to touch the edge of his swollen eye, but he catches my wrist midair. His grip isn't painful. He doesn't look at me yet; he just stares straight ahead through the windshield, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. “You didn’t have to hunt me down. You knew I had plans with Frank.”
The light from a nearby streetlamp hits his face, illuminating the violent bruise around his eye. “You were on a fucking date, Veronica.”
He shifts the car into gear, the engine growling to life under his hand. He doesn't wait for my defense. He doesn't want to hear it. He simply pulls away from the curb with a sharp jerk. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead while the silence between us hums with everything he isn't saying. I watch his profile, the way his knuckles are white against the steering wheel. My heart is racing, caught between the urge to scream at him and the dark, intoxicating thrill of knowing he’s hurt and still came for me.
We arrive at our apartment building, and he gets out first; I can tell he’s in pain. He opens my door, not as a gesture, but as an order. I get out without a word, contemplating going to my apartment, but think better of it right now. We enter his apartment and move to the living room in the dark; the only light comes from the city through the window.
He walks straight to the kitchen without a word, leaving me standing in the center of the room, my purse still clutched in my hand, staring into the dark. Taking a moment to calm his temper. When he comes back a minute later and walks right up to me, he invades my space the way he did in the restaurant. He doesn't touch me yet, just looms, the heat from his body washing over mine. The anger I felt in the car is a live thing now, mixed with a deep, consuming need.
