Page 9 of Lovely Venom

“What makes you think I do?”

Something flickers in his eyes, but before I can identify what it might be, it disappears.

Tension hangs in the air, and I don’t know what to do with it, so I search for a distraction.

Out of my periphery, I catch a server passing by with a tray of champagne, and it couldn’t come at a better moment. I follow the man until I get his attention, swiping two glasses off the tray.

I’m not sure Cristian even drinks champagne, but I’m hoping the interruption will give me a moment to breathe.

As I make my way back to him, a dark, terrifying expression settles over his face, and I’m wondering what I could have possibly done to warrant it. Then I realize too late—he’s not looking at me. Something over my shoulder has his attention, but before I can even turn to see what it is, someone trips me from behind.

I don’t have time to process what just happened as I tumble forward, champagne glasses slipping from my hands as I brace for impact. Glass shatters on the floor, and I envision my head cracking open with a familiar and sickening sound. But by some small miracle, that doesn’t happen.

One second I’m staring down death by marble floor, and the next, I’m swept up against the immovable wall that is Cristian Vitale.

A few seconds pass as I catch my breath, and I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping him until I look up.

His entire body has gone rigid, and his gaze is fixed on my hands that are currently clutching the fabric of his suit. It’s not a shocking reaction, considering I’ve noticed him tense like this before. We could be three feet apart, and he’d still consider it too close.

He’s uncomfortable, and I should be too, because this kind of physical proximity usually rattles me. But my brain seems to be malfunctioning, and I’m having difficulty moving at all.

We remain in that awkward moment for too long, until a welcome distraction arrives as a server rushes in to clean up the mess. But one look from Cristian stops her in her tracks.

“Don’t,” he tells the woman, redirecting his gaze over my shoulder. “Libby will do it.”

I pry my fingers off him, attempting to regain my composure as I turn to see the woman in question trying to scurry off. I’m not even surprised it was her who tripped me, most likely at Isobel’s bidding. But any amusement she may have had disappears as the onlookers block her escape.

With no other choice, she scans the crowd in a silent plea, as if one of them might speak up on her behalf. When none of them do, she lifts her gaze to Cristian’s, quiet indignation warring with her humiliation.

“I think it’s time you learned to clean up your own messes,” Cristian says, his voice unwavering in its authority.

I doubt there’s a person in this room who would defy his order. Though I’m certain I appreciate that tone far more than Libby does right now.

With trembling hands, she sinks to the floor in disgrace, her face reddening as the server gives her the cleaning supplies. It takes her a few minutes of scrambling around on her knees to mop up the champagne and shards of glass, and when she’s finished, she lifts her gaze to Cristian for approval.

“Now apologize,” he says.

She opens her mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. “Not to me.”

Her humiliation burns hotter as she forces her gaze to mine and swallows the words she really wants to say.

“I’m sorry,” she clips out. “It was an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Cristian corrects her. “Try again.”

Libby releases a shuddering breath, lowering her voice as she apologizes a second time. I’m aware that it’s not even remotely genuine, but I accept it nonetheless.

“What the hell is going on over here?” Marco cuts through the crowd, his gaze bouncing between the three of us.

“Something you should have dealt with a long time ago.” A note of irritation bleeds through Cristian’s tone.

Marco observes the narrow distance between Cristian and me, and laughably, his eyes take on a territorial gleam as he approaches.

He dismisses Libby without even glancing at her, telling her to go find Isobel. Then he meets Cristian’s gaze as he grabs me around the waist and yanks me against him.

“Jesus, Marco,” I hiss as my ankle throbs in agony.

I was hoping I hadn’t reinjured it in the near-fall, but Marco’s assholery has just confirmed it. As usual, he’s completely oblivious to the issue as he initiates a bizarre display of male posturing with Cristian.