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“Whatever you want to call it,” she snaps. “Newsflash: lots of people have. Most people, I would guess. But we can’t all use it as an excuse to become complete and total dickheads.”
“I have something to protect.”
“Congratulations.” She gives me a slow golf clap dripping with sarcasm. “So do I.”
“You? What in the fuck do you have that’s worth protecting?”
Damn it. Damn it, damn it all to hell. I know the instant I see the light leave her eyes that out of everything I could have said, I chose the exact wrong thing. And now I have this sense of sliding down a rocky slope, scrambling around trying to grab something to stop my descent. “I shouldn’t have said that,” I murmur. “That was too far.”
“Whatever,” she says with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, I should thank you for reminding me of who I am. And I guess it makes it easier for you, too.”
“Makes what easier for me?”
“If I’m nobody important, nobody special with nothing to live for and nothing to protect, it makes it easier for you to send me off someplace and never think about me or what I’m going through.” She nods slowly, staring out the window again. “I wondered how you managed it, to tell you the truth. How you could switch your compassion off. Now I get it.”
We’re getting close to the bridge. How am I supposed to settle this by the time we arrive? Does it need to be settled? Will she behave herself even when she’s pissed and hurt? I can’t come out and ask her, of course.
“Look. I’ve said a lot of shitty things tonight, and I can own up to that. I speak without thinking sometimes.” She doesn’t respond. She hardly reacts at all. “And in the end, you’re doing me a favor tonight. I lost sight of that. I was too wrapped up in thinking about what this meant for the family’s alliance.”
“What a surprise,” she whispers.
“Could you let me get this out before you throw any more quips at me?” She lifts a shoulder, which I take as agreement. “It was wrong of me. I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“How remarkable.”
I swear to God, she’s determined to make me throw her out of this car. She wouldn’t look so gorgeous then, would she? “I’m trying here. Could you at least meet me halfway?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she mutters with a sigh. “I’m not going to ruin anything for you tonight. You don’t need to make up with me before we get there. I’ll be a good girl. I’ll make you proud of me.”
That should satisfy me, but all it does is turn my stomach. Why is she doing this? Why does she have to be so goddamn impossible? “Fine. I intend to hold you to that.”
“Oh, yeah?” she turns her head slowly, arching an eyebrow as if to challenge this. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
I hate who she makes me. I hate what she makes me say and do to get my point across. “Like I said, I still have your address. And now that I know you have something in your life worth protecting, who’s to say I won’t find out what that thing is at some point?” Fuck, I need a shower. This is who she’s reduced me to. Thinly veiled threats in the back of a limo in hopes of keeping her in line. Again, I can’t help but wonder what the people I’ve lost would think of me for this. How disappointed they would be.
Truth be told, I’m disappointed in myself.
“I see.” Everything about her expression and body language screams disapproval, disappointment. The way she folds her arms, the way she sets her mouth. But it’s the look in her eyes that drives the stake into my chest. Cold. Disconnected. “Thank you for making sure I know exactly what’s going on here. I’ll keep that in mind tonight while I smile and make stupid small talk with a bunch of people so your family can have friends on its side.”
“Do me a favor and climb down off the cross, would you? Like you aren’t getting anything out of it. Like you could exist in this world for two seconds on your own. Please.” Sure, because why not make things worse? The thing is, I don’t care right now. I want to hurt her. She needs to be put in her place.
Vincent was wrong. This was a terrible idea.
Too late to do anything about it now. We’re over the bridge, on our way to the wide driveway lined in twinkling lights. There’s a security checkpoint which Chuck handles while I seethe behind him. To think, I was in a good mood when we left the house. I was riding high, imagining the effect we’ll have on the other partygoers.
As we roll down the wide, winding driveway, I glance toward her from the corner of my eye. She’s exceptionally beautiful tonight. I should’ve chosen my words more carefully—something I ought to be much better at. I need to be. A man in my position can’t afford to run his mouth whenever and however he wishes.
“It’s not fair,” I murmur while Chuck steers the limo around the circular courtyard. There are uniformed staff waiting to help guests out of their cars, and I see the men and women migrating toward the flower-draped entrance smiling, laughing, waving and air kissing in greeting.
“What’s not fair?” Delilah mutters. She can pretend all she wants, but the way she cranes her neck to observe everybody ahead of us speaks to her nerves and excitement.
“There shouldn’t be a more beautiful woman at the party than the bride-to-be. But here we are.”
Her head swings around, her mouth partly open. Eyes wide, searching my face. “Really?” The slight throb in her voice cuts me to the quick. How does she do it? Suddenly the bitterness melts away, leaving regret behind.
“You are truly exquisite, and I’m fortunate that I get to escort you tonight. Thank you for going to all the trouble to look like a million bucks.”
Her cheeks flush before she lowers her gaze. “It was all Teresa and the other girls. I just sat there.”
