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“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to have to cut the evening short and—” He doesn’t finish the sentence.
I turn around and take a sharp intake of breath. Keira Kavanagh is standing there, literally dressed to kill. She is wearing an emerald green dress with two hip-high slits, and her blonde hair has been fixed to the top of her head like a crown. She gives me a superior glacial look and I feel Rocco’s hold on my hand tighten to stop me from going over to her.
“I’ll handle this,” he whispers in my ear as he walks over to Keira, leaving me alone.
I watch as he takes her firmly by the arm to one side, she caresses his bicep but he doesn’t stop her, which infuriates me. He looks up and catches my eye, and I turn around and walk back into the crowd of people, cursing the day I ever set my sights on Croccifixio De Luca and Keira Kavanagh.
I inwardly groan when I see Keira standing there. Does she have some kind of annual wedding pass that she is taking advantage of? I feel Sophia stiffen beside me, and I grab her hand to stop her from walking over before she even moves. I can almost see the reel of their exchange from our wedding replaying in Sophia’s head and the fire beginning to churn inside her chest.
“I’ll handle this,” I say, giving her a meaningful look. She simply frowns at me, and I can see the betrayal in her eyes as I let go of her hand and walk over to Keira.
Keira smirks at me as I walk toward her, but her face drops in indignation as she sees the dark look on my face when I grab her arm tightly and pull her off to the side.
“Rocco, what a pleasure,” she says smiling sweetly, attempting to pull her arm out of my grasp.
“What are you doing here?” I say through gritted teeth.
“If I had known you were so desperate to talk to me, I would have come over. You didn’t need to grab my arm so roughly, although I do know how you like it,” she says, gleefully as she strokes my bicep. When I look up, I see Sophia’s gaze burning a hole into me before she disappears into the crowd.
“Oops,” Keira says, giggling. “We had so much to catch up on too. Maybe we could have compared notes.” She chuckles.
“What are you doing here?” I say and take her to the side of the hill.
“I was invited. Why else would I be here? And if you don’t mind, this is Chanel,” she says tugging the material out of my hand.
“I do mind, indeed.” I grit my teeth. “I don’t want you at any events that I am at. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“You really think you can threaten me?” She glares up at me with her dark brown eyes, her Irish accent thicker now that she is getting worked up.
“I just did. Stay out of my sight,” I hiss at her.
“You can’t threaten me, you know who my father is. One word to him, and he’ll chop you up into fucking pieces,” she snarls.
“Your father is a washed-up old drunk who hasn’t run his family since you were a child.”
“Takes one to know one,” she croons. “Isn’t that why we bonded, both let down by our fathers and both in positions to lead our families better? I would’ve been the better choice, and you know it. If only you weren’t such a traditionalist. I was good enough to fuck but not Italian enough to marry,” she says furiously.
“I wouldn’t have married you if you were the last fucking piece of ass on this earth. I’m warning you, Keira, stay away from my wife, and if you say one more fucking filthy thing to her—”
“You’ll what?” she says mockingly.
She doesn’t have time to finish because I reach out and wrap my hand around her neck, tightening until she’s pale white and her eyes are almost popping out of her head. “Have I made myself clear?” I say letting go as she collapses against a tree. “I said, have I made myself clear?” I ask again, grabbing her roughly by the wrist.
“Yes,” she wheezes.
“Now what you’re going to do is excuse yourself early, take a flight back home and when you are back in the city, if you ever see me, make sure you walk in the fucking opposite direction.”
“You bastard,” she says while stroking her throat.
“I’m glad we understand each other.” I walk off to rejoin the party and my wife.
“When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one’s self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.”
—Oscar Wilde
IPUSH THROUGH THE BUSTLING CROWD OF WEDDING GUESTS, WANTING TO GET AWAY FROM EVERYBODY.
I stop when I feel an arm reach out to me, and as I turn around, his eyes twinkle for a moment as I note an ominous familiarity in them.
