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“What were their names again?” I ask and Greta scowls at me.
“The Bosworth’s,” she reminds me, “and Dacre please don’t do that...”
I freeze with my whiskey I was about to pour into the tea. “What?”
Rolling her eyes, she sniggers and rocks our son in his stroller. “You’re being bad.”
“Do you care?”
She shrugs. “Not as much as I used to.”
That’s definitely true. After that damn freak accident, Greta’s whole perspective changed. She visited me at the hospital every single day, fed me fresh and organic food, conceived a child with me and kissed me all over my face in front of everyone.
Greta’s still my uptown girl but she’s completelymine.
Not even our parents were allowed to say anything. She fought for our relationship with the fierceness of a kitten that just discovered her claws. Slapping me on my thigh she excitedly breathes,
“There they are.”
The Bosworth’s seem like the average snobs but I stay polite, greeting them though my eyes never leave the man. Did he just linger a second longer on Greta than he should? I squeeze his hand harder and he grimaces but at least his eyes leave Greta.
My wife brims with happiness. She’s rounder and fuller after the pregnancy and looks good enough to eat. Hunger burns in my throat and I put my hand on her thigh under table. A pink flush spreads over her cheeks. She glances at me as if telling me to behave but I think I’m being pretty well-behaved.
Doing most of the small talk, Greta laughs and gesticulates with her hands while telling some anecdote and I’m smacked by a sudden urge to just take her the hell away from here. I don’t like the way the male keeps looking at her, keeps looking at her mouth...
And fuck did his eyes just linger around her cleavage?
A muscle ticks in my jaw and I reach for my gun.
“Isn’t that the funniest thing, Dacre?” Greta sniggers together with the woman and I frown.
“Hilarious,” I snarl even though I have no idea what they were talking about. I’m too busy keeping myself under control and Greta brushes me off with a laugh and reaches for the baby who’s woken up and is all cranky.
And hungry.
Smacking her lips, Greta tugs at her top and the male’s eyes flash with interest. Fuck, I’d rather die than let that piece of filth watch her while she nourishes our family and I put the gun against his balls.
He straightens, gulping and our eyes meet over the table.
The women don’t notice anything and Greta’s pulled a scarf over to conceal herself but it doesn’t matter. He’s not watching her anymore. He’s too scared to lose his balls.
A smirk pulls at my lips.
The whole gun thing cuts the meetup short and the couple excuse themselves and leave.
“I hope it wasn’t anything I said,” Greta murmurs, looking after them in confusion. “Do you think I came on too strong?”
Putting the gun back, I shake my head. “Nah. You were perfect.”
She beams up at me and sighs. “I was, wasn’t I? Let’s finish our tea and go home.”
Finally.
I’m done sharing Greta with everybody else and she knows me so well.
“Oh and Dacre...,” Greta muses, flicking her hair back, “maybe next time, you could try not to pull your shooter?”
A grin crosses my face. “You noticed?”
“Having a mobster for a husband has taught me a few things here and there,” she smiles and I yank her in close.
“About weapons?”
She nods, eyes lowering before our lips meet in a kiss. “And I’m pretty sure that bulge down your pants isn’t your gun.”
The End
