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“Then talk to her about—”
“No,youtalk to her about it. Over dinner,” Anya says. “You’re her husband.”
“Fake husband. Fake fiancé, actually. We aren’t fake married yet.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t you want to actually catch whoever is threatening our family?” she asks. “You almost act like…like you don’t want this thing with Cora to end.”
I can feel Anya’s assessing eyes on me, waiting for any sign of a crack in the facade.
“Of course I want it to end,” I snarl.
And why wouldn’t I?
My life is amazing. I’m rich and powerful. I can buy whatever I want and have whoever I want. Meanwhile, Cora is a waitress.
Even as I think it, the words chafe. They sound far too similar to something my father would say.
They also don’t ring particularly true.
Cora is a lot more than a waitress. She’s loyal to her friends and willing to sacrifice to protect the people she cares about. She’s fierce in everything she does. In kindness and fury and fucking.
That ferocity is just another reason it is high time Cora got out of my house and out of my hair. I need someone who can do what I ask and stay out of my way.
Cora is not that woman.
So the sooner she gets out of my life, the sooner I can find a woman who respects my need for those things.
“Just talk to her,” Anya presses. “Please?”
I meet my sister’s eyes. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. Dinner.”
* * *
I’m pretty sure my sister is the only person in the world who could get me into a tux against my will.
Then I look up the grand staircase and see Cora.
I’d put on a suit for her.I’d take it off, too.
I silence my dirty thoughts and drink in the sight of her.
She’s wearing a midnight blue gown that makes her skin shine like starlight. The neckline plunges low across her chest and a slit rises along her right leg to nearly the top of her thigh. Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders that I want to gather up with my hands. I imagine myself shifting her hair to one shoulder and pressing my mouth to the hollow of her throat. Suckling. Biting. Claiming.
Suddenly, my sister’s long, loud whistle cuts through the thought.
“Holy shit,” she catcalls. “You look amazing!”
Cora turns to her, a pleased smile brightening her face. “Thanks, Anya.”
Anya elbows me in the side as Cora reaches the bottom step. “Doesn’t she look nice? Tell her she looks nice. Tell her. Say it. Say it now.”
I love my sister. But right now, I want to strangle her.
“You look nice.” My voice sounds robotic. My movements feel robotic, too, as I shift to the base of the stairs and hold an elbow out. Just the way I was taught.
In the same easy, well-trained grace, Cora curls her arm around mine and stands beside me.
Anya circles us like a judge, taking us in from every angle. “You two look like a real couple to me. A beautiful, real couple.”
