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Not just someone’s wife—a billionaire’s wife.
“You look worried,” Reed noted as we entered the front foyer. “Are you—”
“Oh shit,” I cursed as I grabbed the banister of the staircase, jerking back like it had burned me. “Ouch.”
“What?” Reed demanded, and I gritted my teeth as I held my right hand up in the light, clenching and unclenching my fingers, the pain the first sign something was wrong. And after closer examination, the fat ring finger was the second.
“Dammit! Chad tried to grab me,” I explained, trying not to swallow my tongue as Reed stepped closer to me, his baby blues shadowed by a heavy brow. “So I punched him.”
It wasn’t too bad, but the knuckle on my finger was a little swollen and a light shade of purple. My hand had been aching a little since I’d plowed it into Chad’s face, but I’d never actually punched someone before, so I thought that was probably normal.
“Fucking hell, Valen.” Reed took my hand, and I sucked in a sharp breath, a bolt of pain shooting up my arm. “Fucking idiot,” he growled.
“I know.”
“Not you,” he corrected, his arm circling my waist. “Him.”
Without protest, I let him direct me up the stairs and into the kitchen. He placed his hands on my hips, gently lifting me onto the edge of the breakfast bar before walking over to the freezer and pulling out an ice pack.
“Does he have a habit of being handsy?” Reed asked while his back was turned, but I could hear the clench in his jaw.
“Not at all. We didn’t argue very often,” I explained as he returned. “But even when we had, it was nothing like that. Today it was like seeing someone flick a switch… a real Jekyll and Hyde.” He handed me the ice, and I clenched my teeth as I placed it on my knuckles.
Reed ripped off the jacket he wore and tossed it across the room onto the sofa before taking a step back, propping himself on the edge of the counter and folding his arms across his chest. His black shirt stretched tight over his biceps, looking like they could tear through it with ease. “When it feels better, I’ll teach you how to throw a real punch. One that won’t break your hand.”
“Honestly, I probably just need tonotphysically assault people,” I told him, shaking my head. “It’s never really gone in my favor.”
“Mmm…” he hummed. “The thing with Maddie, right?”
My stomach sank, as it always did when I remember that night. But once the memories started, there was no stopping them. “He was hurting someone I loved,” I whispered, feeling the sights and sounds crawl up the back of my neck. “So I had to stop him.”
“Maddie!” I called, ducking and dodging around a drunk group of Disney Princesses and a werewolf that had clearly strayed from his pack. “Maddie! Come o—” Then a second later, “Woah!”
I turned the corner at the end of a long hall, colliding with a tiny blonde wearing angel wings and a white mini dress. We were both thrown off balance, and I fell backward into the wall, a painful jolt shooting through my shoulder. Tiny angel girl stumbled around for a second, the drink in her hand sloshing back and forth.
“Mario!” she announced when she finally found her footing and let out a high-pitched giggle. “Cute costume.”
“Thanks!” I groaned, rolling my eyes and suddenly regretting my offer to be the sober driver tonight. It was like being the only adult trapped in a house with a hundred toddlers. Shaking my head, I paused and took in a calming breath. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen Luigi?”
Halloween was my favorite holiday.
Maddie and Jade weren’t as big of fans, but because they knew I loved it, for the past six years, they’d allowed me to torment them with matching costumes.
Mike, Sully, and Boo.
Winnie, Tigger, and Piglet.
And this year—Mario, Luigi, and Princess Peach—one guess at who wanted to be the princess.
“Yes!” The young drunk girl’s head bobbed enthusiastically, and she pointed back down the hallway she’d come from. “She’s with Peter!”
We were in some random Frat house in Dartmouth’s Greek Row. I’m not sure why this girl would think I had any idea who Peter was, but given the hall was a dead end, they couldn’t have been too far.
It wasn’t like Maddie to disappear on me for a guy.
I was usually the one who got doe-eyed and stupid for the wrong men—the red flags seemed to look less like warnings and more like beacons.
“No… no…”
