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I shake my head sadly. Carmy swears under his breath.
When I was going to be marryingMaeveBlack, Carmine, Nico and I had a fuckton of ideas lined up for ways to basically takeCharles Black for everything we could. Yes, I need to get married to hold on to Venom and my empire. Buthisempire is crumbling around him, and I’m the only one offering cement and rebar. He needed that match more than I did.
However, given that I’m now marrying the queen of the damned herself, the plans we had set up with Charles are no longer viable. I’ve been looking at angles for putting the squeeze on him anyway—I mean, I’m just marrying his granddaughter instead of his daughter. But I’m hitting a roadblock.
The nice version is: Tempest hates Charles. The not so nice version of that uses much more colorful language. So the odds of using my marriage to Tempest to gain any sort of leverage over Charles is looking bleak as fuck.
Before, it wasmedoing Maeve—Charles, really— a favor by marrying her. Now that it’s Tempest’s name on that blood marker, though?
She’s doingmethe favor.Shehas the leverage and the power.
Not, of course, that she needs to know that.At all.
He exhales heavily. “Well, shit. This sucks—” Carmine winces as his eyes snap to mine. “I mean, you know, relatively speaking. Not sucks like?—”
“Like having to marry Tempest fucking Black?”
He shrugs. “Hey, she’s…”
“Batshit crazy?”
“Headstrong,” he grins. “Tempestuous, if you will.”
“She’s a brat with authority issues and a terrible sense of style.”
Carmine sighs. “Dude, by your standards, even I have bad style.”
I arch a quizzical brow at his black suit, no tie, fitted, with the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. I clear my throat. “I mean…”
“Dude, it’sArmani. Even you can’t say shit about Arma?—”
“That jacket cut is at least eight years old, the inseam on the trousers should be tightened up a half inch, and there is absolutelynoreason you should be wearing French cuffs without a tie. I don’t care what Tom Ford is doing.”
Carmine is silent as he slowly he shakes his head at me.
“You’re a fuckin’ snob, bro.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“I…didn’t, actually?” He rolls his eyes. “You know, I was all set to commiserate with you about having to tie the knot with Tempest. But shit, I think I feel worse forhernow.”
“Yes, that’s the support in these trying times I was looking for. Thanks, Carmy.”
He sighs heavily. “You used to be fun, you know? And I don’t know why you’re so bent out of shape about Tempest. I mean, yeah, she’s…rough around the edges. But, bonus! She doesn’t come with all the baggage and psycho family drama of a mafia princess.”
“No, just the psycho family drama of her brothers being Alistair and Gabriel fucking Black. Who would happily stab me in the neck if they thought they could argue their way into?—.”
“Again, one conversation would?—”
“Carmine.”
He holds his hands up. “All right, all right, I’m done.” He clears his throat. “Hey, at least she’s hot.”
I scowl. “Excuse me?”
“Your fiancée. Great legs. Cute face. Fantastic ass.”
“Well then,youmarry her.”
