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“That’s none of your business,” I snap, ending the call.
I know that was rude, but Cameron didn’t cheat on me. No one knows it was me in those pictures. But what is physical cheating anyway when you don’t have their love? I am on the brink of an emotional crisis.
Chiara messages me. Cato is home.
My heart pounds as I tiptoe downstairs. I would have told Cameron, but it’s not like I have to ask for permission.
Before I can knock, Chiara opens the door.
“Come in.”
Cato’s office is spacious and dimly lit, with black mahogany furniture and polished floors. His space feels a touch dark, just like him.
Cato leans against his desk and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
I swallow the lump lodged in my throat. Everything in his posture strains as if knowing what I am going to ask goes against his loyalty to Cameron.
“There is a championship this weekend. I want to go to Las Vegas.”
“Does Cameron know?”
“Yes, and he is against it.”
“I see.”
He cracks his neck. “I’ll do it. I gave you my word. I hope you win because you’re definitely going to lose something.”
Just like that, he dismisses me. Chills roll down my back.
I close the door, and Chiara drags me into the kitchen. We sit around the island, and she pours us tea.
“He’s brutal,” I say.
“Who?”
“Cato.”
“You think?”
I would have laughed at the complete surprise taking over her features. She sits down in a high-back chair, tilting her head. “This life, these men are not the norm. I pride myself on being the kind of woman who understands that. But this life grows on you. We have each other; we’re family. We love our husbands. Together, we know nothing can stop us. We’re loyal. We forgive and we fight together as a family. I wouldn’t change that for anything in the world. But a woman also needs a break from all this.”
I nod because I need my freedom sometimes. I have a career.
Finishing our tea, I walk back to the house. My hand flies to my chest when I spot Cameron lounging on the couch in the backyard, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and his eyes on me.
“Violet.” His voice is seductive, but the undertone is more dangerous, turning me on.
“I needed to clear my head.”
He pats the seat next to him. “Come join me.”
I approach him, and he grips my waist. A cry of surprise leaves me when I end up straddling him.
“Hmm, should I believe your pulse is racing because of my proximity, or because you’re planning something I won’t like?”
He’s too smart for my good. It appears I like too-handsome assholes who are insufferably domineering with big egos and over-the-top intelligence.
With his hand on the back of my neck, he drags me to him, and our mouths are almost touching. Tingles dance over my lips.
