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“Fuck you!” Peter screams, even as he remains lying on the carpeted floor of the hotel hallway. “You stole my fucking woman! You think I’m just going to let you have her? You’ll have to kill me!”
“Don’t tempt me,” Brock says in a low, threatening voice. He looks so sincere that I actually start to think he might.
Okay, I sometimes fantasize about how much better my life would be if Peter were to get hit by a bus, but actual, pre-planned murder probably isn’t a great idea.
Somehow, my wobbly legs take me close enough to the men for me to put a shaky hand on Brock’s shoulder.
“He’s not worth it,” I say, my voice thin. “Just leave him here. He’s done. Let’s get back into the ballroom.”
Brock gives me a small nod, keeping his dark glare on Pete.
That’s when four security guards turn up, obviously drawn by Peter’s shouting. They see Brock standing over a bleeding man and immediately grab him.
“He assaulted me!” Peter screeches, pointing an accusing finger at Brock. “Arrest him!”
“We’re not the cops. If you morons want to fight, do it someplace else.” one of the burly guards says. Judging by the way the other two guys look at him, he appears to be the leader.
“He was just protecting me,” I say, indicating Brock. “This man on the floor was harassing me and threatening me.”
“I don’t care who did what to who,” another guard says. “All three of you need to leave. Now.”
Brock looks furious as he pulls himself up to his full height.
“Let’s go,” I whisper in Brock’s ear. “He isn’t worth getting arrested for. I think we’ve convinced your family we’re engaged, right? So we can leave.”
Brock’s jaw is clenched, but he nods—tersely.
Two of the security guards haul Peter up off the floor.
“Take him to the side entrance. And make sure he’s off the property before you let him out of your sight,” the lead guard says.
As Pete is being dragged off, he stares at Brock and me with pure murder in his eyes. It’s so intense that I shiver a little. I used to think he wasn’t capable of anything truly scary, but I’m revising my opinion on that now.
“Let’s go. We’re taking you two out through the other entrance.” The lead security guard puts his hand on Brock’s shoulder.
“We can walk,” Brock snaps, shrugging off the guard’s hand.
He takes my hand, the warmth of his skin distracting me from the cold, curious stares of other hotel guests as we’re being marched off the premises.
A few minutes later, we’re outside in the warm, balmy, summer night.
“Thank you,” I tell Brock.
He nods. “You need to go to the cops about that fucking freak before he does something really bad. He’s not right in the head.”
“Yeah, probably,” I say. “Another day. I think he got the message tonight.”
We sit on a bench by the sidewalk silently for a little while, looking out of place in our party attire.
“Sorry I sprung that whole thing on you,” Brock eventually says, turning to look at me. “You handled it well, though.”
“Oh, I know.” I grin.
Brock chuckles. “But if I have to go buy a pair of pink roller skates just to keep up appearances, I’m going to be mad as hell.”
I giggle at the mental image, and Brock laughs along with me, the tension melting away
“Sorry my weirdo ex keeps turning up and trying to fight you,” I say. “But it looks like you can handle yourself pretty well.”
“I wish I didn’t have to do it, but I get the impression this Peter guy isn’t one to take subtle hints. I don’t think he’s done yet, either, by the way he was looking at us as he got dragged away. The guy creeps me the fuck out. You should watch yourself, Nina.”
“I will.” Knowing that Brock is on my side gives me some sense of security.
“So,” he says, elongating the vowel as he lets out a big breath, “I guess we’re going to have to keep up this whole pretend engagement for a little while longer, now you’ve accepted my parents’ invitation. I’ll have to think of a reason for us to ‘split up’ after that I guess.”
“I vote for ‘you snore too loud, and I just couldn’t bear it anymore.’”
“Nah. Won’t work. My parents know I don’t snore.” He shakes his head, a big grin splitting his gorgeous face. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘she’s way too high maintenance, and she kept on saying stupid shit, and I just couldn’t bear it anymore.’ Far more believable.”
I elbow him in the ribs, and he holds his hand over his side, acting like he’s been mortally wounded.
“Careful,” I warn him. “If you think I’ve reached the limit of stupid shit I can say, well, you haven’t seen anything yet. Don’t push me.”
