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That, of course, worked to my advantage.
If Bishop and White were under the impression that I’d already got what I was looking for, they’d keep their guards down.
And so, even though separating Francesca and Angelo was of the essence, settling this matter took priority now.
“I have what I need.” I smiled easily.
Bishop nodded, smiling and tapping my shoulder. He leaned toward me and whispered, “How is she in the sack? A lamb or a lioness? She is spectacular, Keaton.”
I was glad it was not possible to strangle a person through an expression alone because if it were, Preston Bishop would be dead, and I would be escorted to the nearest police station.
I neither knew nor cared why it bothered me so much that the governor spoke of my future wife as if she were a racehorse I’d purchased.
I downed my champagne glass and tipped my chin up.
“How’s your wife in the sack?” I asked.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Actually, I don’t think I will, Preston. Miss Rossi’s age does not give you the permission to talk about her like she’s a piece of meat.”
“But…”
“Enjoy the rest of the party.”
I sauntered past him, inwardly cursing Arthur for being an asshole, Angelo for existing, and myself for ever wanting to lay a hand on the beautiful siren dressed as Nemesis.
The decision to marry her was supposed to chain Arthur further to my plan and clean up my reputation. Instead, it made everything a thousand times more difficult and complex.
When I slanted my gaze sideways to look for Nem in the throng of partygoers, I found Kristen instead, cradling her drink and raising it in my direction with a cunning smile.
It was an invitation I declined by ignoring the gesture, roaming the room with my eyes for long minutes only to find that Francesca and Angelo were not in the room anymore.
I climbed up to the second floor, checking her room, and every single other bedroom in the house, then the bathrooms, before I remembered that my fiancée was fond of gardens.
I figured if Angelo and Francesca were going to fuck, they’d go somewhere private. But I forgot one little thing.
Nemesis claimed to have loved Angelo.
A few stolen kisses and rushed promises under the pink sunset were just as rewarding to them as a rendezvous between the sheets.
I descended the garden’s stairs to find them sitting on a stone fountain, their knees angled toward one another.
He caressed her cheek, and she let him.
He tucked a curl behind her ear, and she let him.
He plastered his forehead against hers, and she let him do that, too.
Their breaths were heavy, their chests falling and rising in harmony.
And I stood there, watching, simmering, fire coursing through me, I regretted humiliating her in front of her father. For I learned, for the first time, that my actions toward her had consequences.
I compromised her honor, so she was compromising mine.
The only difference was, I did it to spite someone else.
She truly loved another.
