AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What happened to your face?” he demanded.
I immediately brought my hand to my cheek, rubbing it and laughing off the embarrassment. Luckily, his tone was controlled enough that we didn’t have an audience.
“Nothing. Just an accident.”
“Francesca…” His voice softened, and he took me by the hand—not my elbow, which was an improvement—and pulled me under an alcove between the sunroom and the drawing room.
I looked down at my huge dress, determined not to cry. I wondered when I would survive an entire twenty-four hours without bawling.
“Did he hit you?” he asked quietly, bending his knees to get on my level.
He stared right into my eyes, looking for that something other than the pattern of my father’s hand on my cheek to give him the okay to do what he wanted to do.
“He didn’t mean to. He wanted to slap my mother. I stopped it and got in his way.”
“Jesus.” He shook his head.
I looked sideways, blinking. “Why does it matter, Wolfe? You’re not much better than him. True, you don’t hit me, but you say mean things about me all the time. I heard you telling him that you’re with me just so we can f…have sex, and that you plan to discard me the minute I won’t look so good on your arm.”
From my periphery, I saw him straightening up to his full height, his jaw clenching in annoyance.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“You weren’t supposed to say it. You say a lot of hurtful things about me to him.”
“I was baiting him.”
“Good job. He got so pissed, he tried to hit my mom. This is partly your doing. My father is a madman, and anyone affiliated with him is a potential victim.”
“I’d never let him lay a hand on you.”
“Never, or until I’m not pretty enough to be Mrs. Keaton?”
“Never,” he enunciated. “And I’d advise you cut the bullshit. You will be Mrs. Keaton until the day you die.”
“It’s not the point!” I shouted, turning around and grabbing a glass of champagne for liquid courage, downing it in one go.
He spared me the lecture. I looked around. The crowd was thinning. I’d lost track of time since the incident with my parents.
“What time is it?”
“Time for everyone to leave so we can sort out this mess,” Wolfe replied.
“And in practice?” I huffed.
He twisted his wrist and pushed the sleeve of his blazer up, checking his Cartier.
“Eleven o’clock. You know they won’t leave until they escort us to the bedroom.”
I sighed. That was the tradition. He offered me his arm, and I took it. Not because I particularly wanted to spend the night with him, but because I wanted everything to be over.
Five minutes later, Senator Keaton announced that we were retiring to our bedroom. People whistled, clapped, and cupped their mouths with delighted chuckles.
He helped me up the stairs to my old bedroom, which my parents had prepared for my wedding night. People followed, throwing candy and singing drunkenly, their voices high pitched and slurred.
Wolfe threw his arm over my shoulder protectively, hiding the side of my face that was still red and swelling from my father’s offense earlier that evening.
I twisted my head and caught a glimpse of my parents following the crowd. They were clapping along, ducking their heads down to listen to things people shouted in their ears.
