AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A flush rises swiftly up her cheeks, her eyes dark and narrowed, shocked and hurt. “Christ, you’re an ass, aren’t you? If you want me to hate you again, I will. Is that your game with me?”
“I don’t play games. The money is yours to donate. Consider it my wedding present to you.”
She squints at me, and I watch as sharp points reforge from places within her that had grown dull and complacent. I watch as they stab at her skin. I hurt her and I hate myself for it, but once again, I find myself dangling precariously on the edge of wanting to be everything to her while not being nearly enough. I’m not the man she needs. I live in the middle of nowhere, own a town with not much of a name, and avoid the limelight—and fucking people—every chance I get.
Georgia Monroe could never find happiness in that. Or with me.
Chapter Eight
The moment we step foot over the threshold of the room, my eyes are everywhere. Georgia’s hand is held firmly in mine, and she pushes out a bright smile, but when she gives me a fleeting glance, I can see it doesn’t reach her eyes. If anything, I just made this more fake than it was an hour ago. But I also know she’s worried about Ezra and any confrontation coming there.
She swoops a pink concoction in a martini glass off one of the passing trays and brings it to her lips, taking a large sip. Her lips smack, and her cheeks brighten. It’s a look on her I can’t resist, and I find myself staring at her lips, wanting to know what that drink tastes like from its direct source.
“Yums.”
I steal the glass from her hand and finish it off, much to her objection. But it’s the closest I’ll get to her lips again, and why not taste what they taste like when I know exactly how it looks to anyone watching? Especially when I give her a wink and a playful kiss to her temple.
“Get yourself another one, but I’m going to find you something to eat,” I murmur in her ear.
Her hand trails up until it’s locked in my hair. She gives it a firm rip that makes me smirk. “I don’t need you to take care of me. Nor do I want you to.”
Except I know she hasn’t eaten in hours, and now she’s drinking because she’s mad and feels betrayed and is nervous—and she’s not wrong about any of that.
“You’re my wife now, Georgia. That means it’s my job to take care of you. Whether you like it or not.” I rub my nose along hers, our eyes locked in a fierce standoff, but her focus is quickly intercepted by a group of people vying for her attention, and I use that as my excuse to part from her, going about the duties of making her a plate of food.
But that’s not all I’m doing.
I’m waiting, and I don’t have to wait long. Within seconds, he’s beside me, casually making a plate at the massive buffet as if he doesn’t know who I am, nor does he care. Only he cares. He cares a lot. I can see the sweat already lining his brow despite the chill in the room, and the rim of red lining his eyes, indicating he’s already several drinks in.
I continue filling the plate, popping a piece of cheese into my mouth for show and making sure I turn in his direction as if entirely aloof. When I stand upright, his focus is all over my ring, his jaw locked, his dark eyes wild, and his pupils totally blown out.
Hmm. Interesting. That coupled with the sweat, makes me think he’s on something.
He’s tall, thin, good-looking in that rich, preppy asshole way with a too-expensive haircut and a flashy gold watch. For a man I know to be in his early thirties, the stress of losing his fiancée and her company is aging him greatly.
“Are you here with Georgia Monroe? I saw you walk in with her.”
I give him a nod.
“Ezra Earnheart.” He extends his hand for me to shake. “I’m her ex-fiancé.”
I shake his hand, almost smiling at his lame attempt at trying to crush mine. “Eric?”
“E-z-r-a,” he repeats, enunciating the letters of his name. Douche. Who falls for that?
“Lenox Moore. I’m her husband. But you already knew that.” I wink at him, which makes his eyes bead up.
“The former boy bander,” he says tightly, taking a hasty sip of his scotch, his plate all but forgotten. “That’s right. I think I heard her mention you once. I just don’t remember it being all that favorable.” He sniffs, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
I don’t take the bait, and it irritates him to no end.
“When did you and Georgia reconnect? As far as I know, this week is the first time she’s left LA since her father’s death.”
I tilt my head. “And how would you know that?”
He grits his teeth only to blow out a scotch-soaked breath, trying to maintain his calm presence and failing terribly. “I don’t know what game she’s playing, but she’s using you in her scheme. She doesn’t love you.”
I give him a version of a pitying smile and continue to add a few things to Georgia’s plate. I drop a piece of shrimp cocktail on the white porcelain and give him an arrogant look. “It’s her favorite.”
