Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,6
for drug trafficking.”
A furnace blazed up my neck, claiming my ears. “At least I wouldn’t be married to a psychopath. And I’d be able to work in peace.”
“Well, that won’t be necessary anymore.”
“I am not quitting,” I ground out. “It’s not just my passion. It pays the bills.”
“You need me to pay them, so how successful can you be?”
The barbed insult sank deep, striking behind my ribs. I inhaled sharply, fighting to breathe around the wound he’d caused.
I ripped away.
I needed a moment before I shattered the champagne glass fountain or threw him over the balcony. Unbearable heat flushed my arms. I crossed the glitzy reception hall to the wall of bearded men wearing leather cuts. A handsome prospect with chestnut brown hair waved.
Ghost.
A flash of loneliness stabbed my heart. I headed toward him, but a hand on my wrist stopped me. Glowering, I faced my husband.
“What?”
Tony’s grip slid down my arm and tightened.
“My wife is not associated with bikers. Especially with the boy that’s been eye-fucking you all night.” An ugly suspicion darkened his voice. “Yes, I notice everything that concerns me or mine.”
This was a bridge too far.
“I’m part of that world. You can’t pry it out of me!”
“I can and will.”
I wrenched hard, but his hold was iron. “Let me go.”
“I will not have him around you, Evie.” His tawny eyes blazed, daring me to challenge him. “I don’t hurt anyone without reason, but if I find out you’re still friends, I’ll send you his hands in a box. Do yourself a favor and behave.”
The threat plunged me into ice.
“You’re every bit as horrible as they say. You’re a sick bastard.”
Three
Evie
I’m grateful that my husband doesn’t mince words.
I’d married the monster.
Soon I’d have to sleep with him.
It was a splinter in my mind, driving me mad.
Until now, the activity at the reception had swept it from my head. There’d been enough to occupy me with the forced wedding, the endless receiving line, and my husband’s strange hostility. Getting in the mood would be impossible, even if he hadn’t threatened to dismember someone.
Tony was certifiable, more jaded than a former convict. He stood on the harbor, his sharp silhouette illuminated by yellow lights. Apparently, he preferred standing outside in the miserable weather than talking to me.
What the hell was wrong with him?
And didn’t he eat?
My vision tunneled as I finished my Aperol spritz, a cocktail I’d never tried before. There was so much I hadn’t experienced because I’d grown up in a clubhouse, and I loved the way the orange syrup cradled the bottom of the glass, the citrus tang, how the sparkling wine teased my tongue before sweetness rolled in. The drink went down easy, so I’d had four.
A blurry outline swam into focus.
I ignored the bold frame. My mouth was papery, dry and dusty. I gulped the melted ice. The heavy presence lingered, heating the space between us like smoking coal.
What did he want?
I gave his immaculate suit serious side-eye.
Tony didn’t take the hint. He leaned into my chair. Then a jacketed arm swung forward. He pried the cup from me and set it aside. He had beautiful hands—tapered, tanned, neat cuticles, with tattoos crawling from his sleeve. Small nicks and scrapes marked his knuckles, but I could’ve used him as a model for my watch.
“You’ve had enough. No more.”
Drinking wasn’t making it better, but his cold disapproval whipped me in a fury.
“If I’m spending the night with my cheek stuck to the bathroom floor, that’s my problem.” I raised my head, glaring at him. “Not yours.”
“By all means, make a fool of yourself. Peeling you off the ground would be the perfect ending to this wedding.”
“You realize you’re the reason I’m drinking, right?”
I thought he’d leave. Instead he slid into the seat beside mine.
“You’re in for a rough eight hours unless you eat.” He turned, addressing the bodyguard. “How many has she had?”
Christian squinted. “Five?”
“Get her some water.” He grabbed my empty glass and handed it to the man. “And a plate of food. Something heavy with meat. Don’t skimp on the starch. She needs it to absorb all the cocktails.”
A thin chill clung to Tony’s words.
Christian raked his hair. “It’s a wedding.”
“You trying to give my bride alcohol poisoning?”
My cheeks warmed. “Tony, I’m fine.”
“Sorry, T.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” He gripped my arm. Then he leaned in, his body heat burning through his suit.
The aggression didn’t scare me, but the hand weighing me knotted my insides.