“A couple of months,” I reply, not waiting for Venetia to catch up. She chose to play the silent game, so I doubt she’ll be surprised if I speak for both of us. “A couple ofwonderfulmonths.”
“Ah, still in your honeymoon phase. No fights?”
A thought cuts through my frustration. Nothing beats a bit of an idiotic joke. “Like any couple, we argue. The usual stuff. It’s manageable, but sometimes,” I trail off, dramatically forming a fist, “it feels like we mightkilleach other.”
A disgusting, rich laugh bursts from their chests in unison. “Oh, West, that humor! That’s why we love having you here so much,” Alex says, tripping over his words, a tear sliding down his cheek from laughing so hard. I don’t find anything I said funny, but for these clowns, it doesn’t need to make sense, I guess. “Come on now. You two are many things, butmurderers? Definitely not.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Venetia glance at me briefly, but when I turn toward her, she’s already back in her silent cocoon, unaware of the world around her. Alex follows up with another pointless question, but I tune him out. My annoyance flares, reaching an unbearable level. It’s unsettling to see her like this, completely out of character.
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” I cut in, nudging her forward with my hand. She complies, taking a step on her own, which only fuels my frustration. Ineedher to fight me. “We’ll be right back.”
Still supporting her by the waist, I pull her toward a less crowded area of this chandelier-lit space. The purple velvetdecor makes my eyes itch. There are two types of places the wealthy like to build: modern, expensive buildings—my preference, usually minimalistic—and this medieval nonsense that seems designed to impress with historical flair, even though the owner knows next to nothing.
“What do you want?” Venetia asks, slapping my hand away from her waist. It’s a pointless gesture that only makes me grip her tighter. “Let go of me. You’re making me uncomfortable.”
I lean in, my lips just millimeters from her ear as I whisper, “Stop this. We need to project a pretty picture, remember?”
She clicks her tongue in irritation. “That doesn’t mean you need to keep your hands on me all night, West.”
But it does. What kind of ‘relationship’ is it if you’re not showing off your love by touching your partner? “It’s a fucking love language, or whatever they call it, Netia,” I say through clenched teeth, frustrated that I have to spell this out for her. She should understand.
“Look at you, getting all soft for your fiancée,” she mocks. “What did you drag me here for? Can’t hold back your desires?”
“I already told you. I need you to fucking help me, not just stand there like a statue,” I reply, dismissing her last jab. It sounds so dumb that I can’t even be bothered to respond. “Why do I have to explain this? Isn’t it easier to avoid all of these,” I gesture around, “sneak-outs? The sooner we talk to them, the better. Don’t you want to get home?”
Her eyes lock with mine, a flash of something indescribable lighting up the emeralds before she looks down and shakes her head. “I didn’t sign up for this. You want a pretty picture? Choose—me with my mouth open, telling you and those idiots everything I think, or me standing silently, lost in my world, trying to drown out the noise while holding a little smile.”
I lean my shoulder against the nearest wall, feeling the softness of the velvet that does nothing for my comfort. “Thisfucking velvet,” I groan, rubbing a hand across my face as exhaustion sets in. “It’s?—”
“Tasteless,” she finishes for me, and I blink, momentarily stunned. “Fucking disgusting.”
A moment passes before my smile breaks through the tension, a hint of amusement lifting the weight of negativity that lies between us. It takes just those three words from her pretty mouth to lighten my mood a bit.
“Yeah, but—” I pause, hating to be the one to ruin the moment. “I just need you to try harder, okay? Weneedto be perfect.”
Her soft, genuine chuckle escapes, soothing my tension and leaving me wanting to hear more. “Oh, please, West. Get a grip. Not all couples are perfect, and I promise you that despite all the papers, images, vows, and whatever else, we’ll never be more than two strangers sleeping in separate bedrooms.”
It’s clear she wants to hurt me, evident in her choice of words and the sharpness of her tone, and all that effort makes me want to laugh in her face. This little serpent tries too hard.
“That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it?” I ask, my voice dropping a notch. I feel her stiffen, every muscle tensing as I lean in closer, and fuck, I can sense my cock stirring in my pants again. “Say it, Venetia. Say how much you hate me after you practically begged me for more during that kissyouinitiated.”
I watch as her slender throat bobs with a swallow, and I struggle to resist picturing all the ways I want to mark that pale, perfect skin. “You know better. It was just to take control back,” she whispers, her words trembling like leaves caught in a storm. She tries to sound commanding, but right now, so close to me, she’s nothing but scared little prey.
“How much control did you take back, Netia? Huh?”
She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. The gleam of defeat in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“Let’s go,” I urge gently. “The night isn’t over yet.”
Venetia isn’t trulyVenetia unless she’s acting like the snake she is. I wanted her to start participating, and she fucking did—she sent one of the brokers my way, and while that fucker stole my attention, she disappeared into thin air.
I pace around the room, my eyes scanning for a glimpse of her in that ridiculously large-skirted dress. I doubt she chose her outfit for the night—she would never wear a ruffled skirt like that. Nonetheless, I’m hoping it will help me find her.
I crack my joints, anxiety creeping in as the room feels increasingly stuffy. The combination of fake lighting, luxury perfumes, and sweat pushes me closer to the edge, making me feel like I might snap and actually fucking hurt someone.
The room is filled to the fucking brim, yet it feels utterly empty because I can’t findher.
But when I finally see the damn dress, the tension begins to ebb away. I prepare to launch myself toward her, to grab her hand and make sure she won’t trick me again, but she storms over, clutching the oversized skirt to keep from tripping, her face flushed and swollen like she’s been crying.
