Page 66 of Shattered Hearts
“Do you know what this is?” I snap. She doesn’t move or make a sound in reply. “Answer me.”
She takes in the shaky black ring inked around my wedding finger, then submits her guess with a weak voice. “A widower tattoo?”
“And do you know what this means?”
“That…your wife died?”
“Wrong.” I flex the finger at her. “This tattoo means my wife was brutallymurdered.Do you understand?”
Riley swallows but stays silent.
“This tattoo is a sign of vengeance. Only men who avenge their slain wives have it.” I grit my teeth, my scar pulsing. This always happens when I think about the dead man who gave it to me.
Her mouth gapes open. “How?—”
“The kind of ring they give you,” my forehead pinches together as rage courses through me, “depends on how your wife was killed.” I twist my finger at Riley. “You see these ridges?” There are six in all. “They represent the number of pieces her body was cut into.”
Riley gasps and covers her mouth. “I…I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” I drop the mangled dessert spoon. It clatters on the table. “There’s nothing fucking lucky about being my bride, so don’t ever say something like that to me again.”
We were having a fine night until I torched everything to the ground and incinerated all the lightheartedness.
I shove aside the pang of regret. She’ll be safer now that she knows to keep her distance.
But when I force myself to look at her, I don’t find terror on her face. I find confusion. Like she’s sorting through atheoretical math problem in her mind. She starts playing with her fingers, even biting her lip.
“What?”
She jumps as if I’ve caught her red-handed.
Frustration ripples through me. “What the fuck is it?”
“I just…” She clears her throat. “I have another question.”
Oh, for the love of god.“No. No more questions.”
She fidgets with her borrowed wedding ring. “I’ll trade you.”
“Huh?”
“You can ask me as many questions as I ask you. You just have to answer my questions honestly.”
She can’t be serious.
I squint at her and realize I’m wrong. She’s completely serious. What question could be so important that she wants to strike a deal with me? And why doesn’t she seem the least bit afraid of me, even after I turned scary a few minutes ago?
She baffles me.
I release a breath. “What’s your question?”
She starts to fidget with her napkin. “Can I ask why you want to marry Harper?”
“I don’t. Next question.”
When Riley’s jaw hits the table, I realize I’m being an asshole again.
“No offense.”