Page 19 of When Sinners Hate
“I warned you.” He snatches my arm. “This isn’t behaviour I tolerate.”
It might be my weaker arm, but I can still plant a slap across his cheek. He barely moves, but I still made a damn point. “I don’t care. I won’t tolerate your behaviour either.”
Placing my stilettoed heel right through his precious card, I crunch it into the ground before making my way back to my celebrations. I fluff my hair, pinch my lips and slide back into the too-tipsy bride character that seemed to get him so riled in the first place. My smile is bold across my face, but I know if people watch closely – if they knew me – they’d see the act. I’ve gotten so good at it over the years, I wonder if anyone would be able to tell.
Abel’s sure to be behind me. He won’t want to let me think I’ve gotten away with the last word, so I head for the throws of the party, getting lost amongst the revellers for a moment or two.
As I’m looking behind me, I bump into Wren.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She apologises but manages to look me up and down at the same time.
I snatch her wrist and pull her through the hall and out towards the restrooms.
“Alexia, what the-”
“Look.” I cut her off, shutting the door and throwing the lock. “I get that we don’t like each other, but you’re my wedding planner. Have you anything to cover this?” I point to the placeon my shoulder where I felt Abel’s teeth score my skin – setting my whole body alight. That part wasn’t particularly welcome, especially after our track record, but it was different this time, and a part of me liked it. Maybe because I knew he felt it, too.
“What-”
“Please don’t act all innocent and wide-eyed. You’re dating The Dragon. You know what being with these men means. Now, can you help me?” The words sour on my tongue. Asking for help is a sign of weakness, and I can’t often afford that luxury.
She holds my eyes as if assessing if she really wants to help or not, but I can tell she’ll cave. There’s a shared past between us before we even met. My brother saw to that, but in a way, she is the reason he’s dead. Seeing her dictate and arrange today was bad enough, but, as I’m fast beginning to realise, I’m not going to win this battle on my own.
When you go to war, you need allies. That’s why I married Abel – so our family will be strong. It’s time I start playing for the long game.
“I’ve… maybe… I think I have something. We’ll have to go upstairs to the suite.” She tries to smile, but it comes off like she’s nervous.
“Lead the way.” I stand aside and let her unlock the door. We head up to the room I got ready in, and Wren flaps around, pulling at several garment bags and then joyously holds up an airy sheath of fabric. It floats in the air as she brings it over to me.
“Here. We can cover it with some makeup, and then if you wear this.” She starts with the cover-up job, places the fabric over my abused shoulder and then discreetly pins a few folds to the dress, forming a sort of sash. “There.”
It spoils the line of the dress, but that’s better than the alternative. “Thank you.”
“Okay then. I’ve got a few things to go and check on. And I believe the dances are long overdue.” She signals to the door and backs towards it. I take a moment to clean myself up in the bathroom, and with a last glance and a deep breath, I follow her down, digging deep to find the glowing-bride mask I need to show everyone.
At the bottom of the staircase, Abel is waiting, surveying the area and no doubt looking for me. His eyes hit Wren first and then travel to me. I watch as the anger and frustration cloud his features – only for a second – before it’s gone again.
Wren slips past him, and he waits for me.
Smiling at him, I take the last step down to close the distance between us and imagine that this man is the light of my soul and the keeper of my heart.
My hands rest on his chest, and I lean towards his neck. “You look like you have something to say to me, husband?”
“I have plenty to say, wife, but I doubt you’ll listen. We’re overdue on the dance floor.”
“And whose fault is that? You’re the one who wanted to fuck me into submission.” I kiss his neck and turn to make my way into the main hall area, but he catches my wrist. I immediately freeze, expecting pain or a struggle, but he threads my arms through his and escorts me, as any gentleman – and certainly a husband – would.
As we enter, cheers and applause ripple through the guests, and he leads us to the centre of the dance floor. He pulls me into a hold, and the band music changes as someone announces, “Mr and Mrs Cortez.”
We both smile and nod to the crowd around us, and then he begins leading me in some kind of waltz-like dance.
“Why?” I ask.
“Why, what?”
“Why did you go through with this when it clearly causes you such frustrations?”
We’re not looking at each other. I'm peering over his shoulder with a fake smile on my lips, but maybe here, with all eyes on us, we can have an honest conversation.