“And you remember how good you were at making me happy, don’t you, Kratos…?” she breathes.
My mind goes numb. My vision turns white as the oxygen leaves my body.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Her tone is sharp and icy. But even so, Bianca’s voice behind me pulls me out of the black abyss I’m drowning in, a lifeline thrown in a storm. I cling to it, sucking in air as I drop my hand from Amaya’s gown, yanking away from her touch with a nauseous feeling.
Swallowing my revulsion, I turn. Bianca’s standing in the doorway behind us, her mouth small, her hands balled at her sides, a cold glare leveled at me.
Instantly, I understand how bad this looks.
“Bianca,” I growl, cracking my neck. “This is…”
“Amaya, hi,” Amaya sneers with all the friendliness of a wolf with bared teeth.
“Bianca, hi,” Bianca hurls back in the same cold tone. “His fiancée. And you are…?”
“Amaya is an old family friend,” I say icily, emphasizing “old” in a way I hope grinds Amaya’s gears.
“Well, thank you so much for coming,” Bianca says in an unsmiling tone.
Amaya grins like a shark. “Of course. Kratos and I go way back, after all.” She levels a smug look at Bianca. “Lots of history.” She turns to me. “Isn’t that right, Kratos?”
I say nothing.
“Think about what we discussed, won’t you?”
She pats my chest. I flinch. Then she strolls past Bianca, barely breaking her stride as she mutters “Happy engagement”.
When she’s gone, Bianca levels a withering look at me.
“Old family friend?” she says icily.
My eyes narrow. “Jealous, prinkípissa?”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Start answering my questions when I ask them.”
Her lip curls.
“No.”
My brow lifts in amusement. “No, you’re choosing to defy me? Or no, you’re not jealous? Because that’s obviously a fucking lie.”
Bianca glares at me, gritting her teeth. “No, I’m not jealous. I just think maybe it’s bad form to have your ex or your fuck buddy or whatever the hell she is at your engagement celebration.” Bianca purses her lips. “I mean, have a little fucking class.”
She whirls to walk away, then fires a parting shot over her shoulder.
“Or at the very least, a little respect—”
Bianca gasps as I grab her arm, yanking her around and then to my chest.
Time stops for a millisecond. The roaring quiets in my head. I feel her pulse under the silky skin of her arm. I feel the muscles of her dancer’s body ripple against mine as she presses flat against my body.
I made damn sure my skin never touched Amaya’s just now. The very thought of that happening makes me want to explode, screaming, into ash.
With Bianca, all I want is to touch her.
To feel her squirm against me. To feel the heat of her skin and the shiver of her fear and excitement under my fingers.
A different roar fills my head. One I don’t want to push away, one I don’t want to escape from. It thrums louder as I pull her tighter to me, relishing the hitch of her breath and the roundness of her big blue eyes. The heat in her cheeks, and the feel of her nipples hardening to points against my chest.
Bianca trembles as I cup her jaw, lifting her chin. Our eyes lock.
A camera goes off in our faces, blinding me for a second. When I blink away the stars, I glare, snarling, at the photographer I’m guessing Ya-ya hired for the event.
“Now that is a keeper!” he gushes. “The happy couple, lost in their own—”
Bianca pulls away. Her eyes snap to mine, full of some emotion I can’t pinpoint. Then, without another word, she’s whirling and bolting away back to the main ballroom. I turn to level a savage look at the photographer.
“Get out.”
I storm after Bianca. But by the time I get back to the ballroom, she’s disappeared into the crowd. I get stuck talking to Ezio Adamos, the head of one of our tributary families who’s deep in his drinks tonight, for a good ten minutes or so before I can extricate myself.
By then, there’s no sign of Bianca anywhere.
Why are you even looking for her?
