“Yes, that little bitch can still walk. But he wanted to give her this.” He holds up the black box. “I took it. To give you. You need to see what’s inside.”
For a moment, I don’t move. The air in the room thickens, sharp with the taste adrenaline.
I take the box from him, my jaw flexing so hard it aches. Inside the box is a silver forget-me-not broach gleaming against a velvet padding like it’s mocking me.
The note beside it might as well be gasoline.
We’ll find each other again, Isla.
Love always,
Chad
How romantic. Sounds like some kind of poem.
What kind of motherfucker sends his ex a note like this on her wedding day?
Looking at it, I can see exactly why Dorian waited until now to give it to me and why he came by. I would have found Chad and beat the shit out of him.
My grip tightens, my fingers crushing the edge of the box. I want to rip the paper to shreds but think better of it.
My dark, fucked-up mind is already conjuring a better idea.
“Anything you want me to do?” Dorian studies me.
“No. I’ll deal with him personally when I get back,” I seethe, snapping the box shut. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow another man to send my wife gifts on our wedding night.”
“I hear you. But also, we need to keep an eye on this guy, Knox. I handled him today, but I have no doubt he’ll pop up again and cause trouble. He wants his girl back.”
“That’s not going to happen. She’s mine,” I growl out the words, showing way too much emotion. And my brother, the guy who’s like an extension of me, doesn’t miss a beat.
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Do yourself a favor and cool off.” He motions to the stairs. “Go see her. You should see her.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a ragged breath.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, bro.”
He gives me a curt nod, then heads out.
I wait for him to walk through the door before I turn back toward the stairs.
Yes, I do need to see my dear wife. First, I need to figure out what’s going on with her, then I think we’ll have a little chat about this gift from herboy.
Heat rises, steady and consuming as I climb the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
When I reach the landing, I quicken my pace.
I nearly pull the door off its hinges when I reach the bedroom.
Isla is standing by the full-length mirror, taking the pins out of her hair. She’s changed into a skimpy nude-colored camisole and matching shorts that show off her long sun-kissed legs.
Surprise tickles her pretty face for seeing me. I would have taken that as a win, but my gaze drops to her hand, and I see she’s not wearing her rings. None of them.
“Where are your rings?” I demand, as if that’s the most pressing thing on my mind.
“On the nightstand.” She flicks her wrist toward it.
