“Celebrating,” she replied defiantly, lifting her chin. “It’s Rosalie’s big night. She deserves to have fun.”
I took in a deep breath, struggling to contain the frustration boiling within me. “You know how delicate things are right now,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “This isn’t the time for your damn games.”
“It’s just a party. We’re all fine,” she countered with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if that brushed off the gravity of the situation.
I chose not to reply. Arguing with her would get me nowhere. “Sean, help me get Valentina to the car,” I instructed.
“Okay,” she said, holding her hands up dismissively. “I’m going. You don’t have to manhandle me.” She paused to throw back another shot.
“Sobriety, Valentina. I think it would look great with that pink coat of yours.”
She rolled her eyes and followed after Sean.
I looked back at Mikhail, who was already striding past me, his focus locked on Sloane. He didn’t have a single other thought besides her. As he got closer, the two men arguing seemed to sense his approach. Mikhail stepped between them and Sloane, his eyes cold. He didn’t have to say a word before they ran off like frightened hyenas. When he gave Sloane the same look, shedidn’t run off. She wasn’t scared. I think that was why he liked her so much.
“You try that shit again, and I’ll put you back on that boat.”
Sloane’s mouth dropped. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Would you like to find out?” he asked
She didn’t respond.
“Get in the car,” Mikhail said. “Now.”
As Sloane gathered her things, she gave Rosalie an apologetic look.
I crossed the room with measured steps. The space around me and Rosalie seemed to blur, and my vision zeroed in on her as I approached. “Rosalie,” I began, stopping at the edge of the bar. “I thought I’d made myself clear last time.”
Her expression hardened, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she settled on the barstool. “Yes, you made yourself very clear,” she replied sharply.
My back stiffened. “You have choices, Rosalie, and time and time again, you choose poorly.”
She looked down at me. “Oh, let me guess—you always make the right ones, hmm?” Her words were slurred by alcohol. She was unmistakably drunk, which changed things.
“No. I don’t always make the right choices,” I admitted, my voice softer this time. “But I try to learn from them, which is more than I can say for you right now.”
“Is that why you smell of smoke?” she asked.
Was it really that strong of a smell? I’d hoped she wouldn’t notice it since she didn’t like it, but I’d figured she wasn’t kissing me, so it didn’t really matter.
“You should know ... I actually like it when you taste like smoke.”
Was she flirting with me? Now? When I was supposed to be mad? That little smirk, the way she looked at me—she knew Iwas losing my grip, and she was loving every second of it. Damn it.
Then I realized she was just trying to sweet-talk her way out of this.
“I don’t have time for this, Rosalie—this constant back-and-forth. I have people to deal with.”
“You’re always so grumpy. So hotheaded.”
“Always?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. “I seem to remember being very lenient with you these past few weeks. More than lenient, actually. I’ve been quite patient, all things considered.”
She took a deep breath, probably to buy herself some time to come up with a response, but ultimately, she had nothing. She knew I was right. Still, she smiled. “Well,honey, you can continue being patient over there.” She pointed to the corner of the room.
I couldn’t help but smile back. “Over there?” I echoed, glancing in the direction she was pointing.
“Yes, over there,” she reiterated with a nod.
