For a moment, there was silence. I looked at her—reallylooked at her—and couldn’t help but smile. She glared at me as if she had a hundred more remotes ready to go. And damn it, if that fire in her eyes wasn’t doing something to me. I should’ve been annoyed, maybe even mad, but all I could think was how good she looked.
“Do you think this is funny?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.
I took a cautious step forward. “You’re going to have to slow down if you want me to understand what you’re saying,” I began, trying to be reasonable. I had no clue what had set her off, nor how to fix it.
Rosalie didn’t exactly make anything easy for me. She expected me to read her mind—an impossible task.
She shot me a withering glare, taking a deep breath before pointing a finger at me. “You,” she started, talking firmly, her next word surer than her last. “You made a bet on my engagement!”
Wait,what? A bet on her engagement? My mind raced, trying to piece it together, and the realization sank in. My lips folded into a guilty frown.Oh shit. The bet.How could I have forgotten about that? Sean must’ve told her when he was driving her home. I tried my hardest not to laugh, but it slipped through despite my best efforts.
It was a stupid joke, really. Sean and I had made a little wager about how long her engagement to Lucas would last. No one had thought it’d last long. And after I took Lucas out, I’d claimed the winnings. Blood money? Sure. But I wasn’t about to leave cash on the table.
“Yeah, I did,” I admitted, my tone remorseful.
She turned her head away from me, a bitter laugh falling from her lips. “That is—ugh. That is so ...Romanoof you.”
A crooked smile played on my lips. “You’re going to be a Romano in about a week.”
“Don’t remind me,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “I can already feel the smugness rubbing off on me.”
“Oh, come on. You knew what you were getting into.”
She shot me another glare, her eyes narrowing. “I thought I was marrying into a family of Italian charm and tradition, not one that bets on my love life like it’s a horse race!”
I stood there, legs shoulder-width apart, with my arms crossed as I listened to her recite a novel’s worth of words. She was furious at me, calling me a bastard every few sentences.
Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but notice how stunning Rosalie looked when she was mad. That only meant I had to make her mad more often. I doubted she’d appreciate that.
“Are you finished?” I asked, raising a brow.
Her eyes narrowed further at my question, her glare intensifying. “Finished?” she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, baby, I’m just getting started.”
“Of course you are.” I couldn’t help but smile wider. “You always have more to say?—”
“You know?—”
“I don’t, but I think I’m about to,” I said, interrupting her.
“I’m not even surprised. You’re impulsive.”
“Am I?”
“Obsessive.”
I smiled again, feeling her anger. “Very,” I admitted without hesitation.
“And selfish.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Do you like me at all?”
“No,” she lied.
“For god’s sake,mia cara. We need to work on your honesty.”
She looked up at me. I could see the conflict within her, the battle between her pride and her need. “You want me to be honest? Okay,I hate you,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Pride had clearly won.
