“You really should watch how you talk to your husband.” He snags my spoon and digs into my ice cream, taking a large scoop and shoving it into his mouth.
Has anyone ever died from an ice cream headache?
He doesn’t even have the decency to be bothered by the pain of devouring the frozen dessert. I suppose it takes more than chilled cream to kill the devil.
“First of all, how would I have known you were going to be at Lush? Second of all, how would I benefit from what happened last night?” I pause. “Plus, you approached me. Not the other way around. If you hadn’t, I never would have even seen you.”
He seems to consider my words but then shrugs. “You’re not exactly coming from the world’s most honest blood line.”
“Are you serious?” My head might explode from the hypocrisy.
He scrapes the last bit of ice cream soaked cookie crumbles out of the dish, licking his spoon clean. Then he checks his watch.
“It’s a good thing your uncle didn’t bother with a band.”
Dazed by the sudden change in trajectory of conversation, I look around the room and realize he’s right. There’s no band or DJ.
“Funerals rarely provide musical entertainment,” I mutter.
“Whose funeral exactly are we attending? Yours or mine?”
“To some degree, probably both.” I can acknowledge that he’s not coming to this marriage with any hope of happiness, either.
But then again, I’m not sure demons ever think about such trivial things as happiness.
“Your friend over there, the one with the temper?—”
“You mean Kara?”
“Yes, her. Her father owns a large stake in Lush. So it’s not inconceivable that you wouldn’t be able to find out I have access to the club. You could have easily found out I was there last night and then headed over.”
“You think I asked the security team at Lush to keep an eye out for you and give me a call if you showed up?” While possible, ridiculous.
“I think you could have.”
“You could have done the same.” I point out.
“Ah, but I don’t have any ownership in the club.”
“No. You just have your big bad name and reputation to bully your way into things. It’s not that big of a stretch to believe you could have been told of my whereabouts. Maybe you had one of your goons following me?”
“You’re right. That’s possible.” He grins. “But why would I waste their time when I was going to have you today?”
“I don’t know. Intel on the sacrificial lamb?”
He laughs, but it’s joyless. Not like last night.
“You mean, finding out if my fiancée is loyal or if she’s the sort of woman who has one-night flings the night before she vows her life and loyalty to another man?”
My fingernails dig into my palms.
“Are you trying to slut shame me?” Tears threaten, his accusation setting my blood on fire. “Really? A man who was propositioned via napkin? You didn’t look out of place last night.”
I take a deep breath and will the stupid tears to go away. He won’t see them for the drops of anger that they are. His ego will consider them tears of sadness, or humiliation.
“The night before your wedding, you were at a club that has an entire floor dedicated to renting rooms by the hour. Wearing that sexy thing you had on. And you did go home with someone last night. That’s all I’m saying.”
“The exact same can be said for you.” I remind him. “I was there with friends. Dancing. Trying to forget about this insanity that is my life coming true today. You were there alone. Hunting for your next big score.”
