"He's always been nice to me." Grace shrugs. "Mostly."
“He’s full of surprises lately,” Enzo says, shaking his head and returning his attention to the show.
I look at Grace. Her eyes are sparkling in a way they've never done before. There's no apprehension in her eyes anymore. It's just pure trust.
I take her hand and bring it to my lips, letting it linger there.
“Honestly, get a room," Enzo says.
"We already did," I tell him.
"You're going to get us kicked out of here if you keep up the PDA," he tells me.
"I don't think it's offending anyone,” I say.
"Uh, I beg to differ." He turns his chair even farther away from us.
Everyone's looking at the stage, but I can't stop looking at my wife. Something had shifted between us after we made love. In the afterglow, when I was just holding her in my arms, time itself seemed to freeze.
I noticed the sunlight on her skin. I noticed the beauty of the paintings.
For the first time in a long time, I was paying attention to the world around me.
Grace rests her head on my shoulder and watches the show. A singer performs live on stage as the models showcase the designer’s collection. There seems to be a nautical theme. All of the dresses are inspired by pirates, mermaids, and sea creatures.
The music swells as all of the models are brought out. They stand behind the designer, who's wearing a long black dress that glitters to life under all the lights. She's beaming at everyone in the audience, so comfortable on stage that she looks like she was born to be in the limelight.
“It’s Ivy Blackwood," Grace whispers, looking starstruck. “Iadoreher.”
Enzo turns to look at her. "Would you say that you like her more than you like Dante?"
"Go back to ignoring us," I tell him.
“She’s so iconic,” Grace says.
I wonder if she knows that Ivy Blackwood is also the leader of a criminal organization in Chicago. It was her father's legacy, and she takes care of it to this day. The fashion line acts as a creative front to the real business.
Grace is wiggling around in her seat. I've never seen her this excited about anything before, and it only reminds me of the difference in age between us.
When she cranes her neck, I see the love bites darkening on her neck and chest.
Instead of feeling like a bastard about it, it only makes my cock harder. I like that I left a mark on her skin. I like that I left my come inside her pussy.
A sick satisfaction courses through my veins now.
After a lifetime of being with monsters, I think I became one in the process.
When I look back at the stage, my eyes land on one of the models. She's tall, blonde, and has the smile of a pageant queen. My heart drops in my chest.
It can't be.
The girl is squealing with joy and dancing on stage. But I've studied body language. I notice the little details—the way her smile doesn't reach her eyes, the way everything she's doing looks rehearsed, the way her eyes have a hollowness to them.
My head fills with white noise.
Grace tugs on my hand. "How gorgeous is Ivy’s Bvlgari necklace? It matches so perfectly with her dress. Did you know that 50 percent of that dress is made of ocean waste?”
When I don't reply, she looks up at me, then follows my gaze to the model on stage.
