“You’ve meddled enough. I don’t know why you did what you did, but don’t make it worse. It will be better if you stay away from my friend.”
“Just for the record,” he says when I turn to leave, “I saw her practice run for the audition, and she’s cut out for that role.”
I stop and look at him. “You did?”
“I was invited.”
I narrow my eyes. “Let me guess, by the director you threatened. Did she see you?”
He shakes his head. “I sat in the back row. I didn’t want to distract her with my presence. I know she doesn’t like me.”
“Just as well.” I continue on my way, heading back to Noah. “Your presence definitely wouldn’t have helped.”
“For what it’s worth,” he calls after me, “she deserved that role.”
I look over my shoulder at him. “I guess now she’ll never know.”
Chapter
Thirty
Dante
* * *
It’s close to midnight when I finally get home. Ulysses did a bad job of stitching up the cut on my arm.
I showered and changed at the condo, but the cut is bleeding again. I can feel the wetness seeping through my shirt under my jacket.
Not wanting to wake up Tatiana or Noah, I don’t switch on the lights. I only use the floor lights, which someone—probably Emily—left on in the hallway, to find my way to the study.
Once I’ve closed the door, I flick on the light and head for the dry bar. I’m pouring myself four fingers of scotch when the door opens and Tatiana enters, wearing a shimmery white nightdress.
Her nipples that poke against the silk draw my gaze. Standing there barefoot with her golden hair tumbling in waves over her shoulders and those green, haunted eyes, she looks so damn innocent. So breakable. So fucking beautiful. But not mine. She said the words I wanted to hear when I stuffed her full of my cock. I’m tempted to pretend the lie is true. It would’ve been so much easier if I could’ve believed it. But I’ve never lied to myself. And still, knowing she couldn’t possibly mean what she’d said, I enjoyed the farce. I loved the roleplay.
She pads over and stops in front of me. “You’re late.”
I gulp down a swallow of my drink. “I had business to take care of.”
She takes the glass from me, turns it to where my lips have touched the rim, and takes a sip from the exact same spot.
I take her in—her unusual green eyes and the slim body beneath all that innocent white. When I decided to make her mine, I thought binding her to me in name and in blood would be enough. I thought I could live with her hatred.
I was wrong.
“You could’ve called,” she says in a soft tone.
I shrug out of my jacket and fold it over the back of a chair. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Her eyes flare when her gaze lands on my arm. “You’re hurt.”
I cast a glance at my shoulder. Blood has soaked the white shirt. I start to unbutton it. “It’s nothing.”
She puts the drink aside and comes closer, studying the wound as I peel out of the shirt. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s just a nick.”
She looks at me with pale cheeks. “Knife?”
