He’s angry at me; the calm exterior is only a show. Well, I am mad at him too—an explosive combination. I should leave, but once again, his nearness blasts my rationality, just like I am about to do to him.
“Your wife.”
“This is her?” she asks, sounding genuinely excited.
I glare at her, not understanding.
“Mm-hmm.” He smirks, enjoying my distress. Asshole.
She reaches out her hand, and I take it. “Nice to meet you. I lead his nonprofit organization for cancer research.”
Oh, fuck.
Just then, I register the name of the gala,Life Shall Prevail, and his mother’s picture centered along the wall, surrounded by more faces—survivors in color and the ones who left in black and white. The contrast twists my heart, and as I stare into his mother’s soft blue eyes, the longer I watch her, the more the feeling intensifies, making me strangely nostalgic.
She looks familiar. I gulp, but the lump won’t pass, stuck in my throat and making it hard to breathe.
“He was just recounting stories about her,” she says, wearing the same smile she gave him. Jealousy is a bitch. An ugly monster that loves to stir trouble.
Right then, a man comes by and puts his arm around her, introducing himself as her husband.
Feeling stupid. I roll my engagement ring, but it doesn’t ease my nerves.
“Excuse me,” I say, rushing from the ballroom to find a restroom.
My palms slap the counter, and I stare at my reflection, shaking my head. I doubt I could lose it over another man the way I do over him.
The door bursts open and I recognize him without looking. His woodsy scent and imposing presence tingle my senses, betraying his arrival.
“What did you expect to find?” He leans against the wall, and our eyes clash in the mirror.
I can’t believe his nerve. “You were pretty cozy with her.”
“I know exactly what you thought. Your poker face needs some work, wife.”
I spin around and grip the edges hard enough that I might break my fingers. “You could have informed me about tonight.”
“For what?” Pain laces every syllable, thrusting a knife into my chest.
“Had you thought to invite me from the start, I would have come with you,” I murmur, my tone lacking its former edge.
“What do you want from me, Zara?” He drags a hand down his face, sounding exhausted. “Because you give me one fucking inch only to retreat a yard.”
“I didn’t know you had such powerful feelings for me, husband,” I grumble to mask the flurry of emotions assaulting me.
He lets out a self-deprecating laugh, and I fidget with my fingers, spinning the ring hard enough that I might dislocate one.
“Why are you nervous?” he asks, jerking his chin toward my hand, his voice calmer.
“I’m not.”
He expels a heavy breath and is about to leave when I blurt out, “I was jealous, Vian.”
“I told you?—”
I don’t let him continue, intent on letting it out before it poisons me. “Then I felt stupid for being jealous. Then I was mad. I am permanently confused.”
He sighs. “I make you mad if I am there. I make you mad when I’m not. What every man wants to hear.”
