Page 160 of Captive Ruin

It’s been creeping up in fits and starts. One pace forward, three back, a little rush forward whenever he pins me down or threatens to kill people for me. Or actually kills them, for that matter.

Fuck, I’m as twisted as he is. And I seem to have forgotten I’m still his captive, lost in the heady freedom of one single night out.

“There you are,” Bastien says, holding out an arm in greeting. “Late as always.”

“My wife deserves an entrance,” Van Wyk replies, clasping his wrist.

“That she does.” Bastien smiles at me. “And everyone in the room has noticed you, dear Amelia. Landing the most eligible bachelor in the whole Company. Can you feel the curiosity buzzing?”

He’s not a bachelor, he’s a widower. Or does Juliette not count?

“Perhaps we should’ve invited them all to our wedding,” I demur. “It would’ve been fun to say ‘I don’t’ with more of an audience.”

Bastien chuckles and Van Wyk smiles. Some people nearby notice, and I see the double-takes as they’re unable to hide their surprise.

Yes, everyone, my husband smiles now.

And I know why: it’s me. Our marriage of convenience was never merely a convenience in his mind.

But that makes no sense. Serranto threatening my sister. The Volkovs. Proposing to me—informing me, rather—after only four weeks? No one could be that certain. It doesn’t make sense.

“She’s a catch,” Bastien says to Van Wyk, drawing me from my thoughts.

“Isn’t she?” His arm slides around my waist, pulling me close in a possessive display.

I push aside my musings and use the moment to assess the rest of Bastien’s entourage. A couple of the men nearby I recognize as his security from the wedding, but they’re wearing sharp tuxedos and blending in. A woman in her early thirties hovers close.

Bastien sees my gaze and turns to her. “This is Anna, my personal assistant.”

“A pleasure, Mrs. Van Wyk.”

“Call me Amelia, please.”

There’s another woman behind Anna, who doesn’t merit an introduction. She’s younger, maybe early twenties, stunningly beautiful with deep auburn hair and an intelligent face. I know something of being ignored, and I slip from beneath Van Wyk’s arm to talk to her.

“You remember that private investigator I mentioned?” Bastien murmurs behind me, and his tone makes me pause.

“Victoria Callahan,” Van Wyk replies. “The one from Dalton Reed.”

“Except she’s working for herself, now. Haynes updated her profile.”

“What of her?”

“She’s just walked in.”

I turn in curiosity. Why would a PI be here? It reminds me of gatecrashing the gala uninvited. What is my husband going to do in his capacity as ‘security’?

The woman in question is blond, elegant, and determined. She stands out because she’s alone, and the subject of both men’s scrutiny. I’m suddenly feeling mischievous, and want to get to know her, too. This night is shaping up to be more interesting than I’d thought.

Van Wyk steps close, taking my hand. “Someone has arrived.”

“Uh-huh?” I play ignorance.

“Would you mind if I dance with her?”

I blink in confusion. We haven’t danced yet, but he wants to dance with her. Maybe I don’t want to talk to her after all. “Why are you asking me? Don’t you always do what you want?”

“Because I said I wouldn’t,” he replies softly.