Page 141 of Heartless Sinner

Rachel’s smile did nothing for me.

Daphne had about seven different smiles, and like a fucking idiot, I knew every one of them.

Rachel was the type of woman I was supposed to marry.

Perfect on paper.

I dragged my thumb through the condensation on my glass.

I didn’t want perfect on paper.

I didn’t want a wife I had to fake a smile for every morning for the rest of my life.

I already did enough pretending in public. I sure as fuck didn’t want to do it at home.

Like I’d told Daphne, we all had our red flags.

Hers should’ve sent me running.

But like an idiot, I kept wanting to collect every one.

Worse, I wanted her to want mine too.

Fucked-up thinking, but whatever.

I surveyed the room again. My father and Sterling were still deep in conversation, but every few seconds, one of them looked our way.

I needed to make small talk with Rachel without looking bored out of my fucking mind. I knew it’d be a challenge.

All I wanted to do was ditch this event and go see what trouble Daphne had gotten herself into while left alone for forty-five minutes.

Knowing her, probably plenty.

“Tell me about yourself,” I finally said when Rachel still hadn’t come up with anything.

For the next thirty minutes, I learned she was single, a sophomore at Ole Miss, and spent most of her free time with her sorority sisters. She mentioned siblings. I forgot how many before she’d even finished telling me.

I nodded when necessary. Asked questions when silence demanded one.

Basically, I did what I’d been trained to do since birth.

Pretended to give a shit.

I didn’t offer one detail about myself.

What would I share?

That I belonged to a secret society that had no problem spilling blood to get what we wanted? That my heart was darker than the oil her daddy sold? That I currently had a woman held hostage in my bedroom?

The same woman I couldn’t stop thinking about while Rachel talked?

Maybe I should’ve jumped straight to the important part with her.

Even if our fathers somehow shoved us into a sham marriage, I’d never love her.

“Are you going to the after-party?” Rachel asked.

My fingers stopped drumming against the glass. “What after-party?”