Page 47 of To Tango, with Desire

“Zane!” Amira shrieked.

“What the fuck! This is pure silk, dickhead!”

“And this is my soon-to-be wife, dickhead.” I was up against his face, so close I could see the annoyance in his blue eyes.

“You’d better chill the fuck down then, old man. I was only dancing with the birthday girl.”

“You’ll keep your fucking hands to yourself unless you want a reconstruction surgery lined up in the future.”

“I like dicks, for the record. And it seems Amira does too.” He straightened his shirt before flouncing away.

Amira looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Before I could call her name, she’d fled down the stairs and out of the club.

Fuck.

“Amira!” I knew I’d fucked up, but anger was pumping through my body, flooding any attempts at reason. No man was allowed to touch my woman like that. It enraged me to see it, even when part of me knew I was overreacting.

“What the fuck, Zane?” Amira turned, body shaking.

I stopped short, holding up my hands. “Amira—”

“What? I can’t dance with other men now?”

Fuck calm. I was angry. “I walked upstairs to see my fiancée grinding against another man, so you can bet your ass I was gonna do something about it. How would you like it if I danced that way with Kiki? Or another woman?”

“You can do whatever you want as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s bullshit. You’d be just as pissed if I were getting close to another woman.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Eli was telling me that I should be trying these moves out to please you. We were talking about you, you overprotective ass! And if you haven’t noticed, Eli is in a very happy homosexual relationship with my friend Edward.”

Now that the anger was dissipating, I knew that her words were true. But I was still mad, seething with it. “That explains the shirt.”

“Not funny, Zane.”

“You know what else isn’t funny, Amira? This!” I grabbed her right hand, waving it up in front of her face. “Missing something?” I hadn’t brought it up when I’d arrived, not wanting to upset her on her birthday, but it ate at me that my fiancée wouldn’t even wear the fucking ring I bought her. Most women would be posting the multimillion-dollar piece all over social media, but no, not Amira. The woman wouldn’t even wear it to her own birthday party, for fuck’s sake.

I ignored the stabbing sensation in my chest. This wasn’t the same thing. That was all in the past.

“I was afraid I’d lose it!”

“So you haven’t worn it since I proposed.”

“In case you forgot, I wasn’t too happy about being told to marry you. Plus, it’s expensive, Zane, and I work with my hands. I don’t like wearing it at work, and I prefer it stays safe.”

“Amira, an engagement ring is meant to be worn. It’s meant to be shown off.” I let go of her hand, trying my best to keep my voice measured. “Are you embarrassed?”

“What?”

“Are you embarrassed to marry me? Is that why you won’t even wear it to your birthday? Is that why you kept referring to me tonight as your boyfriend and not your fiancé?”

She blinked at me, shaking her head. “No. I’m not embarrassed.”

“Really? You’re not ashamed to be marrying me? I know that people comment on the age difference, but I thought that wasn’t an issue.”

“It isn’t for me. I told my close friends about our engagement, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to wear the ring.” When she shivered, I slipped off my jacket, throwing it over her shoulders. “You live in a totally different world than I do, Zane. I didn’t grow up with fancy things—”

“Neither did I.”