Chapter 23 #2
“Yes, that little bitch can still walk. But he wanted to give her this.” He holds up the black box. “I took it. To give you. You need to see what’s inside.”
For a moment, I don’t move. The air in the room thickens, sharp with the taste adrenaline.
I take the box from him, my jaw flexing so hard it aches. Inside the box is a silver forget-me-not broach gleaming against a velvet padding like it’s mocking me.
The note beside it might as well be gasoline.
We’ll find each other again, Isla.
Love always,
Chad
How romantic. Sounds like some kind of poem.
What kind of motherfucker sends his ex a note like this on her wedding day?
Looking at it, I can see exactly why Dorian waited until now to give it to me and why he came by. I would have found Chad and beat the shit out of him.
My grip tightens, my fingers crushing the edge of the box. I want to rip the paper to shreds but think better of it.
My dark, fucked-up mind is already conjuring a better idea.
“Anything you want me to do?” Dorian studies me.
“No. I’ll deal with him personally when I get back,” I seethe, snapping the box shut. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow another man to send my wife gifts on our wedding night.”
“I hear you. But also, we need to keep an eye on this guy, Knox. I handled him today, but I have no doubt he’ll pop up again and cause trouble. He wants his girl back.”
“That’s not going to happen. She’s mine,” I growl out the words, showing way too much emotion. And my brother, the guy who’s like an extension of me, doesn’t miss a beat.
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “Do yourself a favor and cool off.” He motions to the stairs. “Go see her. You should see her.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a ragged breath.
“Call me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, bro.”
He gives me a curt nod, then heads out.
I wait for him to walk through the door before I turn back toward the stairs.
Yes, I do need to see my dear wife. First, I need to figure out what’s going on with her, then I think we’ll have a little chat about this gift from her boy.
Heat rises, steady and consuming as I climb the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
When I reach the landing, I quicken my pace.
I nearly pull the door off its hinges when I reach the bedroom.
Isla is standing by the full-length mirror, taking the pins out of her hair. She’s changed into a skimpy nude-colored camisole and matching shorts that show off her long sun-kissed legs.
Surprise tickles her pretty face for seeing me. I would have taken that as a win, but my gaze drops to her hand, and I see she’s not wearing her rings. None of them.
“Where are your rings?” I demand, as if that’s the most pressing thing on my mind.
“On the nightstand.” She flicks her wrist toward it.
“And why are they over there and not on your hand, love?”
She arches a brow. “I’m in here. There are no reporters and no staff, just us. I don’t need to wear them.”
She faces the mirror again and runs her fingers through her hair, ignoring me.
“Put them back on.” I can’t restrain the firmness in my tone.
“No.” She doesn’t even look at me.
“Why the fuck not?” I let the door slam shut behind me as I stalk into the room.
“Because I don’t want to. And there is no need.”
Alright, that’s it. She’s working my last fucking nerve and doing a number on my dick in those barely-there clothes.
I march toward her and grab her arm, whirling her around to face me.
“Are you crazy? Let go of me.” She tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip.
“We’re dealing with this first.” I hold up Chad’s gift in her face and open it, so she can see the broach and the note inside.
Her eyes snap wide, and her skin pales. “When did Chad send that?” I don’t know what gets to me more, the enamored look in her eyes or the slither of longing in her voice.
“Earlier at the wedding.”
“Why am I only just getting this now?” She tries to reach for the box, but I move it away.
“Wrong question, love.” I laugh, sounding deranged. “You’re lucky you’re getting it at all. I could have tossed it in the trash, where it belongs.”
“Have you lost your damn mind? It’s a gift. Give it to me.”
“Fuck no.”
“What?” She gives me an incredulous glare.
“You think I’m going to let you have a gift from your ex with his note promising you’ll find each other again?” Saying it out loud fuels my rage. “What the actual fuck? This is not okay, Isla.”
“Maybe so, but you had no right to open it.”
“You’re my wife. I had every fucking right.”
She gives me a look like I’m insane and I just said something truly farfetched. “Do you hear yourself?”
“Loud and fucking clear. And I’ll tell you this, he’s not getting you back. Because you. Are. Mine.”
“Knox—"
“No. Today is our wedding day.”
“The wedding wasn’t real.” She speaks slowly, every word hitting its mark. Every word pushing me further over the edge.
“Which part of it wasn’t real? Because I sure as fuck stood there with you at my side in front of a priest exchanging our very real vows. It was real, so you’re not going to have anything to do with that little shit.”
“You’re such a fucking hypocrite and an asshole,” she grates out, so angry she trembles. “I hate you.”
“Why?” I lean so close we’re sharing the same air. “Why do you hate me today?”
“Because it’s one rule for you and another for me!
” she screams in my face, hands balled into tight fists.
“It’s okay for you to sneak off with some woman in the middle of our wedding to do God knows what, while I’m supposed to just stand around and watch you.
Then you treat me as if I did something wrong and seriously expect me not to hate you. ”
I’m about to tell her I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about—then it dawns on me.
She saw me with Camile.
Isla saw me in the garden with Camile. Of course we looked close, but it’s not what she thinks.
That’s what was wrong with her.
Isla thought I was cheating on her.
The pieces fall together, and then it hits me like a goddamn freight train.
Isla’s not just angry. She’s jealous.
She thinks I cheated, and it guts her. I see it now in her eyes, in the trembling running through her. I heard it in her voice when it cracked on the word hate.
But hate isn’t what’s burning between us.
It’s want. Raw, forbidden want.
The kind that ruins a man. The kind that makes him forget every line he swore he wouldn’t cross.
For a moment, everything inside me stills. The rage fades into something darker.
Hungrier.
She wants me. Just like I want her.
She doesn’t even see it yet. But I do.
And fuck, if that doesn’t undo me completely.
She yanks her arm, and I remember I’m still holding her.
“Let me go.” She tugs harder. “Or better yet, why don’t you go find your girlfriend and terrorize her?”
“No.” I look at her, and every shred of resolve I had disappears.
I drop the damn box with the fucking gift and the note, then pull her closer, flush against my chest.
“What are you doing?” she demands, breathless.
“Showing you what’s real.” I cup her jaw. Then I kiss her, blurring the line between fury and desire.
It feels like a collision of everything we’ve been pretending not to feel.
It feels…like coming home.
Her hands come up like she’s about to shove me, but her fingers curl into my shirt instead, holding on.
Every part of me screams to take more, to taste more, to make her remember exactly who she belongs to.
And that’s exactly what I plan to do.