Chapter Twelve #3
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Vlad picks up Lyra’s hand and brushes a kiss over her knuckles. All the color drains from her face, while rage lights me up from the inside out. I do not appreciate any other man touching my woman.
“You as well.” Her voice is strained. She flicks a glance over to Vlad’s wife, but he doesn’t bother introducing her, and she doesn’t speak up, either. From the glazed look in her eyes, it looks like she’s been hitting the liquor.
I can’t blame her. Tolerating Vlad is difficult for his acquaintances; it must be repulsive to her. Then again, wealth goes a long way, and Vlad is phenomenally wealthy.
We exchange a bit of asinine small talk, pretending like we’re friendly acquaintances. Vlad plays his part well, asking where I met Lyra and how long we’ve been together.
“Surprising that you haven’t shown her off sooner,” he says after a while, leering at Lyra’s chest. My jaw clenches, and my fingers bite into her hip. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch or grimace, only tenses a bit.
“Lyra’s been traveling for a while. I’d never restrict her freedom, but we’ve maintained our relationship,” I lie smoothly.
Vlad’s wife tenses a touch at the mention of freedom. Not surprising, since I’m sure he keeps her locked up most times and under close observation when she’s out.
“I see. Well, I’m sure you’re quite thrilled to have your girlfriend back.
” Vlad arches a challenging eyebrow. Girlfriends are not considered permanent significant others in our world, and therefore, not considered valuable enough to start fights or kill people over.
“Enjoy your evening.” He and his wife flit away.
“I don’t like him,” Lyra whispers.
“Then you have good instincts.” At the end of this ordeal, depending on how things go, I just might end up having to kill Vlad alongside Silas.
The next person to approach us is Carter, which is expected. He enjoys stirring the pot at every opportunity he gets. If there was money in the business of shit-stirring, he’d do it for a living. Though, I suppose playing around in the mafia is the equivalent.
“Lyra,” he purrs. “I’ve missed seeing such a friendly face at these insufferable events. How was your time abroad?”
She swallows. “Quite enjoyable.”
“I’m so glad to hear it.” Carter’s really laying it on thick.
He knows she ran away from me; he’s the one who tipped me off to where I’d find her.
“I know Killian was so eager to get you back. It’s so fortunate that he found you at that graveyard—seems you’d forgotten to tell him you were coming back. ”
I tense. Lyra tenses. Carter smiles. Motherfucker. He just couldn’t hold back even for a single day, could he?
The idea of fucking with his business dealings is growing more and more appealing by the goddamn second. Maybe I should legitimately fuck with him, since he seems to be taking great pleasure in fucking with me.
“If you’ll excuse use,” I say shortly. “I believe it’s time for a dance.”
“Of course.” Carter smiles at Lyra, still ignoring me. Why is he fixated on her? “Do tell your friend hello for me.”
We all know who he’s speaking of, but Lyra’s next words land a punch to my gut. “I don’t have any friends,” she says solemnly… and concern flares to life in my chest. She doesn’t sound upset; merely factual, as if she’s accepted her fate of being entirely alone in the world.
That’s something we’ll need to work on.
“Come.” I move my hold from her hip to her hand and lead her away from Carter. We melt onto the dance floor, joining the other couples in a simple waltz.
“What the fuck does he want with Anna?” Lyra hisses.
“None of our business.” None of her business. In my book, Anna may yet turn out to be leverage. I hope it doesn’t come to that.
“It’s my business—”
“No, it’s not. Trust me when I tell you, Carter is not a man you want to fuck with.” My tone is severe enough that Lyra shuts up, but that flare is back in her eyes. I find that I enjoy it. I don’t like the dimness that’s clouded her of late.
One dance turns into two, then three. Lyra moves a bit awkwardly, obviously unpracticed, but at least she follows my lead.
Besides, I don’t need her to dance well—I need us to be seen together, and we are.
Every Eyes member here casts us glances that I track.
Murmurs start up. I haven’t been in the public eye very much the last several months, which lends believability to my cover story.
Now, I’m back, with my beautiful woman in my arms.
After the third dance, the orchestra pauses for a break. People start leaving the dance floor to get refreshments. Lyra also tries to move, but I tighten my grip on her, keeping her in place. We attract the necessary attention by remaining, locked in an embrace, while others flit away.
When I feel enough curious eyes on her, I brush a hand over her cheek and don an affectionate smile, angling my body so only she can see my warning glare. Go with it, my eyes scream.
Then, I release her, reach my hand into my pocket to withdraw a black velvet box, and slowly lower myself to one knee.