Chapter 20 #2
The assistant comes in, all flushed as if he ran to get my shoes, and he’s followed by another smiling man with a tape measure. “I heard the theme is dark and gothic,” he says. “Are we looking to add a dark green? Maybe plum?”
Corvus assesses me. “I think that wine-red would suit you very well,” he eventually says before settling in an armchair where Damen passes him a glass of whiskey.
Aspen whistles, as if he’s catcalling me. “What shoe size is this?” he asks, focused on the contents of the box the assistant laid on the floor next to me. “Looks real big.”
Damen smirks as I sizzle in the insinuation. They’ve probably all seen Aspen’s infamous video. Fortunately, he changes the subject as the assistant approaches to measure me.
“Will you be playing the violin at the wedding? It was a beautiful touch at mine,” Damen says to Corvus, and once again, it’s like a stab of bitterness to my gut.
I’ve asked Corvus to play the violin for me several times now and he won’t do it, but here I am, finding out he played for his whole damn family, so it’s not like he’s bad at it and self-conscious.
Corvus sighs. “I don’t think it would be convenient, logistically speaking,” but as my thoughts simmer, a handsome twink steps in front of me with a tape measure and a wide smile.
“Hello sir, hope you’re having a pleasant day. My name’s Stephen, and I will be measuring you for your suit today.”
How polite. And cute. And… oh yes, he did check me out.
Were I not getting married, I’d be making a move on the pocket-sized hottie.
I might be here because of Corvus. My fiancé might be the only one I’ve had eyes for in weeks, but is it so wrong that I want Corvus to know he could lose me? That I’m not a tool but a man of flesh and bone who needs to be treated right?
“Hey, I’m Dalton. I’ve never been measured like this before, so you’re the boss,” I say, prolonging our eye contact.
His blue eyes widen a little, and he bites his lip. “It’s one of those things that’s fairly intuitive, if you know what you’re doing,” he says, and his warm, soft hands touch my skin as he closes the tape around the base of my neck.
I laugh. “That feels kind of nice, actually.”
Aspen gives the softest gasp and covers his mouth. Remo’s frowning, and Damen … types something on his phone with a little smirk. Clearly, he’s not all here. But Corvus is, and I can physically sense the weight of his glare.
Well, serves him right. If I mean nothing to him, if I’m just a good dick, then I don’t owe him any feelings either.
Stephen leans in close as he measures the circumference of my chest. He’s practically hugging me now, eyes meeting mine, so very bright as they sparkle with interest. “We aim to provide the best service in town,” he tells me and, after writing down the numbers, proceeds to check the breadth of my shoulders, and then my waist. The initially distant, professional touch morphs into something bordering on a caress, and by the time he stands before me and measures the width of my hips at crotch-level, I sense his knuckles brushing my cock through denim.
There’s a loud shuffle, and Corvus appears behind Stephen like the embodiment of fury. His face is twisted as a demon’s when he grabs the man’s hand and yanks it back with so much force Stephen flies to the floor.
In the quiet of the soundproofed room, the crack of breaking bone is as painful as the noise made by nails scratching a chalkboard.
Stephen cries out, grabbing his wrist in disbelief as the other assistant only now turns to us as if in slow motion from where he’s standing at a wall filled with fabric samples.
“My hand… my hand!” Stephen whines, cradling his wrist with tears in his eyes as I scoot down to him in panic.
“Be glad it wasn’t your face!” Corvus yells at him.
“The fuck did you do?” I stare at Corvus as the other guys get up from the sofa.
Corvus’s usually pale face is now blotted red, and he sucks in a lungful of air. “You’re really letting him grope you at the suit appointment for our wedding?” he spits out, dragging me toward him by the collar while Stephen’s colleague pulls him out of the space between our feet.
“I did nothing,” I say but stare straight into his eyes in defiance. I have to spread my arms because my fists itch to punch, and I don’t want to do something I’d regret.
Damen’s walking over to the crying tailor to do some damage control, while Remo approaches us, wary like a cat about to pounce.
“Fuck you,” Corvus growls, making both words sound like stabs. “You’re lying. You know you’re fucking lying to my face!” His right hand balls into a fist, but before he can throw the punch, Remo grabs him under the arms, and pulls him away from me.
“Stop it!” he says as Corvus writhes in his grip, and even manages to get one arm out. Before I realize what he’s doing, he grabs the glass of whiskey and throws it at me. I manage to duck and the glass shatters on the wall behind me, but I’m still splashed with the alcohol.
“Like you lied to me in the morning?” I yell back at him, uncaring that we’re making a scene.
Fuck that. “We both know you didn’t mean it, but you had to be a bastard about it!
” I don’t in fact know he didn’t mean what he said, but I’m so agitated I want to provoke him.
If I didn’t have a thing about not hitting my lovers, his nose would have been broken by now.
Corvus deflates when Aspen, who’s still on the sofa, sitting there with a manic grin, releases a chuckle.
“Fuck, Corvus. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
In the brief moment of peace that follows, I hear Stephen’s sob and Damen’s calming voice, but that’s over the moment Corvus shoves Remo away and throws himself at Aspen.
“You fucking bastard! I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this if it weren’t for you!”
I won’t be saving Aspen. He can sleep in the bed he’s made for himself. They roll over the back of the sofa, and I can’t even see their fight. It would have been hilarious if my heart wasn’t in so much pain.
“You don’t have to deal with shit!” I yell, approaching in quick strides in case Remo needs help parting them. “Call off the fucking wedding if you want to.”
Corvus whips his head back, letting go of Aspen so rapidly the fucker just drops to the floor. “Forget it,” he hisses, shoving past Remo as he stands in front of me. He’s panting, messy, and blood’s smeared under his nose from whatever happened during the fight.
I hate myself for wanting to kiss it better.
I sneer at him and squint. “I guess marital bliss it is then.”
The door flies open, the tiny bell above it chimes, and Daphne bursts inside like a blonde tornado. She’s panting, her cheeks are red, and there’s a manic look in her eyes.
“Corvus! I did it! I booked your dream venue!” she exclaims as she looks around, only now taking in the mayhem.
She doesn’t ask though. Seems her issue is more pressing than her son’s bloody nose and a crying tailor with a swelling hand.
“Only one small issue. The date’s in two weeks. ” She beams at him with pleading eyes.