Chapter 33
PAIGE
Anger is a funny emotion.
It starts deep in the pit of your stomach, seeping out through your limbs, turning into tense shoulders and clenched teeth and frustration without an outlet.
I don’t like being angry.
It’s not who I am. I am the happy, upbeat, strong one. The one who always keeps moving and never sits or stops or feels. I picked up the pieces after my parents’ death. Cleaned out the house, planned the funeral, showed up to Mather & Wilde and fought against my uncle.
Anger? It’s useless. Unproductive. To be angry means that you acknowledge you’ve been hurt, that you’ve been injured, and I’ve never allowed myself to do that.
But I’m angry now. I’ve been angry at Raphael Montclair for months, so that’s not new. I’ve called him every name in the book in my head, and plenty to his face. I’ve detested his business tactics, his methodology, his smug face and how handsome he is.
It’s a cold sort of anger.
This one isn’t.
I’m standing on the bow of the large boat Karim has rented for us. It’s cutting across Lake Como like the blue water is butter, with high mountains rising on either side. Lights hang alongside the vessel, and behind me I can hear the sound of laughing wedding guests.
Strangers and semi-strangers alike, celebrating the end of our two-day wedding weekend. It’s the final performance.
It’s been a good performance, too. I’d spent most of today with guests.
Breakfast with Rafe’s mother had been a whirlwind, and I’d enjoyed it more than I thought I would.
She knew my marriage wasn’t based on love but didn’t seem to have anything against it.
It was refreshing. We’d bonded over our mutual love of the sea.
My son makes very rational decisions. I’m glad he finally made an irrational one, she’d said, in a surprisingly insightful moment bracketed by gossip and croissants.
Her son, who is now off somewhere on the boat charming guests.
The wind brushes through my hair. I’ve left it in a low ponytail tonight, and I’m wearing a white mini dress, as befits the bride. But not even the cool wind can calm the flames licking my insides.
I woke up in his arms, saw him hard, and felt victorious. Until I saw it. The fresh hickey on his neck.
He must have snuck out again.
We agreed on celibacy, but he broke the pact and snuck out again. Was it on the night of his bachelor party? The guys were up later than we were. I don’t know what they did or where they went after that. If any of his old friends are actually lovers.
Yesterday at our wedding, he kissed me in front of all those people with a hickey on his neck from someone else.
My hand tightens around my glass. If his sleeping around got out, it would jeopardize everything. The whole reason we’re putting on a spectacle for the world is to fight the newspapers and my uncle’s lawsuit that our marriage is only for business reasons.
He’s the love of my life.
A single photo of Rafe kissing someone who isn’t me, and it would all collapse.
I wonder if they’re local. If it’s a beautiful Italian woman with long dark hair, who’s lovely and kind and understands his lifestyle.
Is it a guest at the wedding? He added people to the wedding list. Maybe he’s sleeping with one of his staff.
His friends. A designer who works for him.
A convenient little arrangement that he wasn’t going to stop just because of the ring he’s now wearing.
He kissed me like he wanted to. He woke holding me, he was hard. I saw it. Does he do all of that with someone else? How does he kiss her?
I drain the last of my spritz.
I can’t believe I enjoyed kissing him. I can’t believe I’ve let myself play tennis with him in the mornings, or work with him on Mather & Wilde’s changes, or have fun arguing with him.
He broke his promise, and he’s going to pay for it.
I can never trust Raphael Montclair.
So I take the wedding rings off my left hand and slip them into my clutch. It’s one I bought with his money. Outrageously expensive, obscenely pretty and by a designer who might be on this very boat tonight.
And then I go hunting.
I find a victim almost immediately.
He’s tall and blond, with a faint European lilt to his words when I ask him what he’s drinking. Turns out he works for Artemis, the Montclairs’ storied watch brand, and I don’t think he’ll go for it.
But I flirt with him anyway.
He blinks at me a few times, but then a smile lights up his face. “It’s lovely to talk to you finally,” he says. “The wedding has been beautiful.”
I laugh a little and tell him how intense it’s been. How I haven’t had a chance to relax. How busy Rafe’s been.
He nods through it all and shifts closer by the bar. Guests are everywhere. I hope they all see how flirty I’m being. Rage is a red mist around me, and I don’t want it to ever leave.
He tells me I’m beautiful.
It’s a common enough comment for a guest to make to the bride, but his eyes linger when he says it, and I can tell he’s noticed the vibes I’m giving off. Any other day, and I’d never do this.
Any other marriage, and I’d never even want to.
But I hope Rafe is watching us. I hope he sees how close my hand is to—what’s his name again? Antoine?—on the bar counter. Jealousy churns in my stomach. Tight and painful.
“It was a very fast thing. This marriage,” I tell him.
He nods, and his eyes dip to my lips. “I understand,” he says, and I realize he hasn’t bought into the fantasy Rafe and I have tried to sell. “But if you ever want to have fun… I’m around.”
Then I feel it.
A hand on my low back and the scent of his cologne. “There you are, darling,” Rafe says.
I look up at him. “Oh. Hello.”
His eyes are hard on mine. I give him my best blinding smile and ignore that faint bruise peeking up from the edge of his collar. What grown man gets a hickey?
Rafe looks to the man I’m talking to. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks. “It’s a rare thing, to get a chance to talk to the bride at her own wedding.”
“We’ve just met,” the man across from me says. His hand, which was lying so close to mine on the bar, goes back to grip his drink. “I’m very happy for you.”
It sounds like a blatant lie. Wow. This guy is brazen.
Rafe’s lips tip into a smile. I’ve seen that one before. It’s disbelieving, a little cruel and calculating. “Are you? How nice.”
“He’s a professional sailor. Isn’t that cool?” I ask.
Rafe’s gaze finally returns to me. His hand intertwines with mine, and I can feel the moment he realizes the hand he’s holding isn’t wearing any rings.
His jaw tightens. “I’m going to have to steal my wife back,” he says.
Antoine gives Rafe a smile and a quick nod, like he finally realizes the danger he’s in. Because he needs Rafe’s approval.
Everyone always needs Rafe’s approval.
He pulls me away from the bar. There’s nowhere to go on this boat, and we both know it. We’re surrounded by people, by eyes, by murmurs and whispers and well-wishes, with the flash of cameras and the rocking of the boat and the pounding of the music.
He sweeps me out on the dance floor. His hands hold me tight, and I want to push them off. Who else was he touching just days ago?
His mouth comes to my ear. “What was that, Wilde?”
“I was flirting with him,” I say. The hot feeling in my stomach burns like a flame. I’m on a boat. I can’t run from it. So I have to throw myself headfirst into it instead.
“You were flirting?” he asks. “What the hell happened to the perfect wife I was promised? I’ve kept my word. Not a single worker has been laid off.”
“You think you’ve kept your word?” My fingers tighten around his shoulder like claws. “You certainly haven’t acted like a perfect husband.”
“What are you talking about?”
My hand slides to his neck, and I press a finger against the incriminating spot. “You promised me celibacy. But you’ve snuck out again, haven’t you?”
He looks up at the ceiling, like I’m the issue. “Paige.”
“Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I can see it. You have a hickey on your neck.” I lean in closer, and my voice shakes with anger. “So whoever she is, tell her to be more careful next time.”
“There is no one.” His hand flattens against my back. “And for Christ’s sake, darling, you can’t flirt with a man at our wedding party.”
“And why not? If you’re not keeping your promise, I don’t see why I have to keep mine. I can find myself someone on the side too.”
“You’re infuriating,” he says, and turns me around on the dance floor. “Antoine. Did he go for it?”
“He suggested we could have some fun.”
“Fucking snake. I knew it.”
“There are men who would be happy to have me, you know,” I say.
Rafe’s voice darkens. “I’m well aware, but they can’t have you. You’re mine. Put your rings back on.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous.” Around us, people are watching our dance. Plenty wear smiles, like they can see our heated exchange. Good thing they can’t hear it, or they would know it’s not evidence of passion.
“Your rings, Paige,” he growls.
“Is the person who gave you the hickey here? Or did you meet up after the bachelor party?” I brush my hand along the side of his face. Like I touch him all the time. Like I love this man more than my life.
Like he’s not making me want to scream.
“I’m not sleeping around,” he says through tight teeth.
“You broke our deal.” My smile widens, and I feel like I’m drowning in my own anger. “Every agreement we’ve ever had is now null and void.”
“Darling, you’re dead wrong.” His voice darkens. “You’re the most expensive investment I’ve ever made. I wouldn’t risk that for half an hour of fun.”
The music shifts, and we come to a standstill on the deck. He’s still holding me, and another breeze sweeps across, stirring my hair.
It’s a beautiful night, and all I can feel is fury.
“I don’t believe you,” I say.
He leans in, lips brushing against my cheek. A shiver runs through me. “Not here,” he says.
“As soon as we’re off this boat,” I say, and fix the collar of his shirt, “I will need an explanation.”