Chapter 9 #2
He hadn’t stopped talking for thirty minutes. The frantic, paranoid interrogation had begun the very second they stepped out of the grand ballroom and into the private elevator.
It had taken every ounce of Rosália’s self-control not to burst into a fit of vindictive, hysterical giggles during the rest of the party.
After Sean had escorted her off the stage, she had returned to her table carrying a silver plate with a slice of the birthday cake.
The look on Katherine’s face—the absolute, murderous glare the younger woman had shot her across the velvet-draped tables—had been a picture of pure, unfiltered devastation. It was glorious.
But David’s reaction was entirely different. He was spiraling.
Rosália walked across the plush carpet of the bedroom, ignoring the frantic cadence of her husband’s voice.
She sat on the edge of the massive king-sized bed, reaching down to unbuckle the delicate straps of her heels.
She tuned him out completely, letting his words turn into a dull, meaningless drone in the background.
“—and you didn’t even think to mention it to me,” David was snapping, pacing at the foot of the bed, running a hand aggressively through his perfectly styled hair. “A speech, Rose. In front of two hundred of the most powerful people in the state.”
Rosália kicked her shoes off with a soft sigh, massaging the arch of her foot.
Her utter lack of reaction made David snap. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, reaching down to grab her bare arm. His grip wasn’t bruising, but it was hard enough to demand her absolute attention.
“Why won’t you answer me?” David demanded, his dark eyes wide and frantic. “What exactly are you hiding, Rosália?”
Rosália slowly looked up at him. She let her gaze drop to his hand on her arm, holding the silence until he uncomfortably loosened his grip. She offered him a mask of perfect, bewildered innocence.
“What in the world are you talking about, David?” she asked, her voice calm and entirely steady.
“Since when are you so close with Sean?” he pushed, his jaw ticking violently. “Since when are you two sharing private jokes and holding hands on stages?”
“We are neighbors,” Rosália replied smoothly, seamlessly pulling her arm out of his reach. She kept her tone remarkably light, dismissing his panic. “We run into each other. We talk. We’ve become good friends, David, nothing more. I honestly don’t understand this bizarre reaction you’re having.”
David’s face darkened, his sophisticated veneer cracking to reveal an ugly, possessive core. “I don’t like it. I forbid this ‘friendship’.”
Rosália stared at him for a split second before a sharp, genuine laugh bubbled up her throat. The sheer, unadulterated hypocrisy of the man standing in front of her was staggering.
“You forbid it?” she echoed, shaking her head as she stood up from the bed. “David, you’ve gone completely crazy.”
“I’m completely serious, Rose—”
“I am an adult woman,” she interrupted, her voice hardening just a fraction.
A normal, faithful husband having a sudden jealousy crisis might have been cute.
It might have made her feel wanted. But coming from the man who had been violently thrusting into their neighbor on a carpeted staircase just days ago, it was pathetic.
“I am perfectly capable of choosing my own friends.”
“You are my wife,” David hissed, stepping into her space, his chest puffing out in a desperate display of dominance. “And you should at least respect this wish of mine. Because I do not feel comfortable having other men dedicating entire speeches to you while I sit in the audience.”
Rosália rolled her eyes. The urge to slap him was a physical ache in her palm, but she pushed it down. She turned her back to him, reaching over her shoulder to find the hidden zipper of her gown.
With a smooth, fluid motion, she pulled the zipper down. The heavy, deep red silk slipped off her shoulders and pooled in a luxurious heap at her feet.
Behind her, David was still complaining. “You need to set boundaries with him. I won’t have my colleagues thinking my wife is—”
The words died a sudden, violent death in his throat.
Rosália turned around to face him.
Beneath the gown, she was wearing a set of intricate, deep red lace lingerie that perfectly matched the dress.
It was breathtakingly delicate, the sheer fabric clinging to the curve of her hips and the swell of her breasts, designed to be an absolute weapon.
The deep crimson color made her tanned skin glow in the dim light of the hotel room.
David completely froze. The anger evaporated from his face, instantly replaced by a stunned, heavy shock. His dark eyes dragged down her body, his mouth parting slightly.
“Since when do you have that?” he asked, his voice suddenly thick and raspy. He swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen that before.”
Rosália crossed her arms over her chest. It was a defensive posture, but the movement pushed her breasts together, deepening her cleavage. David’s gaze instantly drifted to the hollow of her chest, glued to the very skin he had ignored for months.
“How would you even know if I’ve had this for a long time or not, David?” Rosália asked, her voice quiet but lethal, slicing through the quiet room like a blade. “We practically don’t even have sex anymore.”
The blow landed perfectly.
David flinched as if she had physically struck him.
A flash of guilt—or perhaps just the terror of being caught neglecting his marital duties—crossed his features.
He swallowed hard again, taking a hesitant step forward.
The possessive anger was completely gone, replaced by a sudden, desperate need to reclaim his territory.
“You’re right,” David murmured, his voice dropping into a low, apologetic cadence. “You’re right, Rose. I’m sorry. I’ve just been working so much harder lately... the firm is bleeding me dry. But I’m going to fix it. I’m going to pay more attention to you.”
He took another step, his eyes dark with sudden, undeniable lust. He reached his hand out, wanting to touch the red lace. wanting to prove to himself that she still belonged to him.
Rosália immediately stepped backward, smoothly slipping entirely out of his reach.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she announced coldly, turning toward the massive marble en-suite bathroom.
David blinked, his hand falling to his side. “I’ll come with you. Let me wash your back—”
“No,” Rosália cut him off, pausing at the bathroom door. She didn’t look back at him. “I want to take a shower alone. I prefer it that way tonight.”
She let the silence hang for a heavy, agonizing second before delivering the final strike.
“You can take advantage of this time to think a little better about everything you just said to me,” she murmured softly, her tone laced with absolute ice. “And think about exactly how you’ve been treating me lately.”
She stepped into the bathroom, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her with a definitive click, leaving her husband standing entirely alone in the middle of the luxurious suite with nothing but his own guilt for company.