Veronica
I’m halfway through explaining the engagement party seating chart to Frank when the air in the restaurant turns heavy. I feel the shift before I see him. My heart skips a beat when I look up and meet his dizzying mix of white-hot fury, and a traitorous, familiar thrill rushes through me.
He looks like hell. One eye is swollen and bruised, and his lip is split.
But it's the look in his eyes that stops my breath. He tracked me. He saw I was with Frank, and he came to claim what’s his.
I hate that he doesn't trust me to sit across from another man, but god, I love that he can't stand the thought of it. What the hell is wrong with me?
He doesn't even look at Frank. He walks straight to our table and plants his hand on the back of my chair. His fingers dig into the wool of my sweater dress, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric.
"Dinner is over," he says. His voice is a low, jagged growl that sends a shiver straight down my spine.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my blood is humming. "You tracked my location? You really don't trust me to have a meal with a friend without you hunting me down?"
"I'm taking you home." He ignores my question entirely, his focus shifting to Frank, who is pale and frozen. "You have ten seconds to pay the check and leave. If I ever see you sitting across from her again, a black eye will be the least of your worries."
Frank tries to put on a brave front. “You can't just—"
He doesn't let Frank finish. He picks up Frank’s wineglass and slowly, deliberately, pours the red liquid over Frank's steak. The disrespect is evident to anyone who’s looking. It’s extreme, arrogant, and exactly what I expected.
"You're still talking," he says to Frank, his voice flat and deadly.
Frank looks at his ruined plate, then at the man looming over him. He grabs his wallet and throws a mess of cash on the table. He looks at me and then at Miles.
“I’ll see you later, Veronica.”
I stand up, my heart hammering against my ribs.
My eyes lock with Miles’s, trying to look offended, even as the possessiveness in his gaze makes my knees weak.
"You have no right," I hiss, stepping close enough so I don’t cause a scene.
"You didn't answer my messages, but you had time to hack my location? You're a paranoid bastard."
"Time to go," he commands, his jaw tight, his hand moving to the nape of my neck.
"Fine, only because you ruined my dinner," I spit back, grabbing my purse. But I lean into his touch just a fraction, a silent admission that he’s won.
He winces as he grabs my coat, a flicker of genuine pain crossing his face, but his grip on me doesn't loosen. "We’re taking my car. I told Kai he has the night off, Princesa. We can argue about my trust issues once I have you behind a locked door."
The walk to the car is tense and silent. He keeps his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the restaurant as diners whisper behind their napkins. Outside, the night air is sharp, but the heat radiating off him is enough to keep me warm.
He unlocks the car, and I slide into the passenger seat. I see him wince as he climbs in beside me, his hand clutching his side as he settles into the leather.
"You're a mess," I say, my voice softer now that we’re away from the prying eyes of the bistro.
I reach out to touch the edge of his swollen eye, but he catches my wrist midair.
His grip isn't painful. He doesn't look at me yet; he just stares straight ahead through the windshield, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. “You didn’t have to hunt me down. You knew I had plans with Frank.”
The light from a nearby streetlamp hits his face, illuminating the violent bruise around his eye. “You were on a fucking date, Veronica.”
He shifts the car into gear, the engine growling to life under his hand.
He doesn't wait for my defense. He doesn't want to hear it.
He simply pulls away from the curb with a sharp jerk.
His eyes are fixed on the road ahead while the silence between us hums with everything he isn't saying. I watch his profile, the way his knuckles are white against the steering wheel. My heart is racing, caught between the urge to scream at him and the dark, intoxicating thrill of knowing he’s hurt and still came for me.
We arrive at our apartment building, and he gets out first; I can tell he’s in pain.
He opens my door, not as a gesture, but as an order.
I get out without a word, contemplating going to my apartment, but think better of it right now.
We enter his apartment and move to the living room in the dark; the only light comes from the city through the window.
He walks straight to the kitchen without a word, leaving me standing in the center of the room, my purse still clutched in my hand, staring into the dark.
Taking a moment to calm his temper. When he comes back a minute later and walks right up to me, he invades my space the way he did in the restaurant.
He doesn't touch me yet, just looms, the heat from his body washing over mine.
The anger I felt in the car is a live thing now, mixed with a deep, consuming need.
He raises a hand, not to touch, but to simply hover near my face, his fingers trembling slightly. His voice is rough with something that isn't pain from his injury. “I saw the way he was looking at you."
The anger drains out of me, replaced by understanding. This is his default setting: protectiveness veering into possessiveness, a raw fear of losing me that he doesn't know how to express in a healthy way. I lean into his hand.
“You didn't need to do that."
His eyes search mine in the dim light. "It's just…the thought of anyone looking at you that way…it makes me lose control."
"You don't need to lose control," I tell him, stepping closer so there's no space left between us. My head rests against his chest, and I can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath my ear. "You need to trust me."
He sighs, a deep, ragged sound that vibrates through his body and into mine. His arms encircle me, holding me close, careful of his injured side. "I do trust you," he murmurs into my hair. "It's the rest of the world I don't trust."
We stand there for a long moment, the silence now comfortable, filled with unspoken words. In the quiet darkness, there's just the two of us, holding onto each other, the lingering tension slowly melting away.
“I thought you were ignoring me on purpose. That you had your fun with me and went back…back to Gemma or to someone else at the club.”
He takes my face in both hands. “I don’t like you being insecure. You have no reason to be.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond. It was a long night.”
“Will you tell me?” I’m waiting for him to brush me off.
He holds my gaze, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “Yes,” he promises. “But let’s get some rest first.”
He leads me to his bedroom. I’ve never been here, but it’s what I expected from Miles. Minimal decorations, it’s as if no one sleeps here. He usually stays at my place. He doesn’t let go of my hand as he moves toward the bed and takes a seat at the edge of the mattress.
“Will you help me with my shirt?” he asks.
I nod and stand between his legs. I see him wince as I help him undress. “You need some pain pills. Do you have any?”
“Yes. Tomas gave me some, but I don’t want to take them. I want to be here with you.” He wraps his arms around me, burying his face in my chest. “Stay with me tonight?”
With my fingers in his curly hair, I reply, “Okay.” I pull back and continue to help him.
Once I’m done and put him in bed, I start to undress, sliding off my boots, then pulling my sweater dress over my head.
I stand here in nothing but my lace panties and bra.
A groan escapes him. Fuck, lying next to him is going to be difficult.
“None of that.” He huffs a dry, painful laugh and closes his eyes, finally letting his head sink back.
The silence that follows isn't awkward; it’s the kind of silence that comes after pure exhaustion.
I slide under the heavy covers, the coolness of the sheets a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off my skin.
“I had an altercation with Eric Harrison last night.” I sit up and look at him.
“What?” The word is high, panicked.
He doesn't open his eyes right away, continuing the story with a heavy kind of resignation. “It wasn’t pretty. Honestly, if Felix and Damon hadn’t shown up, I don’t think I’d be here right now. I can handle myself, but one versus six, well…the odds weren’t in my favor.”
He pauses, a slight, humorless smirk touching the corner of his mouth before it fades into pain. “I damaged Eric’s ego, not to mention his face.” He finally opens his eyes and looks at me. “This is the result,” he continues, his gaze intense and unwavering.
I jump out of bed, grabbing the pain pills from the bedside table.
"You're taking these," I say, my voice sharp with fear and adrenaline as I hold out the pain medication. He doesn’t argue this time. He sits up carefully, wincing, and takes the medication, swallowing it dry. Reaching out, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch careful. “That,” he says, “is the long-night part. The part we’ll talk about tomorrow, when the medication begins to work and I can breathe without wanting to scream.”
His hand rests on my neck now, thumb gently stroking my jawline. He pulls me down until my forehead rests against his uninjured shoulder. “I'm okay. I’m here, and you’re safe.”
I try to sleep but can’t. What happened that caused Miles to get hurt like this? From what I know, Eric is dangerous and powerful. What if he’s retaliating? Fuck, it’s just another one of my mistakes coming back to haunt me. I toss and turn until I feel Miles roll over and cocoon me with his arm.