Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
I text the girls, letting them know I’ll try to make it, but it will be later. The first reply comes immediately.
Valentina Moretti: Uggg…please don’t tell me you’re choosing Lord Dickhead over us.
Chantel St. James: Never. I just need to talk to him, and then I’ll be on my way.
Valentina Moretti: You didn’t tell me not to call him Lord Dickhead. That must mean he’s back to being his charming self.
I can’t help but laugh at her observation. Val has never liked Marco, and she has no problem letting me know it. Truthfully, I don’t think any of my friends like him, but she’s the most vocal about it. They tell me I can do better, but I can’t blame them for having such high hopes. They don’t know the entirety of my history or why I have no such aspirations.
Chantel St. James: I’ll fill you in later. Pinky promise.
Valentina Moretti: I just need to dump him, and then I’ll be on my way. Fixed it for you.
Chantel St. James: Ha. You’re on a roll.
Abella Vitale: Can I tempt you to come sooner with cute baby spam?
I smile at the photo she sent of her and Antonella, who’s technically a toddler. But in her family, I have a feeling she’ll always be the baby.
“You know, you’re too beautiful to be this lonely.”
The voice comes out of nowhere, startling me, and when I look up, I find Howard Winslow leering at me.
An uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut as I neutralize my expression. This isn’t my first run-in with Howard, and I know from our previous interactions that he can get handsy.
He’s a fifty-something hotel tycoon with a reputation for being belligerent, and I’m really not in the mood for his antics tonight.
“Marco should know better than to leave a woman like you alone.” He glances across the room. “But I can see his attention is engaged elsewhere tonight.”
Irritation lances through me when I see that Marco has reappeared, and instead of coming to find me as he promised, he’s holding court with Isobel.
“He doesn’t appreciate what he has.” Howard inches closer. “If I had a hot piece of ass like you, I’d never let you out of my sight.”
“Well, that sounds problematic.”
“You should be with a man who can give you everything.” He leans in, not so subtly sniffing me. “I might be twice your age, sweetheart, but I promise I can fuck that sweet pussy all night long.”
I physically recoil, but before I can even tell him to get fucked, someone yanks his arm behind his back and jerks him away from me. A guttural whimper spills out of Howard’s mouth as a sickening crunch splits the air, and when I look up, my eyes collide with Cristian.
He holds my gaze as he says something to Howard, too low for me to hear. But judging by the way the color drains from Howard’s face, I think the message is obvious.
When Cristian releases him, Howard stumbles slightly and holds up his mangled hand to examine it. I’m fairly certain Cristian broke every one of his fingers, but it isn’t the violence that shocks me. It’s the man who doled it out.
Unhinged seems to be a Vitale trait, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about him shattering Howard’s hand. If it were any other man, I’d probably think it was hot in a deranged sort of way. But the fact that it’s Cristian just confuses me.
“Thank you.” I force the words up my throat. “But I don’t need you to defend my honor.”
He offers me a bored look. “Who says I was?”
“Ahh, my mistake. I forgot crushing hands was a hobby of yours.”
“Someone had to liven up this party.”
“Yes, and you are renowned for your lively personality.”
The insult bounces right off him, as usual, and I search for a distraction, settling on Howard’s retreating form. I’m not sure he’ll even make it to the front door without passing out, but I also don’t have it in me to care.
It isn’t until Cristian reaches over and commandeers the glass of scotch from my hand that I return my gaze to his. He nods at the drink beside me, and I realize he must have brought it with him before he broke Howard’s hand.
I stare at the espresso martini, swallowing the uncomfortable feeling that arises. It’s funny that a man who doesn’t even like me remembers my preferred drink, but Marco can’t.
“Why are you being nice?” I toss him a suspicious glance. “Did you spike this with arsenic or something?”
“Marco keeps the good scotch in the library,” he answers wryly. “It’s wasted on you.”
“Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way. I was beginning to think you had a personality transplant.”
He leans back against the table, his eyes scanning the crowd as I observe him in profile.