Page 94 of His Prince

“Honestly, let go of each other’s hands or I’m going to get jealous,” Tatum says and then leans into Anthony, nuzzling up against his chestlike a pet. Anthony chuckles and presses a hand to his back, rubbing up slowly and massaging his neck. Tatum arches into the touch and nearly purrs. If only Angel would do that. But he’s currently standing too far away, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes everywhere but me.

What the fuck is going on?

What did I do?

Everything was fine this morning.

“Show me the house, Angel. I want to see everything. Hear abouteverything.” Tatum says that slyly, linking his arm with Angel’s and pulling him from the foyer without another word. Anthony watches me, and I force my gaze to soften. I won’t have Anthony making assumptions about my marriage to his son from my traitorous eyes. I can remain neutral, hidden. I’m stealthy.

“Your home is…much more colorful than I expected,” Anthony says.

I purse my lips, taking in the bright pink painting hung near the front door. “Your son has been busy.”

Anthony nods as he walks into the kitchen, taking in the wallpapered walls, the colorful flowers sitting on the island, the freshly baked cookies on the counter.

“It’s good he’s happy,” he says, like a threat.

“He is,” I reply, thinking about earlier when we were in bed. The way he moaned my name.

Although, he’s not happy now. He’s upset.

I’ve done something and I can’t think what. Everything was fucking perfect earlier.

It felt that way, but then again, I’ve been wrong before.

I’ve been so fucking wrong.

“Diablo will be arriving within the hour. Just in case you weren’t notified. Thank you for hosting us on such late notice,” Anthony says as he sits down at the island and eyes the drinks sitting on the counter. I fucking need one at the moment. I know what Anthony is doing by showing up almost unannounced.

He’s trying to make sure I’m keeping Angel happy, and we have no time to cultivate marital bliss.

Not that Angel could fake it.

He can’t fake anything.

“Drink?”

“Yes, it’s been a long day of travel,” he says.

As I grab a glass from the cabinet, another man appears. Viktor, if I remember correctly. Anthony’s personal bodyguard. He looks suave, with long legs and broad shoulders. On his hip sits a gun, and I eye it as I pour the liquid into the glass.

“Your bags are all in the rooms. You’re good to go, boss,” Viktor says.

Anthony nods at him and then hands him his glass. “Drink up, Viktor. You need it.”

Viktor glances down at it and then reluctantly takes it.

“What is it?”

“Cognac,” I say.

“Nice, very Russian,” Viktor says, and Anthony smirks.

“A nice whiskey would be preferable, but I think I’ll cope.”

Just as he says that Bane lopes out of the hallway and right into Viktor’s arms.

“Hello, my love. I’ve missed you. Are you wearing those blood-red panties I left for you?”

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