Page 95 of Pretty Little Threats

When the door closes, I’m painfully aware of how alone I am. I stare at my reflection. Even though I appear rattled, the dusky pink mermaid dress is pretty. The curls in my hair still look amazing. It isn’t right to feel so sad when I look this good. I need to pull it together, but Remy’s threat is hard to shake.

Before Dare and I got married, there was a very real possibility that we would stay enemies until the day we died, but the last few weeks have been eye-opening, and not in the best way. Dare is quickly teaching me that, perhaps, I can’t trust my dad after all.

And if that’s true, Cassia is the only person in my corner.

Is it possible for Dare to be on my side?

Maybe it’s time to stop resisting my husband and embrace my new name.

thirty

DARE

Rose is gonewhen I make it back to the table, but Remy is still sitting right where I left him. The dance floor is full, the music loud enough to reverberate off my skin. Those who aren’t dancing are clustered around tables, enjoying their carefree existence.

I let my gaze roam over the crowd, searching for my wife, but Rose is nowhere to be found. A woman dressed in all black materializes.

Why do I recognize her?

“That’s Iris Avery,” Remy supplies.

Iris is the daughter of a man who owns an up-and-coming entertainment company that has the Rollins family rumbling in annoyance, but that’s all the thoughts I have to spare for the entertainment scene. I clench my jaw as I sit. “Rose. Where did she go?”

“Bathroom,” Remy says, leaning back and resting one arm on his chair in a seemingly casual move. Except, I recognize the readiness of his form.

Placing Rose’s wine on the table, I take a long sip of my martini, savoring the saltiness and mulling over the sudden rush of irritation. I asked Remy to watch her. He’s always protected me and mine. “And why didn’t you go with her?”

Remy pulls his gaze from the dance floor. “She told me not to.”

Annoyance kindles in my gut. “I don’t care. I thought I asked you to look out for her.”

“I’m here for you, Dare, not some rich brat,” he growls and then clamps his mouth shut.

Though Remy and I are best friends, he generally hates the rich, even though he has just as much money as I do. The difference is, Remy’s was earned in blood, not inheritance. I can’t say I blame him for hating those with generational wealth. We’re all a bunch of assholes. Regardless of his feelings, he should’ve taken care of Rose. I trusted him with her.

“What did you say to her?” I ask.

“I didn’t say shit.”

I scoff. “Don’t lie to me. I saw you two talking before the bartender came to take my order. I turned around, she was gone. What did you say?”

“The truth,” he says with a shrug. “I told her if she betrayed you, I’d kill her myself.”

Protectiveness barrels into me. “You threatened Rose?” My voice is quiet, but that doesn’t mean it’s soft.

Remy rears back. “You can’t trust her, Dare.”

“And since when do you get to decide that?”

He scowls at me. “Since you’ve been thinking with your dick. That bitch is?—”

“My. Wife.” I slap my hand on the table, and a few people nearby jump. One vicious glance in their direction has them looking away. Fucking parties.

“Look at you,” Remy murmurs. “She’s in your head.”

“She’s not,” I lie, searching the room again. My gaze snags on Rose, standing across the room, staring straight at me. Her head is slightly tilted as she studies me and Remy, her long, curled brunette hair spilling over one shoulder. How long has she been there? She’s too far away to have heard anything, but there’s no shielding her from the angry lines on my face.

In my peripheral vision, Remy turns and sighs. “You need to be careful.”

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