Page 78 of Filthy Promises

This time, his fingers make contact with something.

He pauses mid-sentence. A frown creases his brow. My pulse races as he pulls out the small envelope, glancing at it with confusion.

“What’s this?” he murmurs under his breath.

“Something wrong?” Katerina asks.

“No,” Vince says, quickly returning the envelope to his pocket without opening it. “Just a note I forgot about.”

But his eyes find mine across the table, questioning.Suspicious.

I smile innocently and take a sip of my wine, even as anxiety floods my system.

Oh, God… What have I done?

Katerina watches this exchange with knowing eyes. “Perhaps you should check that note,” she suggests. “It might be important.”

“It can wait,” Vince replies, but his hand stays near his pocket like he can’t stand to be separated from it.

The tension at the table rises to unbearable levels. I can’t believe what I’ve done. Can’t believe I thought this was a good idea.

“I need to use the restroom,” I announce, desperate for a moment to collect myself.

“Of course,” Katerina says. “Down the hall to the left.”

I practically flee the table, feeling both their gazes on my back as I weave through the restaurant. In the restroom, I brace myself against the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I whisper to myself.

The woman in the mirror—with her blazing red dress and matching lips—looks like a stranger. A reckless, impulsive stranger who thought it would be fun to play with fire.

Oh, how wrong she was.

I splash some cold water on my wrists and neck, trying to calm down. I need to go back out there. I need to face whatever happens next.

When I return to the table, I find Vince alone, his expression thunderous.

“Where’s Katerina?” I ask, sliding back into my seat.

“She stepped outside to take a call.” His voice is dangerously quiet. “Which gives us a moment to discuss this.”

He pulls out the envelope and places it on the table between us.

“Care to explain?” he asks.

“It looks like an envelope to me,” I reply, aiming for nonchalance but missing by a mile.

“Don’t play games, Rowan. Not about this.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we’ve been doing? Playing games?” I meet his gaze defiantly. “You leave me notes about thinking of me when you come. You touch me under tables while on dates with other women. You tell me to wear certain colors, certain dresses, like I’m your doll to dress up.”

“So this is what? Revenge?”

“No.” I swallow hard. “It’s me playing by your rules.”

He opens the envelope slowly, sliding the Polaroid just far enough out to see what it is, then quickly pushes it back in before anyone can see. His eyes darken to midnight as they lift to meet mine.

“We will discuss this later,” he says, his voice tight with controlled fury.

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