Page 29 of The Hitch
"… is death."
Stepping out of the shower, I towel myself off in the bedroom. Melody's sleeping form is deceptive. She looks so peaceful, so serene. She is nothing like that. Melody is a terror, fury made human, and I underestimated her.
I will not make that mistake again.
But tonight is the Goetic Gala, where all of the key players come together and play nice for a few hours, while celebrating our wins. And Melody is required to be there, insanity or no. Roman mixed up a particularly pliant cocktail a few hours ago after subduing her, and we'll administer it just before the Gala.
For now, though, she sleeps in silence. With a heavy sigh, I return to the living room where Roman awaits. We sit in silence, occasionally broken by the clink of ice against my glass. He huffs a breath from his nose and flicks his gaze towards me.
I shake my head and stare at the wood grain of the floor. The swirls and lines look like eyes staring back at me. Judging me. Judging my choices. My phone vibrates on the side table, the Bael's name and symbol flashing across the screen. With a groan, I answer the call.
"Congratulations, Dante. Will we be meeting the blushing bride tonight?" The condescension practically drips through the phone.
"Of course. We wouldn't miss it for the world. Though you may have to tear her away from me long enough for the awards, Bael. She's utterlyinsatiable."I crack a smile, and Roman stifles a snort.
"Charming. I look forward to your Ascension, Dante. We all do. Though, as you may well know, it is…probationary, until an heir is produced."
"What do you take me for, Bael? An idiot? Of course, I know. But as I said…insatiable.I expect you'll be attending the baby shower by this time next year."
She hums into the phone, and the pop of a cork echoes in the background. No doubt it's her cheap rosé.
"Well." She slurps some of her god-awful wine. "I personally cannotwaitto meet the woman who's tamedyou."
"It'll be fantastic, I guarantee it."
Melody woke up a few hours before the gala. She's surprisingly compliant, smiling and going through the motions of putting on her makeup. Styling her hair. Though I can still see the roiling tension behind her eyes. It's still there, and it's still terrifying. I smirk. She truly is the perfect mother for my future children.
They'll be ruthless. Ferocious. Murderous.
Just like us.
My heart leaps in my chest as she steps out of the bathroom in a sleek black dress with a high slit, revealing the tanned expanse of her thigh. I can't help but sweep my gaze down the hint of cleavage revealed by the sweetheart neckline. A shiver rolls down my spine as I take in the full sight of her—my wife—a vision in black. Elegant purple accents match my colors perfectly. The bottoms of her heels aren't red, they're purple.
Mypurple.
"Good? Bad? Why are you looking at me like that?" She furrows her brow and sneers at me. My heart leaps again, and I have to suppress a giddy grin.
"Nearly perfect. Just one more thing," I murmur as I reach into the vase on my bedside table. I take one deep crimson rose—its petals almost black, just like the ones I left her for weeks—and snap the stem off. She watches with suspicious eyes as I tuck the rose behind her ear, securing it with an extra bobby pin she used for her wild and wavy updo.
"Lemme see," she demands and storms back into the bathroom. She stills, evaluating herself in the mirror. I watch the gentle pulse feather in her throat as a malicious grin spreads across her face. "Let's fucking do this, asshole."
My stunned silence follows us to the McLaren, and neither of us speaks a word as we drive to the venue. She fidgets with the hem of her dress and bounces her knee as we get closer and closer. I subtly touch my pocket, checking to make sure the syringe is still there—it is.
The insurance policy, courtesy of Roman. Just in case she gets… out of hand.
Pulling up to the Pearford Estates, I take another glance at Melody, who stares straight ahead with a blank expression. She watches me as I toss my keys to the valet and offer her my arm. She takes it, and I can feel the nervous tension in her hands.
"You'll be fine, Melody. Polite civility, and we'll go home," I whisper as we approach the floral arches surrounding the entrance. Classical string music floats through the air, just over the low din of conversation.
The amount of wealth on display is disgusting, even to me. Flowers in every color of the rainbow are artfully arranged in priceless vases on every table. Edison bulb string lights illuminate the outdoor portion, accompanied by small fire pits for warmth. Rustic stone and stained beams provide an old-world sort of ambiance inside the ballroom. Buffet tables with finger foods line one wall. Silent staff people roam the crowds, passing out drinks and hors d'oeuvres in practiced deference.
Melody clamps her hand down on my arm, stabbing her nails into the luxurious wool of my suit. "I can't do this."
"You can, and you will. If you're a good girl, I'll reward you when we get home," I mumble in her ear with a smile. A look of appreciation flashes across her face, but it's gone as quickly as it came when she spots the group of well-dressed women staring at us.
"Who are they?" she says out of the corner of her mouth.
"The Bael, The Sitri, and The Beleth," I whisper. "Let's get this over with, first thing, and then we can make the rounds and go home."
