Page 14 of When the Last One Falls
“Where in the fuck are your wedding rings, Keris?” he bit out, and I had no idea why he cared. He was here with his girlfriend. Making sure that no one knew that we were married would be a plus for him. However, when I glanced at his left hand, I saw the diamond-encrusted platinum ring from that Saturday morning decorating his ring finger, and that further confused me. Why in the hell would he still be wearing it after he made it clear what kind of marriage this was?
I waited until after the bartender served his drink to say, “Last time I checked, I’m not your wife.” His chin came up immediately, and I imagined that the look on his face was the one that adversaries met across the boardroom table. “I’m just the stranger that you married to better your family’s legacy.” His jaw ticked, but since I had already played my hand, I saw no reason not to show all my cards. “In fact, there’s no need for us to live together, spend time together, or not even a real need to respect me. So, what do you care about a piece of jewelry?”
“Eavesdropped, did you?” he bit out through clenched teeth.
“Does it matter?” I challenged.
Before we could get into a wicked fight, Maris Abernathy was saddling up next to us. “Brantley Kingston,” she gushed. “No one was sure if you were going to make it tonight.”
Shooting one last look of fire my way, he turned towards Maris, then turned on the charm. “Maris, it’s lovely to see you,” he said, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Where is Arthur?’
“Oh, he’s mingling,” she chuckled. “You know how he likes to pretend that he’s art savvy.”
Brantley smiled at her, and it transformed his face into a panty-melting phenomenon. How could someone so damn stunning be such an asshole? It boggled the mind. At least, it boggledmymind.
“Let the man keep his pride, Maris,” Brantley teased. “After all, we’re such fragile creatures.”
Maris’ eyes slid my way and there was no missing the disapproval in her blue gaze, though I had no idea why. However, I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“I saw Rochelle,” she said as she looked back up at Brantley. “I swear, that woman gets more lovely every time that I see her. She’s an absolute doll, Brantley.”
That was definitely my cue to leave.
“Excuse me,” I said to no one in particular. “I see my boss, and I need to speak with him.”
I rushed off before Brantley could stop me, and regret hit me square in the face when I realized that I’d left my drink back on the bar because I definitely needed it.
The real fucked-up thing about the whole situation? I found myself feeling jealous, and if that wasn’t the stupidest thing ever, then I didn’t know what was. I had absolutely no reason to feel jealous of Rochelle Darling. Other than our legal marriage, I had no relationship with Brantley. We’d never met before our wedding ceremony, and he hadn’t even spoken to me that morning. That little interaction earlier was the first conversation that we’d ever had, and it hadn’t been pleasant.
So, why in the hell would I feel jealous?
Maybe it was because my brain acknowledged that he was my husband-no matter how it came to be-and he was openly flaunting his infidelity. Maybe it was because I had expected some respect and discretion on his end, and…honestly, I had no idea what was causing these feelings, but it sucked. He hadn’t even bothered to tell me that he was back. All our correspondences had been emails that had needed my signature.
Not wanting to go back to the bar, I took off in search of a waitress or waiter. Even though champagne really wasn’t my thing, it still contained alcohol.
Chapter 10
Brantley~
Tonight was turning into an epic clusterfuck. Not only had Rochelle arrived at the same time that I’d had, but we had also walked into the building together, making it appear as if we had arrived as a couple, which couldn’t be further from the truth. We’d met outside, and because I held no ill will towards the woman, I had walked in with her, deciding not to be rude and treat her like some unwanted regret.
My mistake.
Maris Abernathy’s comments regarding Rochelle had pointed out the grave error, and I could only imagine what Keris was thinking. She hadn’t seemed impressed that I was wearing my wedding ring, but then most of the men in this building fucked their mistresses while wearing their rings on their fingers.
Things had gotten worse when Keris had thrown my words back in my face, surprising me with another obstacle to add to our already fucked-up situation. I had only said that shit to piss off my father, but she didn’t know that. She believed that I didn’t want anything to do with her, and that I planned on taking care of business with other women. Yeah, walking in with Rochelle had been just fucking brilliant.
While I understood why she wasn’t wearing her wedding rings now, that didn’t help tamp down my anger. When I had spotted her from across the room, that’d been the first thing that I’d noticed about her; her wedding rings had been missing. After that, I had noticed how fucking beautiful she looked, and that had just pissed me off further. No matter how it came to be, she was my wife. Keris Bishop belonged to me, and she should be wearing the fucking receipt on her finger.
After correcting Maris that Rochelle and I were no longer an item, I had excused myself, making sure to finish my drink first. The plan had been to follow Keris and finish our conversation, but by the time the third person of the night had intercepted me, I’d lost her in the crowd, which was probably a good thing. In the current mood that I was in, things could get really ugly, really fast. So, while I normally didn’t partake in nicotine, I had bummed a cigarette off one of the waiters, then stepped outside to fill my lungs with the calmness of the vice.
Another mistake on my part.
Walking back in from the upper balcony, Rochelle was coming around the corner, and when she saw me, a knowing smirk decorated her beautifully painted lips.
“You know, when you broke things off, you never said that it was because you were getting married,” she said, gesturing to my left hand.
“That’s because it wasn’t and isn’t any of your business, Rochelle,” I reminded her. “We didn’t have a relationship that required an explanation from me. Be lucky that you got a phone call and not a text like all the others.” I purposely reminded her that she hadn’t been the only one that I’d been fucking just to drive my point home. While I had no issues with Rochelle, she had also just been an easy fuck, a dutiful escort to formal functions.
