Page 66 of Sweet Addiction
One deep breath in. One slow breath out. Then another.
I repeat the actions a few more times, then shake out of his touch and sit straighter, letting the cool leather of the bench seat seep into my skin. “Positive.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Do I want to? Absolutely not.
Do I need to give him a heads-up? Unfortunately, I should, but I just don’t know if I can.
“Why? So you can use it against me?” I blurt out before thinking it through, my emotions too raw for this conversation. Not now. Not here.
The window between us and the driver lowers. “We’ve arrived.”
Of course we have.
I have two options, and neither works for me, but absolutely nothing about this forced arrangement works for me, so why would this be any different?
Is it better to dance with the devil you know or take your chances with the one you don’t?
I lift my eyes to the beautiful devil in a designer tux sitting next to me and, for just a single moment, let myself believe he’s not my enemy. That he won’t use this against me. “Just do me a favor...” I lace my fingers with Rome’s. “Stay close, please.”
Guess tonight, I’m picking the devil I know.
The stunning room at the Ballroom at the Ben looks like something out of a turn-of-the-century painting, with soaring arches and ornately decorated pillars lit with sconces. Tonight, it’s been transformed into a beautiful winter wonderland. Crystal snowflakes and white-and-silver flowers adorn the black silk-covered tables. Waiters walk around the room, passing out black-and-white sparkling cocktails, and flashes go off even more inside the ballroom than they did on the long white carpet we walked outside the venue.
“You okay?” Rome whispers as he offers me a flute of champagne with a silver ribbon tied around the stem that he’s effortlessly swiped off the tray of a passing waiter.
Inwardly, I snarl.
Outwardly, I keep myself tucked against him like the doting girlfriend I’m supposed to be and accept the drink. “Stop asking that.”
“Sorry, princess. But you lost your shit in the limo. Am I not supposed to care?” His dark hair is just a tiny bit too long tonight, hanging in his eyes just a touch, and it looks so tempting, my fingers itch to slide through it. The fucker.
“Don’t act like you care,” I basically growl through a gritted smile as his parents come into sight.
Could this night get any worse?
Internally, I laugh at that stupid question because my parents move next to them before I can even blink, and if I’m not mistaken, my mother, the romance author, has literal hearts in her eyes replacing her pupils.
Fuck. Me.
Rome’s lips brush my ears in what has to look like a sweet, sexy gesture. “Showtime.”
I ignore the brush of awareness that touch awakens and smile at our parents like I don’t want to crawl out of my skin, wrap it around Rome’s neck, and choke him with it!
“Oh, Dillan. Don’t you look stunning,” his mom, Amelia, kisses my cheek, then looks Rome up and down. “And you even managed to get this one out of his sweatpants. Good job.”
My cheeks burn as both our fathers choke on their laughter and my mom snickers at Amelia’s words. But Rome just plays along and wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me closer. Someone kill me now.
“Leave them alone, Snow,” Rome’s dad says, eyes narrowed on where his son’s hand sits on my hip. Watching, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s not necessarily buying our farce as easily as everyone else has. “Let them enjoy their night.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Sam Beneventi was taunting me.
Daring me to either play into this or tell him he’s right and that I’m not in love with his son.
Which I’m not.
I look up at myboyfriendwith as much fake adoration as I can muster. “He does a surprisingly good job of dressing himself when he actually bothers to wear anything besides sweats, but I don’t mind the sweats either.”
