Catherine’s POV
The second the Contis and my darling sister rounded the corner and dropped out of sight, I peeled my hand off Marco’s arm like it was something that’d been dead for a week.
The smile slid right off my face.
Back to ice.
Back to me.
Marco didn’t notice.
Of course he didn’t.
He was already half out of his own skin, buzzing, breathing a little too fast, thumbing at his phone with his head down like a teenager about to do something stupid.
“Cat, baby, which hotel?” His voice came out low and eager.
He didn’t even glance up from his phone.
“Pick one.
Anywhere you want.”
There it was.
The whole story, playing out behind those greedy little eyes of his.
“She still came to Mom’s birthday even after the breakup.
She’s using my parents to reel me back in.”
I could practically hear the gears grinding.
In his head, there was no way I’d actually let him go.
Not really.
Because in Marco’s tidy little world, he was the best I could ever land.
The cream of my sad, broke crop.
Sure, there’d been the guy in the Rolls yesterday, but that was a balding, potbellied dinosaur, and everybody knew I’d only smiled that big climbing out of his car to make Marco jealous.
And it had worked.
God, in his mind, it had worked “beautifully.”
I let all of that show in his stupid, hopeful face for one more second.
Then I tilted my head.
“So,” I said sweetly, “which hotel do you and my sister hit the most?”
“The Bellrose.
The couple’s suite.” It fell out of him on pure reflex.
Then his brain caught up with his mouth. Find the original chapter at g.com.
His head snapped up, and whatever he saw on my face made him scramble.
“No—Cat, wait—we only went there, like, once or twice—”
Once or twice.
Right.
Every time Isabella “stayed at the dorm,” she was staying on her back at the Bellrose.
I’d have bet my last dime on it.
He pocketed the phone and reached for my hand, closing warm, damp fingers around mine.
“Cat, come on.
You wouldn’t sleep with me.
What was I supposed to do?
I’m a normal guy.
I’ve got needs.” He said it like “I” was the one who owed “him” an apology.
“But you satisfy me from now on, and I swear, I’ll cut Isabella off clean.
Done.
Gone.”
I laughed.
One sharp note of it.
Then I shook his hand off, dug a packet of wet wipes out of my bag, and scrubbed my palm like I’d touched something off the bottom of a shoe.
“Marco.
Tonight I was putting on a show for your parents.
Don’t tell me you actually bought it.”
His mouth opened.
“What makes you think,” I went on, “that I’d want a used man?
What makes you think I’d forgive a lying, cheating little snake who was playing my sister and me at the same time?” I looked him dead in the eye.
“Should I laugh because you’re this naive, or because you’re this in love with yourself?”
I balled up the wipe, pitched it into the trash can beside us, and turned on my heel.
He stood there gutted for a beat.
Then he came alive, storming after me, and his hand clamped hard around my wrist.
“You ‘played’ me?”
I looked back at him, all wide innocent eyes. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Weren’t you the one who begged me to put on this little performance for your folks?”
Honestly, my only goal tonight had been to ruin Isabella’s night.
Watching her choke on her own smug face over dinner had been the whole point.
That Marco had taken it as some grand romantic comeback was just a bonus.
Two birds.
One very fun stone.
His face went ugly, that thin skin of his flushing dark.
His grip tightened until it hurt.
“If you’re so over me, why’d you come?
Why sit there charming my parents all night, playing the perfect—”
He couldn’t finish.
I could see it in his face; for one dinner he’d let himself believe we were some warm, happy little family, all of us belonging to each other.
The smirk dropped off my mouth.
My voice went flat and cold as the tile floor.
“Because your mom and dad are good to me.” I pried his fingers off my wrist, one at a time, slow and deliberate.
“That has nothing to do with you.
Don’t flatter yourself.”
Then I walked, long strides, not looking back.
I left him standing there with a face like a thundercloud, both hands fisted at his sides, veins standing up along his forearms.
However thrilled he’d been thirty seconds ago, that’s exactly how pathetic he looked now.
I pushed out through the front doors of Rosewood into the cool night, pulling out my phone to call a ride.
That’s when I saw it.
A notification on the screen.
“Lorenzo unsent a message.”
I stopped.
That was strange.
My husband, the human glacier, texting me and then yanking it back before I could read it?
I stared at the empty gray line where his words should’ve been, thumb hovering, and decided to just call him and—
A hand closed over my mouth from behind, and the world went dark as someone dragged me sideways into it.