Page 134 of Carnal Wagers

That meant I had to tell him the truth. I had to tell him I was his wife.

He loved me. That meant something. This wasn’t a crush or pure lust. That had to mean more than his pledge to cut ties over a little harmless twist of the truth. What was a name after all? It didn’t define who I was. He’d realize there was nothing to it and be happy.

Happy? I groaned silently. This was Cillian I was talking about. His smiles and laughs were as rare as finding a four-leaf clover.

I scratched a hand down my thigh through my dress. I was so screwed. He was going to hate me. Then I’d be back to square one. Actually, worse. Negative one, because I’d know exactly what I had and how I lost it.

“Alice, you alright?”

I nodded because what was I supposed to say? How did I even bring up this topic without blurting it out and ruining the whole night?

“You sure? Because you’ve been frozen behind that espresso cup for the last minute.”

I quickly set it down, and after realizing that wasn’t a normal reaction, I combed my fingers through my hair with a sheepish smile.

“You have to tell me if you’re not feeling well.” His palm settled against my jumping knee and rubbed up and down.

“I’m fine.”

“Be sure about it.” He interlocked our fingers. “I’ve got a whole day planned for us tomorrow.” He twisted my hand around and kissed my palm. “Every romantic bone in my body is coming out to play.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone more romantic than you.” Two months ago, I never would’ve said those words about this man. Time and perspective really changed everything.

“For you. Only ever for you. But if you’re not well, we’ll put it off to another day.”

Again, those butterflies burst into a frenzied flight deep down and flurried all the way up to my cheeks.

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

It would be, and then after our date was up, I’d tell him. I’d lay it all out and hope I meant as much to him as those three words meant to me.

The buzz of my phone in my clutch saved me from any more of his prying into whatever he read off my face. I was usually so good at hiding what I was feeling. Not tonight, and not with him, apparently. As I rummaged through my clutch, the phone kept ringing.

With a look at the caller ID, I frowned. Already three missed calls.

“What?” Cillian asked, suddenly alert, voice grave.

“No, it’s…my brother. He never calls me. At least not since I’ve been here.”

“Who’s your brother?”

“A banking conglomerate, among other things.”

“Have I met him?”

“Most definitely.” I froze, realizing I had almost said too much.

My mind rushed through the reasons Adrien could have for calling me directly instead of going through Erel, like he’d done for the last couple of months. Was this about our younger brother?

“Sorry, I have to take this.”

I glided away from the table and strode up the stairs to the balconies for a little measure of privacy, fully aware that Cillian sent Paulie and Arthur after me. I huddled against one of the windowed doors, my back to the public, and redialed Adrien.

“It’s about time,” my brother greeted in French, cold and aloof.

“What’s going on? Who died?”

“You need to get away from Cillian O’Leary. Today. Right now.”