Page 177 of Carnal Wagers

“Where’s yours?”

“Maeve and I already drank one each. She, um, brought one for me.”

“And for the two men at the door,” Maeve snarked.

“Be nice,” my wife grumbled at her friend over her shoulder.

I spotted the empty four-flap coffee holder and sneered, unimpressed at our interloper’s lack of hospitality. That was strike two.

Alizé tapped my arm in a placating gesture and turned around to face her friend.

“Alright. I’m going to go get dressed and deal with my hair. You two…mingle. Be good. Get to know each other. Discover why you are both my favorite people.”

The level of tension in the room soared through the roof the instant Alizé disappeared inside the master bedroom and shut the door. Ms. Hackett hogged the kitchen island, and I stood between the living room and kitchen, a guardian of my space against this unfortunate fixture in my wife’s life.

“Your coffee?” she said with a raspy edge of indifference.

I forced a smile and picked the sole mug off the counter. Not once did I break eye contact. She glanced away first, dropping her head to twist her rings around her fingers, and my lips tweaked up. Gotcha.

With nothing else to do, I downed my coffee.

“So…you’ve known Alizé for years?” There, an honest attempt at civility.

She crossed her arms. “Longer than you.”

I withered her down with my stare. “That’s not exactly true, and we both know it.”

They only met months after the masquerade ball, where I deflowered my wife. Whether I knew who Alizé was at the time was irrelevant.

“She deserves better than you.”

“Yet I’ll make sure no other man has her.”

“You’ll only hurt her. That’s what your family does.”

My mug clanked loudly against the kitchen counter as I set it down. “You know nothing about my family.”

“You sure about that?”

Her defiance and lack of fear were infuriating, and I sucked in deep breaths to keep myself from ripping her to shreds. It was Alizé’s devastated face I pictured, and it calmed me enough to take a step back.

I groaned inwardly when the whir of the hair dryer kicked on. She always took so long to get ready.

I leaned against the backrest of an accent chair Alizé picked out at a design store a few weeks ago and twirled my trusted knife around my finger. Maeve slapped her balled fists in a steady rhythm along the kitchen counter.

“Why are you here so early?”

She looked at me as if I’d just strangled her cat, not that she had one.

“Didn’t realize I was accountable to you.”

“Watch your tone,” I warned.

“Is that a threat?”

I swore my teeth were about to crack with how hard I clenched them. If Alizé didn’t hurry up, at best, she was going to find her friend kicked out. At worst…I hoped we didn’t find out.

I made one last attempt at politeness, which was already a record at this point, and jerked my chin toward the droopy duffel bag lying against a counter stool.