Page 117 of My Dark Prince
I didn’t know how I’d kill myself tonight.
I just knew I would.
Currently, I contemplated grabbing my steak knife and skewering my heart with it. Though I was open to other methods, including (but not limited to) filling my pockets with rocks and hurling myself into the lake (thank you, Virginia Woolf) and good ole hopping into the Lambo and slamming the accelerator the entire journey into the nearest oak tree.
Saying dinner was a terrible ordeal would be like calling a tsunami wet.
Dinner wasn’t terrible.
It was violent carnage of Jack-the-Ripper proportions. The total annihilation of the measly scraps of my soul.
Ironically, the whimsical setup reminded me of a fairytale. A long rustic dining table stretched the perimeter of the dock, flanked by wooden benches. On the simple linen tablecloth, faux antler candelabras and blue roses checkered the center strip.
The candles glowed orange, haloing our faces. Gentle waves lapped against the shore, tangling with the sand before retreating. We stuffed our faces with carved pomegranates, imported champagne, and fresh rustic bread.
It was all perfect. Utterly perfect.
Other than the company.
“Thornless roses.” Briar picked up one of the roses, plucked fresh from our garden, and examined the velvety petals between her delicate fingers. A bitter smile swept across her cheeks. “Plucking thorns from a rose is like declawing a cat. It leaves them helpless to protect themselves. Is this the kind of man you are, Ollie?”
All eyes at the table swung to me.
“No.” I wrangled in the spike of frustration, trying to sound blasé. “I was just worried about Dallas getting injured. She’s, uh,unique.”
Romeo set down his steak knife, patted the corners of his mouth like a seasoned aristocrat, and proceeded to snarl at me, “You’re about to undergo some very fuckinguniquesurgeries to reattach your bones if you don’t apologize to my wife right now.”
His wife, however, did not take offense.
“Briar, Iloveyour dress.” Dallas slapped her ample cleavage, clad in an embroidered Valentino dress that cost more than a New York apartment. “Where is it from?”
“Let me check.” Briar reached back and snapped the tag from the neck of her brown polka dot dress, squinting at it. The sound of fabric ripping tore through the air. “Looks like this is Target’s finest.” She turned to give me a wide-eyed stare. “Really, Ollie? You couldn’t invest in decent clothes for me? Are you that cheap?”
Romeo choked into his whiskey sour. Zach snorted. Frankie’s eyes ping-ponged between me and my fake fiancée.
I drew in a deep, calming breath. “It’s all you, my little environmental warrior. You don’t believe in designer clothes.”
“It’s clothes, not astrology. It’s not a matter of belief.” Briar rolled her eyes, knocking backmyentire flute of champagne. “This is fast fashion. Luxury fashion isn’t antithetical to sustainability. Stella McCartney, Burberry, Chloé. Plenty of designers have sustainable collections. Just admit that you’re stingy.”
That summed up the gist of our dinner. All forty-seven minutes of it. Someone would ask Briar something orcompliment her, and she’d find a way to use the new topic to rip me a new one.
I was currently the not-so-proud owner of about fifteen new holes, and the caterers hadn’t even served the main course.
“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow,” I mumbled into my Negroni. I needed something stronger. Cyanide, for instance.
The only reason I hadn’t drowned Briar in luxurious frocks was because Doctor Cohen had highlighted the importance of keeping her old things available to her – including her wardrobe. It could be detrimental for her to encounter an entire closet full of things she never chose.
My heavy gaze crept up to Sebastian’s window. The blackout curtains covered the full length. If I hadn’t clung onto every inch of the fabric, I would’ve missed it. The slightest ruffle. Seb was there. Pressed against the window. Hidden behind the curtain.
He wants to be down here.
He wants toliveagain.
But he wouldn’t, so I downed the rest of the cocktail, wishing I had, indeed, opted for cyanide.
Since I refused to acknowledge the millionth fight she’d tried to pick, Briar ignored my words, finding me of no interest to her.
“So, Romeo. Is your job as an arms dealer full-time?” She turned to him. “I don’t know what that’s like, since my husband-to-be doesn’t work.”
