Page 40 of Xander

That was a good question. I gave my wrist an experimental tug, searching the crowded room for Henry. He was not easy to miss, yet he was nowhere to be seen in the blurred sea of opulence.

“I know where he is,” Richard continued, returning my attention to his face. “He’s enjoying his latest acquisition.”

“Richard,” I said as placatingly as I could. “Let go of me.”

He didn’t let go. Instead, his other meaty hand settled on my ribs, just under my breast. “He doesn’t appreciate you, does he?” he said. His grip turned painful.

“Let go⁠—”

Before I could finish, he was ripped away from me. I staggered back in surprise, gasping as his dirty fingernails raked the underside of my wrist.

“What’s going on here?” Xander demanded.

I had never been more relieved to see him, though a small part of me also wondered why my fiancé hadn’t been the one to come to my rescue.

His eyes flicked toward me and then lower—at my wrist, where Richard had scratched me. “You made her fucking bleed.”

“I-it was an accident,” Richard stammered. “My fingers slipped.”

I had never heard the mild-mannered Xander curse before, let alone display anger. It was so out of character for the unruffled prodigal son that all I could do was gape.

“What were your fingers doing near her?” Xander asked, and Richard emitted a rusty squeak. He gripped Richard by his Countess Mara tie so tightly that the fabric winched into the fleshy pouch of his throat.

“Xander, stop!” I grabbed his arm, surprised by the resistance beneath the wool of his suit. It felt like his sleeve cushioned an iron bar instead of human flesh. “Please don’t. He’s just drunk.”

At my cajoling, Xander released him with a scoff, shoving him several feet away so that he nearly stumbled. Several people were staring now, though most looked away when his angry eyes swept the crowd. I felt my breath leave my lungs when those cold eyes met mine.

“Let’s get you fixed up.”

“That’s not necessary⁠—”

“Come on, jailbird.”

In a grip that was no less forceful, I was swept across the marble floors toward the downstairs bathroom. Freshly cleaned for the party, the floors had been buffed to a shine, and fragrant soaps shaped like flowers ornamented the ceramic bowl by the sink.

Xander grabbed one and shoved my wrist under the faucet.

Over the weeks, I had come to enjoy his company. Henry had become increasingly busy with work, and Xander stepped in every time Henry couldn’t make it to another wedding-related appointment.

Henry’s busy schedule should have bothered me more; perhaps it would have if Xander hadn’t been there to distract me. We laughed often, especially when vendors mistook him for the groom-to-be. For some reason, he never corrected them. I always assumed he was being kind, letting me save face from my fiancé being embarrassingly absent.

I hissed when the soap made contact with the wound, and when I looked up in the mirror, I found him watching me.

“I should’ve broken his hand,” he said, still looking at me.

“Absolutely not.” Smoothing the water away, I shook off the excess drops. “Do you think getting into a fistfight with your father’s VP will make him happy? He wants this to be a party fit for the gods to represent this family as a united front. He’ll never forgive you if you ruin it. Thank you for coming to my rescue, but please, for your sake, stay out of trouble.”

His mouth was crooked, like I’d said something funny. “Whatever you say, jailbird.”

Why does he keep calling me that?

“Is this everything you hoped for?” he asked.

I didn’t know what he meant, but I got the impression he wasn’t referring to the party. The insinuation ran deeper. He was asking me if marrying Henry—and this life I chose—was everything I had hoped for.

Grabbing my hand, he blotted the scratches with a piece of tissue. My arm buzzed with nerves. This bathroom suddenly felt far too warm—and small. Distracted, I replied, “I guess not.”

I wasn’t prepared when he glanced up, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Then I think it’s time for a distraction.”