Page 20 of Vicious Secrets
I struggle to fall asleep. The what-ifs refuse to die off. I only got a partial answer. One that’s crazier than any of my own theories.
The mattress dips behind me. A hand presses against my back between my shoulder blades.
“You were a convenient target in the moment. I was never mad at you.”
I smile into my pillow and finally relax enough to let sleep take me.
Chapter 8
Robyn
Tonightisthefirstof many tests of our acting abilities. From what I can tell, we’re looking at three or four solid months of bi-weekly dinners or parties before a different couple becomes the go-to.
“What vibe are you going for tonight?” I ask as we walk up the gravel driveway. Why the host of tonight’s cocktail party insisted all their guests dress in black tie to traipse through their garden of vines and suspiciously green bushes is lost on me.
Then again, this house belongs to a Capo, and I’m not the target audience. But I don’t think a well-manicured garden in the desert is going to impress my formidable husband.
“Vi-be?” Siro sounds the word out as if it has two syllables.
“Yeah, do you want to come across as a scary ice king, a bloodthirsty monster, or a himbo?”
Siro rests a hand on my lower back when I stumble and smirks when I curse under my breath.
I fight back my unease from the way his warmth seeps through my thin, flowy dress. Siro can’t control his body heat, but the way it soothes my achy back is irritating. I don’t want to like his comfort.
“Is all of the above an option?” he says into my ear, his breath skirting through the baby hairs along my hairline.
“Absolutely. Just maintain a glare with a neutral face and occasionally slip your hand to my ass without it looking on purpose, but everyone will know the truth.”
“Easy enough.”
I smile softly and look over at him. “You’re a natural husband.”
Siro’s eyes meet mine, and his brows knit together. “I’ve spent a lot of my life observing from the sidelines. But I’d rather have obnoxious reassurance than risk a misstep.”
My shoulders rise, and my chest tightens. Obnoxious?
“Ouch. I’m just making sure I’m upholding my end of the bargain so my fucking family isn’t slaughtered,” I huff and bite the insides of my cheeks to stop myself from verbally assaulting him.
Silly Robyn, Siro doesn’t give two shits about your fears.
Siro’s fingers tense on my back. He stops mid-step and turns to face me. He opens his mouth to say something when the hosts of the party dart through the crowd to greet us personally.
As if I flicked a switch, charisma oozes through me and lights up my face. Siro returns to his place at my side with his hand low enough on my back that his ring and pinky finger technically rest on my ass.
It’s nearly an hour before we don’t have a guest trying to talk one of our ears off. But a rotation of the same people slinks by like they’re walking a loop on a track. The daughter of the host, Lilly, in her stunning pink dress that looks too mature for her. Then a Capo, whose name I forget but I know reports to the Underboss of Tuscon. And finally, the twin sister of one of Siro’s Capos—Jessica? Jessa? Jana?—in her head-to-toe tweed outfit that looks equally sweaty and itchy.
I lean into Siro’s side and press up on my toes to ask, “What kind of gossip are the vultures looking for?”
“They’re disappointed you’re not obnoxious. But not surprised your stunted husband is an ass to you,” he says through thin lips as his gaze follows Lilly’s loop.
Something fuzzy tries to wrap around my ribs. What little manages to cling on squeezes like a tourniquet. I press a hand to his chest, spreading my fingers out to slip a few under the lapel of his coat.
“Is that an apology?”
“One socially acceptable for this crowd.” Siro’s eyes flick to my face. His arm moves up my waist and pulls me into a hug. “We’ll talk in private later,” he mutters and kisses the top of my head.
“I understand,” I chuckle and pat his chest. “No need to talk later.”
