Page 169 of Lethal King

But Rian isn’t having it. In the blink of an eye, he’s reached across the table and grabbed my wrist.

“No. We’re staying,” he says, holding me down. “No more tricks, Rozalia. I don’t care if you sent that text or not, we are having a nice dinner.”

The chatty din of the restaurant momentarily goes silent as everyone watches us. I can feel the room collectively hold its breath.

Fucking hell.

I hate crowds.

“Why?” I mumble under my breath, refusing to sit back down quite yet. “So you can prove to the Italians that you actually plan on marrying me?”

Slowly, the chatter returns to the restaurant. But the eyes don’t leave. The attention makes my skin crawl.

To avoid being at the center of it all, I finally fall back into my seat.

“I want them to stop sending their daughters after me,” Rian confirms.

Even through all of the dread and uneasiness, I still feel a sharp pang of jealousy erupt inside of me.

“Why?” I sneer, remembering the girls that surrounded Rian at the bar. “They’re pretty cute. How about you leave me alone and shack up with one of them.”

“I don’t want cute,” Rian says. “I want corrupt and evil and disgusting. I want you.”

That pang of jealousy is set on fire as a new sensation invades my chest. It’s something I can’t quite pinpoint. Something lighter. Something fluttery. Something unreal.

“You suck at giving compliments,” I huff, calming down just a bit. Taking my own napkin, I hurriedly place it on my lap.

“You suck at receiving them,” Rian smirks.

He’s playing with me.

Why isn’t he worried? Neither of us knows who brought us here tonight, yet he’s acting like this is just some ordinary blind date.

“Keep telling yourself that,” I mumble.

A cold shiver runs up my skin when Rian releases my wrist. I hadn’t realized how warm his grip was. I quickly learn to miss it.

“A bottle of Bouley for the table,” Rian orders, waving down a waiter

“Yes, sir.”

“What are you doing?” I ask when the server scurries off.

“I’m wining and dining you—whether you like it or not.”

Every part of me wants to stand up and storm out. But I know Rian’s stronger than me, and all he’d have to do is make the smallest effort and every last eye in the place would be back on us—not that we aren’t everyone’s entertain for the night already.

“What’s your angle?”

“No angle,” Rian shrugs. “But if you want to answer for what your brother did the other night, I’ll gladly listen.”

“I don’t control Tytus,” I spit, contention rising in my voice.

But Rian stays surprisingly calm, especially considering his sister is involved.

“Does he control you?”

“No one controls me.”