Page 139 of The Art of Ruin

“Bet?” I ask with a frown.

He waves me away. “Forget about it. Go get your girl before someone else snaps her up.”

The possessive response that rises instantly in my chest is irrational, but intense. The thought of someone else touching her makes me feel homicidal.

I set my empty glass down harder than necessary and turn back toward the ballroom.

Casey is standing near the center of the room now beside Isabella, one hand curled loosely around the stem of her champagne glass, while Laney, Eddie’s wife, talks animatedly beside her. The gold light from the chandeliers catches against the dark green silk wrapped around her body, and for a second, I just watch her laugh at something Isabella says, my chest aching with something I can’t name.

Fuck it.

I’m done fighting this.

As though she feels me looking, her gaze lifts across the room and catches mine immediately. The shift in her expression is subtle, but it’s there: awareness, heat. The same unbearable tension that’s been pulling tighter between us all night.

I cross the room before I can reconsider it, ignoring people who try to engage with me.

Isabella notices first, because of course she does. Her eyes flick between us once before she hides a smile behind her champagne glass and says something quietly to Nico.

Nico turns, takes one look at my face, and smirks. “Come, Bella,” he says lightly, already reaching for her hand. “We’re leaving.”

Casey blinks. “What?”

“It’s time I got my wife home. She looks tired,” Nico replies.

“Izzy?”

“Goodnight.”

Isabella squeezes Casey’s arm as she passes, her expression suspiciously pleased. “Try not to overthink things for once.”

Casey narrows her eyes immediately. “I hate all of you.”

“Love you too,” Isabella calls.

A few seconds later, we’re alone in the middle of the thinning ballroom, the orchestra playing softly somewhere behind us while Casey looks up at me with color still high in her cheeks. She’s truly the most beautiful woman in the room, and she has no clue.

“Your family is weird,” she mutters.

“You’ll fit in perfectly.”

The words leave my mouth before I fully think them through.

Her expression changes instantly, vulnerability etched over her features again. She’s scared and, honestly, so am I. I don’t know what this means or what we’re doing. All I know is I can’t go another night without her in my arms.

I step closer. “Come on, let’s go home,” I say quietly, hiding none of the desperation I feel for her.

This time, when I offer her my hand—she takes it.

By the time we leave the hotel, Manhattan is slick with rain and midnight traffic, the city glowing gold and silver beneath wet streets and blurred headlights.

Casey slides into the back of the car beside me in silence, smoothing her dress carefully beneath her legs while the driver pulls away from the curb.

The quiet between us feels different tonight.

Heavy.

Charged.