Page 112 of The Encore’s Crown

“Kiri,” she says.

“Radhika.”

She gives me a slight nod, the kind she might offer someone she worked with once and didn’t particularly like. The man beside her moves closer. He’s tall, polished, probably an actor. Dark suit cut perfectly through the shoulders, watch expensive enough to fund our first two tours, face familiar from something I can’t place. He was relaxed when we approached, his attention divided between her and the conversation around them.

He isn’t relaxed anymore. His hand moves fully to her waist. Possessive without being obvious. Protective without having any clue what he’s protecting her from.

Me, apparently.

His eyes stay on my face while he leans down and murmurs something against her ear. Radhika turns slightly to listen, but her gaze flicks back to me before she can stop it. The man sees it, and his mouth tightens.

Once, I would have found that funny. When Radhika and I were together, I never worried about other men. They watched her everywhere we went. Actors, musicians, producers, heirs to fortunes large enough to buy the buildings we stood inside. They leaned closer, offered drinks, touched her arm, tried to make her laugh. I never cared. Radhika made me arrogant.

Not because I thought no one else could have her. Every man with functioning eyes wanted her. I simply knew she wanted me. She could enter a room containing better-looking men, richer men, men her father would have preferred, and I never questioned where her eyes would land. I never had to wonder whose hotel room she would come to later or whose name she would whisper when the door closed. That certainty lived so deeply inside me that I didn’t even recognize it as a gift until I destroyed it.

The man beside her doesn’t have that certainty. I can see the fear all over him. He looks at the way Radhika has gone still. At the control that has entered her face. At me standing several feet away like I have any right to affect her after all this time. He knows enough to be afraid. Hell, who wouldn’t want Radhika? Who wouldn’t be terrified of losing her once they had even a small piece of her attention? Only an idiot like me would ruin a gift like that.

Rithy looks between us, either oblivious to the tension or choosing violence.

“Come sit with us.”

Radhika’s attention snaps toward him. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m here with friends.”

“So bring them.”

Her companion’s expression suggests he would rather be dragged naked through Hong Kong traffic.

Radhika smiles politely. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”

“You’ve been having conversations with other people for ten years,” Ronan says. “Give us ten minutes.”

“Five,” Radhika counters.

“Twenty.”

“Ronan.”

“Fifteen, final offer.”

She laughs despite her attempt at seriousness. The sound hits me directly in the chest.

I lean toward Rithy, keeping my voice low. “I told you. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

His eyes stay on Radhika.

“She doesn’t have to talk to you. She can talk to us.”

That shouldn’t hurt but it does anyway. The man says something else near her ear, his eyes never leaving mine. Radhika answers quietly. He looks down at her, then back at me. I can almost hear the questions running through his panicked mind. His jaw flexes.

Who is he to you?

What happened?

Should I be worried?