Page 144 of Vow to Claim You

He rises from behind his desk. He’s already dressed for the evening—black suit, black shirt, open at the collar in a way that reveals the edge of the skull tattoo I’ve traced with my fingers more times than I can count. His hair is swept back, as always. He looks like sin wrapped in expensive fabric.

Unfair.

Deeply, profoundly unfair.

“You look,” he says again, walking toward me with that predatory grace he does so well, “like a woman who’s about to make every man in that ballroom forget his own name.”

“Including you?”

“Especially me.”

He stops in front of me. Close enough that I can smell him—his scent intoxicating. His fingers reach out, brushing my bare collarbone, sending goose bumps in their wake.

I should be focusing on the gala. The guests arriving downstairs. The thousand small details that could still go wrong if I’m not paying attention.

But Aric is looking at me like I’m a sin he’s already decided to commit, consequences be damned, and it’s very hard to think about anything else when your husband is looking at you like that.

“We should talk about the guest list,” I say, because one of us has to maintain some semblance of focus, and it’s clearly not going to be him.

“Should we?”

“Bobby and Marcelina are coming after all.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “I thought they declined.”

“She called this morning, asking if it was too late. I’d kept their table set, so I told her it was fine.”

The change in his expression is immediate. The warmth vanishes, and the hunger sharpens into something colder. He exhales through his nose.

“She’s my friend, Aric. Or she’s becoming one. I wasn’t going to exclude her because her husband is a walking red flag.”

His head cocks to the side, his voice a low rumble that carries through the room. “So I’m supposed to host a man who tried to make a move on my wife?”

“Yes.” I meet his gaze without flinching. “And you’re supposed to be civil about it, because we’re surrounded by people who are watching to see how we handle ourselves.”

“I handled him just fine last time.”

“You punched him in the face.”

“Exactly.”

I can’t help it. I laugh.

His expression flickers—surprise, maybe, that I’m not taking this more seriously. Or maybe just the perpetual confusion of a man who’s spent his whole life being feared and is still adjusting to a wife who laughs at him.

“I think it’s just fair,” I say, reaching up to smooth the furrow between his brows.

“Fair how?”

“Considering Hyun-seok and Chiara are coming too. So we’re even,” I continue, keeping my voice light. “You have to tolerate Bobby. I have to tolerate your ex-girlfriend. Fair’s fair.”

“That’s not—” He stops. Recalibrates. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Chiara and I ended things before the wedding. Amicably.”

“And Bobby got punched in the face. Also technically an ending.” I arch a brow. “See? Even.”