Page 24 of A Vicious Love

I stepped inside, handed my wrap to an attendant, and immediately looked for Jamison. He wasn’t there yet.

My mother left me near the entrance with a distracted kiss beside my cheek, already moving toward a group of women whose diamonds were larger than most medical donations.

I stood alone with my little clutch and my healing ankle and my stupid, hopeful heart.

Then the room changed. People stopped speaking mid-sentence.

Jamison Crow walked in.

He was surrounded by more men than usual. They did not try to blend in this time.

He wore a black tuxedo, but it did nothing to civilize him. The jacket strained across his shoulders. His shirt sat open at the throat, exposing black ink. His hair was pushed back too harshly.

He was in a murderous mood. Could sense it as I walked toward him. My ankle protested on the third step. I ignored it.

His gaze cut over the room, then landed on me for half a second.

“Hi, Jamjam.”

His jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped beside his mouth. The nearest guard looked at me the way people looked at someone stepping onto train tracks.

Jamison did not answer. He glanced down at my shoes. Then my ankle, to my face.

“Walking again?”

I brightened because it was almost a question. “Yes. Mostly. It’s still a little sore, but Madame says I can start light barre work next week if I’m careful.”

“I didn’t ask for a medical report.”

I swallowed. Around us, people pretended not to hear, and they were terrible at it.

“Sorry,” I said.

He looked past me toward the bar. “Where’s Marcel?”

“I’m not sure. I just got here.”

“Useful.”

That one hurt. I had not seen him in a month. Some tiny, foolish part of me had thought absence might make him less careless.

A month was long enough to miss someone, wasn’t it?

I tucked my free hand behind my clutch so no one would see my fingers tremble.

“I’m sorry about the hotel,” I said quietly.

His eyes came back to mine.

The room seemed to drop colder.

“What?”

“The hotel,” I repeated, gentler. “I heard about the fire. That must have been awful.”

He stared at me… as if I had touched something I had no right to touch.

“You heard about the fire,” he said.