Page 282 of A Vicious Love

Celeste was excellent.

She hit disc after disc with smooth precision. The family applauded. She lowered the gun after each shot with perfect grace and looked over once.

At me.

Then at Sienna.

I pulled Sienna closer.

Her back pressed into my chest. My palm settled over her stomach, fingers splayed at her waist, claiming enough to ruin subtlety.

Celeste looked away.

Sienna’s hand covered mine. “What are you doing now?”

“Standing again.”

Her thumb moved over my knuckles.

Reward.

I could become addicted to that.

Actually, I already had. Terrible development. No treatment desirable. I behaved by keeping my hands on her. That counted.

After she thanked me, I made no further attempt at distance. My hand stayed at her waist while people shot. When she stepped forward for water, I went with her. When she leaned toward Adrian to hear him say something low, I stayed behind her with my palm at her hip. When her mother’s gaze lingered too long on the contact, I looked at the woman until she found the far field fascinating.

Sienna noticed eventually.

Adrian appeared with two glasses of lemonade and handed one to Sienna. He handed me the other without comment.

I accepted it.

Bonding remained disgusting.

Adrian leaned against the pavilion post beside us, gaze on the shooting line. “Celeste has been practicing.”

Sienna’s expression shifted. “She’s always been good.”

“She practiced more this year.”

The sentence held something under it.

I looked at him.

Adrian did not look back. He watched Celeste fire, watched the clay break.

Sienna sipped her lemonade. “She likes winning.”

“No,” Adrian said. “She likes being chosen.”

Sienna lowered the glass. I felt the movement through her body.

“What does that mean?” Sienna asked.

Adrian glanced at me.

I gave him a look that said: choose survival.