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He opened the curtains and I shut my eyes against the bright strobing lights. Darkness was better, especially after that.

I still couldn’t look at him. I was sitting somewhere between mortified, disgusted, and completely smitten.

There was really no hope for me.

He sat back down beside me and threw an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. My face was hot. I felt his breath against my skin a beat before his soft lips kissed my temple. It was almost sweet.

What was that? What were we doing here?

“Well, you’re better at taking oral than you are at giving it,” he murmured. “At least you’re good for something.”

Ah, there it was. The venom hadn’t gone away, not for one second.

I didn’t even realize we’d been joined by a few of his friends until he leaned away from me and started casually chatting with one of them.

I stared in a daze at absolutely nothing. I was drunk on more things than the champagne.

After a short while, we went back into the smaller, private room. Our groups’ booth was empty. Everyone else was out dancing now. Calder didn’t seem to care.

We sat in silence for a time. I sipped sparingly at the virgin OJ he’d autocratically ordered for me while he tried to drown himself in bourbon.

Something was bothering me, and I knew it was a bad idea even as I felt the question leaving my mouth. “So why didn’t you marry one of the debutantes?”

He paused mid-drink, then resumed, finishing the glass, and giving me a thorough, less than friendly once over.

Personal questions were not welcomed in our marriage, and I’d had the gall to ask one anyway.

I’d displayed very bad fake wife manners.

I cared less and less about that.

Finally, surprisingly, he answered, “First and foremost, I didn’t want to. Second, I had no desire to marry someone that I and at least half of my close friends have plowed.”

I winced at his vulgarity, his misogyny, and his snobbery. “Isn’t that a double standard? Have you been a saint?”

“No, I haven’t and yes, it is, but that doesn’t change anything. I don’t know what to tell you. I was never going to marry one of them. That was never on the table. If one of them implied otherwise, they didn’t get the idea from me.”

“Because you wanted a virgin.”

“I told you. That wasn’t my stipulation. But now that it’s all said and done, I’m not sorry about it. It all worked out for the best.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Almost a compliment.

“Not the marriage,” he corrected hastily. “I still fucking hate being married to you. But I don’t entirely hate that your body’s my exclusive territory.”

And there it was.

His hand slid shamelessly between my closed thighs. They parted for him in spite of my shame, and he fingered me. “No one else has been here,” he whispered and promptly withdrew.

He proceeded to ignore me in favor of his phone.

I withstood it for a solid thirty minutes before I broke. My mind snagged on something, fixating on it to the point that I found myself stewing until I finally just addressed it out loud. “So am I getting this wrong, or did you imply that you’ve slept with most or all of my bridal party?” I asked him.

His face stiffened. He turned his head and eyed me with spectacular detachment. “My, my, aren’t you full of questions you don’t have any right to ask?”

I thought that was his answer, and we lapsed back into silence for a time.

“I never slept with Millie or Veronica,” he said suddenly. “As for the rest, we were all dumb, horny teenagers together. What can I say?” He saw the look on my face. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to. And need I remind you? This is not a love match. Where I’ve put my dick is not your business. So I think it’s fair to say this whole discussion is less than productive.”