“Now that you mention it, I’ve needed to take a piss for a while now.” His sexy lips slant into an infectious smile.
“Are you babysitting me?”
“No, I’m staring at your hard nipples, waiting for them to poke through the fabric of your dress.”
He has, in fact, paid a lot of attention to my chest tonight.
“Go to the bathroom, you ass.” I give his jaw a playful shove and stand. “The auction’s almost finished. I’m going to step out onto the veranda.”
“I’ll find you.” He leaves me with a scorching kiss and prowls out of the ballroom.
Since I’ve only had two glasses of champagne tonight, I grab another from a passing waiter and wander toward the outside balcony. In prior years, the ballroom remained packed several hours after the auction. This year, the crowd has already thinned out so much I don’t encounter a single person on my way to the French doors.
Apprehension sits heavy in my stomach. Did everyone leave because of me? Maybe it’s arrogant to assume such a thing, but the attendees seem to be avoiding me like a plague. Are my scars really so hideous they make people uneasy? It’s not like they’re contagious.
As I reach the open doors to the veranda, a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.
“She’s still whining.” Blake huffs an empty laugh. “Seriously, I had to listen to that through two years of marriage. I couldn’t get away from her pathetic sniveling fast enough.”
The tips of my ears catch fire, and my teeth slam together. Sniveling? I never did that. I never said a goddamn word to him about my scars. I’m not without shortcomings, but whining isn’t one of them.
I back up and press against the wall around the corner before Blake and his audience of five women sees me. My hand trembles so badly I put the full flute of champagne on the tray stand beside me.
“You have to tell us, Blake,” one of the women says. “How did she get the scars?”
“She hid it from me, like some big dirty secret.” His voice lowers. “I think she did it to herself. You know, like one of those cutters. She’s messed up in the head.”
The women on the patio burst into laughter, and I cover my mouth to stifle my horrified gasp. I can’t stop the moisture from burning my eyes, and I hate myself for it. He doesn’t have power over me anymore. I need to walk away and not react. I’m stronger than this.
“Can you believe that performance tonight?” Blake chuckles. “Flashing her old butchered body has got to be the most vulgar, look-at-me, attention-seeking stunts in the history of the movie business.”
“Oh my God, Blake.” A woman giggles. “You’re terrible.”
Blood cooks in my veins, and tears stream down my face. I did a good thing, the right thing. So why am I letting them make me feel so fucking rejected, humiliated, and furious?
“As if her age isn’t problematic enough,” another woman says. “I just feel sad for her. I mean, her career’s over, you know?”
“Her career was over at thirty,” Blake says. “Her desperation to impress is, as ever, exhausting to watch. And this thing tonight is downright repulsive. As old as she is, she should know better.”
My ribs squeeze painfully, and a horrible ache consumes my chest. If I listen to much more, I’ll end up giving them a real reason to mock me, because right now, I want nothing more than to run in there, punching, screaming, and clawing out eyeballs.
I move to leave and stop at the sound of footfalls racing across the veranda. A masculine grunt rents the air, followed by metal chair legs screeching across concrete, then the shrieking cries of the women.
What the hell? I turn back, round the corner, and stumble onto the patio.
Chairs are tossed over. The women huddle off to the side, and Blake is sprawled on the ground with Decker’s forearm against his throat.
Adrenaline rushes through me, and my ankles teeter in the heels as I move toward them. Decker locks Blake’s back to his chest, and his arm hooks so tightly beneath Blake’s chin, the skin around Blake’s pinched features is turning blue.
“Decker.” I crouch beside him. “He can’t breathe.”
“That’s the fucking point.” His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen, full of so much rage and brutal intent.
He must’ve come out here through the side doors. I don’t know how much of the conversation he heard, but it was enough to redden his complexion, turn his jaw to stone, and put a terrifyingly deadly look on his face.
Blake flops and kicks in Decker’s stranglehold, wrinkling his expensive tux and dragging his shiny shoes over the concrete. His fingers work frantically to pry the arm off his throat, but he won’t be going anywhere unless Decker allows it.