ANTON
I can tell by the way Jessa is watching me that, this time, I’m the one who has intrigued her.
But she is so far from the world I occupy that it feels cruel to drag her into it. Bringing her on board tonight will have to be the extent of my self-indulgence.
“Have you ever been engaged?” she asks, fishing for more information. “Or married?”
“Once,” I say without specifying which. “She’s gone now.”
“Gone?”
“She died. A few months ago.”
“Oh,” Jessa gasps. “I’m so sorry. How, uh… how did she pass?”
It’s almost amusing how delicately she’s trying to tiptoe around the subject. As if I’m not intimately familiar with death.
“She took her own life.”
She pales. Her plump lips part. It’s enough to make me hard all over again. “Oh God,” she breathes. “I’m so sorry.”
I wipe my face of any and all expression. “It is what it is.”
“That must have been devastating.”
I glance at her. “Do I look devastated?”
The question takes her back. Or maybe it’s the coldness in my face when I say it. For a moment, I think I’ve succeeded in frightening her.
Then she surprises me.
“You seem like the kind of man who doesn’t express your emotions no matter how deeply you feel them.”
I chuckle. “Interesting analysis.”
“Am I right?” she asks. Her golden eyes catch the moonlight as they turn to me.
“Trying to figure me out, are you?”
She nods. “I just want to know if you’re as scary as you seem.”
I smile. “Scarier.”
She considers that for a minute and then grins. She thinks I’m kidding.
If only she fucking knew.
“Would you beat up my fiancé if I asked nicely?”
I smirk in amusement. She’s flirting with me. “I’d beat up your fiancé even if you asked me not to. Simply for the pleasure of it.”
A little bubble of laughter escapes her lips, and I wonder if the two sips of champagne she had have somehow gone straight to her head.
“I have to stop saying that. Fiancé,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “He’s not my fiancé anymore. He’s my ex-fiancé.”
“Does he know that?”
“Well, he’d be a damn fool if he didn’t at this point.”