King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

“It’s not very sporting of you to threaten bodily harm while patching me up. Some might even say it’s hypocritical.”

“I don’t like sports, and I’m an excellent multitasker.”

“Yet Asher Donovan and Rafael Pessoa, two sports stars, are on your dream husband list.”

I used to be a fan of both. Not anymore.

“First of all, you have to let that list go. Second of all—hold this over your eye”—Vivian pushed the second ice pack into my hand while she dampened a washcloth”—don’t deflect from the main issue here, which is your utter refusal to ask for help.”

“I can handle a few injuries. I’ve been through worse.” Still, I didn’t resist when she dabbed the cloth on my wound.

“Do I want to ask what you mean by worse?”

“I broke my nose the first time when I was fourteen. Some asshole was bullying Luca, so I hit him. He hit me back. It got ugly enough I had to go to the ER.”

Vivian winced. “How old was the other kid?”

“Sixteen.” Fletcher Alcott had been a real piece of work.

“A sixteen-year-old was picking on a nine-year-old?”

“Cowards always pick on people who can’t fight back.”

“Sadly true.” She retrieved a bandage from the medicine cabinet. “You said that was the first time you broke your nose. What happened the second time?”

My mouth curled into a grin. “Got drunk in college and fell on the sidewalk.”

Vivian’s laugh washed through me like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. “I can’t imagine you as a typical drunk college student.”

“I did my best to erase any incriminating evidence, but the memories are there.”

“I’m sure you did.” She placed the Band-Aid over the cut and stepped back with a satisfied expression. “There. Much better.”

“You’re forgetting one thing.” I tapped my jaw.

I didn’t know why I was dragging this out when I didn’t want to be here in the first place, but I couldn’t remember the last time someone fussed over me. It felt…nice. Disturbingly so.

Vivian’s brow wrinkled. “What?”

“My kiss.”

Pink crept over her cheeks. “Now you’re the one teasing me.”

“I would never tease about such a serious matter,” I said solemnly. “One kiss for each of my injuries. That’s it. Would you deny a dying man his last wish?”

Her sparkling gaze held a touch of exasperation. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re the one who said you were, quote-unquote, fine. But since you insist on being such a baby about it…” She moved closer again. My pulse beat in my throat when she brushed her lips over my brow, then my jaw. “Better?”

“Much.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Laughter bubbled beneath her voice.

“It’s not the worst thing someone’s called me.”

“I believe it.”

She turned her head a fraction, and our eyes held.

The bathroom smelled like lemon cleaner and ointment, two of the unsexiest scents known to mankind. That didn’t stop heat from sparking in my blood or the memory of her taste from flooding my mind.

“About Bali.” Her breath brushed my skin, warm and tentative.

My groin tightened. “Yeah?”

“You were right to stop things when you did. Our…what we did was a mistake.”

Something that felt suspiciously like disappointment snaked through my chest.

“I know we’re getting married, so we’ll have to…eventually.” Vivian skipped over the specifics. “But it’s too soon. I had too much wine at Thanksgiving and got caught up in the moment. It was a…” She faltered when my hands rested on her hips. “A mistake. Right?”

Her skin branded my palm through the layer of cashmere.

A hard smile flickered over my mouth. “Right.”

My touch lingered for a beat before I moved her to the side and headed to the exit.

I should’ve stopped in Bali, and what happened before I stopped was a mistake.

We were both right.

But it didn’t mean I had to like it.





CHAPTER 21





Vivian





After Thanksgiving, the year passed in the blink of an eye. I’d like to say my first holiday season as an engaged woman was special or memorable, but it was more stressful than anything else.

The weeks between Black Friday and New Year’s Eve were packed with work, social obligations, and endless questions about my upcoming wedding. Dante and I stayed overnight at my parents’ house for Christmas, and it was just as awkward as I’d feared.

“If Mom fusses any more over him, people will think she’s the one marrying him,” my sister Agnes whispered as our mother plied Dante with another drink.

We only called her Mom to each other and never to her face.

“Imagine Father negotiating that arrangement,” I whispered back.

We burst into giggles.

We were in the living room after our Christmas Eve dinner—my mother and Dante by the fireplace; my sister and me on the couch, and my father and Gunnar, Agnes’s husband, on the other couch by the bar.

I didn’t see Agnes much now that she lived in Eldorra, but whenever we were together, we reverted to being teenagers again.