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

“Where the wedding will take place,” I murmured. “I can’t wait to see it.”

We were scheduled to stay there in the month leading up to the ceremony. I’d only seen pictures, but even through a screen, it was breathtaking.

“Yes.” A strange note entered Dante’s voice. “Where the wedding will take place.”

“It’ll be perfect. My mother wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said dryly. She’d been driving me nuts with endless calls about the flowers, tableware, and a thousand other details she shouldn’t be micromanaging, but I hadn’t expected anything less. I was her last opportunity to go all out on a big wedding. “At least my father isn’t also hounding me about china patterns. He got the date he wanted. That’s all he cares about.”

“August eighth. Let me guess. It’s the date he made his first million.”

I laughed. “Close, but not quite. Eight is his favorite number.”

Dante’s thumb paused before it resumed caressing my skin. “The number eight? Really?”

“Yes.” I yawned. Nothing made me sleepier than wine and sex, and I’d had the best of both tonight. “It’s a lucky number in Chinese culture because it’s associated with wealth. When my parents were house hunting, they specifically looked for places with eight in their address. My father is very superstitious about things like that.”

“I never would’ve guessed.” Dante’s tone cooled the way it always did when we discussed my father.

I lifted my head. A distracted expression crossed his face, but it disappeared when he saw me looking.

“You don’t like my family very much.” I’d picked up on it at our introductory dinner, but it had become increasingly evident since.

Every time I mentioned my parents, Dante’s face shut down, and I could feel him mentally withdraw.

When we visited Boston for Christmas, he spent most of his time communicating in glares and one-word answers. It’d been the most awkward four days of my life.

“I don’t like a lot of people,” he said evasively. “But if we’re being honest, Francis and I will never be best friends. We have different…outlooks on life.”

Before I could respond, he cupped my face and brushed my lips with his.

“No more talk about family,” he said. “We have the room to ourselves for the night, and I can think of a few other things that I would much rather be doing…”

Any resistance I had melted when he deepened the kiss. My lips parted, and my sigh invited him in. He slid his tongue against mine, tasting like wine and heat and sin.

Dante was right. It was a beautiful night, and there was no reason to dampen it with talk of family.

A lingering sense of unease prickled the back of my neck, but I brushed it aside.

So what if Dante and my father didn’t see eye to eye on everything? Some antagonism was expected among fathers and their sons-in-law. It wasn’t like they were going to punch each other at the next holiday gathering.

Plus, my parents lived in a different city. We wouldn’t see them much anyway.

I had nothing to worry about.





CHAPTER 28





Dante





Vivian and I had one more blissful week to ourselves before her parents blew into town like a tornado. Sudden, unexpected, and carving a path of destruction in their wake.

One minute, I was planning a symphony date with Vivian. The next, I was sitting across from Francis and Cecelia Lau in Le Charles, fighting the urge not to knock the smug smile off Francis’s face.

Our conversation about him at Valhalla had summoned him like a demon out of hell.

“I’m glad we could make this work.” He unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. “I hope we’re not disrupting your plans too much.”

“Not at all.” Vivian placed her hand over mine under the table and gently uncurled my fist. “We’re thrilled to see you.”

I remained silent.

Her parents had arrived, unannounced, that morning and requested dinner with us sometime during their stay. Considering they were only here for two nights, and they had tickets to a Broadway show with friends tomorrow, tonight was the only option.

“We haven’t seen you since Christmas, so we figured we’d check in. See how the wedding planning is going.” Cecelia toyed with her pearls. “You never answered my question the other day about the flowers. Shall we go ahead with the lilies?”

Vivian shifted in her seat. Instead of her usual dress, heels, and red lipstick, she wore a tweed suit similar to the one from our first meeting. Her necklace was identical to her mother’s, and the sparkling vivaciousness I’d fall—I’d come to appreciate had dulled into painful gentility.

It wasn’t her; it was some Stepford clone version of her that only showed up when Francis and Cecelia were in the room, and I hated it.

“Yes,” she said. “The lilies are fine.”

“Excellent.” Cecelia beamed. “Now, about the cake—”

Thankfully, our server showed up at that moment and interrupted her before she launched into a spiel about icing or whatever the hell she wanted to talk about.

“We’ll have the Golden Imperial caviar and tuna tartare on foie gras to start, and the lamb chops for the main,” Francis said, ordering for both himself and his wife. He handed the menu dismissively to the server without looking at him.