“I’ll come,” Rose says.
“No, baby, your ankles are all puffy.” Danny turns her by the shoulders back toward the table. “Sit. I insist.” His lips move to her ear and kisses it sweetly, and he whispers something before he strolls off to see Lennox Benson out.
“A death threat?” James asks quietly.
“Yep.” I take my wine to my mouth, but it doesn’t make it there, soon being replaced with water again.
“One domestic is enough for tonight, don’t you think?” he says gruffly.
I start stirring my rice into my curry as Rose, looking contemplative, lowers to a chair, but my fork stops halfway to my mouth when I catch Brad’s face, and it lowers when he starts coughing, dropping his fork.
“Fuck me,” he wheezes, thumping his chest, his eyes darting across the table. “Pass me the fucking water.”
Esther is up in a beat, rushing to fill his glass, but Brad doesn’t hang around, grabbing the jug from her and virtually tipping it down his throat. His face turns an alarming shade of red, his eyes wide and watery, his brow wet. I look down at the curry on my fork.
“You fucking pussy,” Ringo grunts, shoveling a huge forkful into his mouth, and two seconds later, he joins Brad, coughing and spluttering all over the table, wrestling him for the water jug.
I lower my fork to the plate, looking around as everyone starts poking at their untouched curry, all of them probably worrying about upsetting Rose even more. Not Danny, though. He returns to the table, takes a seat, and pushes his plate away. I look at my friend. She’s happily working her way through the goat dish, unperturbed and unaffected by the level of heat.
“What the fuck did you put in that thing?” Brad gasps, reclaiming the water from Ringo as Esther disappears into the kitchen to get more.
Rose shrugs, forking at a piece of meat drenched in sauce and chewing through it. “Everything the recipe said to put in it.” She taps her phone on the table and brings up a screen, pointing to the list. “I added a couple more Habaneros. One seemed a bit stingy.”
“And the seeds?” Ringo asks, flapping a hand in front of his face. “What about the seeds?”
Rose looks down at her fork. “It said the whole chili.”
“So you put three in?” Brad pushes his plate away, dabbing at his top lip with his napkin. “Fucking hell, I think my tongue’s gonna fall off.”
“Well,” Rose muses, almost happily. “At least no one will ever be able to cut it out.”
I peek at Danny, cautious, seeing him shifting in his chair, looking wired. Charged. Ready to snap. And our saving grace, Daniel, has just left the building.
Everyone else? They want to laugh. They want to laugh so hard, but they obviously value their lives more than the need to restrain their untimely amusement.
“I just have to know.” Rose pops another forkful of curry into her mouth and chews, absolutely immune to the fact that it’s loaded with enough chilies to literally blow someone’s head off. Brad and Ringo are proof, their faces glowing and wet. She laughs, and I brace myself for the explosion of Danny, my hand falling to James’s leg and squeezing, a silent message to get ready to hold him back. Rose drops her fork and dabs her lips. “What made you think Perry Adams was The Bear?” Her eyes are focused solely on Danny at the other end of the table. No one else. Just him.
“Here we go,” Otto sighs, peeking out the corner of his eye to Esther, who’s looking nervously at her son.
“I assume you’re talking to me?” Danny asks flatly.
“Who else? I think you knew him best out of everyone here, right?” She looks around the table, as if she might get an agreement from someone. “Apart from me, of course.”
Fucking hell, Rose. I pinch the bridge of my nose, contemplating getting up and dragging her away.
“It was a tad breezy on the water today,” Zinnea practically screeches. “I took the water ferry to Martinique and there was a pod of dolphins that followed me the entire way. I lost my sunhat too.” She laughs. “The breeze took it right off my head! Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t take my wig and lashes too.”
I bite my lip and reach for Zinnea’s hand, and Goldie smiles across the table at her. My aunt rolls her eyes and sinks some wine.
“Well,” Danny says, turning his glass of water slowly, his eyes never leaving Rose as she happily munches through the deadly curry, “we had sufficient reason—”
“I mean”—she laughs—“the prick hardly had the ability to make me come, let alone head up a deadly crime syndicate.”
Danny’s fists meet the table with such force, everyone’s curries leave their plates and splashes the table.
That’s it. Goodbye, my dear friend. I will treasure our friendship forever.
He stands abruptly, walks the length of the table, pulls Rose’s chair out, and takes her elbow. “Excuse us for a moment,” he grates, leading her into the villa.
And the moment the door slams behind them, Brad exhales. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck’s gotten into those two?” He grabs his Scotch and knocks it back.
“I don’t know,” Esther breathes, exasperated. “But she sure knows how to rub him up the wrong way. It’s not healthy, not for either of them.”
“He was pretty fucking smashed,” Otto pipes up. “Anyone know what happened? When we left them last night, he was still pissed but back in love with her.”
“He’s never out of love with her,” Goldie says. “Just out of patience most of the time.”
“I should have gone to work,” Zinnea says.
And me? I sit quietly while everyone tries to figure out what the fucking hell is going on, feeling James’s accusing stare on me. I peek out the corner of my eye.
“You know,” he whispers, just as a deafening bang sounds from inside. “You know what’s wrong with them.”
“There goes another crystal bowl.” Esther slips down her chair, shrinking, and I stand from mine.
But I’m immediately pulled back down by James. “No, Beau,” he cautions with so much warning, I’d be a fool to ignore him. So I lower, and the only reason I do is because I know beyond anything I’ve ever known that Danny would never physically harm his wife. Rose, however, will fight like a cat, pregnant or not. “You are not leaving this table,” he warns, his face serious, “until you tell me what the fuck is wrong with those two.”
5
DANNY
Too far. Way too fucking far. I keep reminding myself that she’s pregnant. I keep reminding myself that I love her. That she’s my wife. That I would slaughter anyone who ever laid a finger on her. That includes me, which is why I’ve spent the best part of the day wanting to slowly kill myself.
I place her roughly on a stool, rest my palms on her knees, get my threatening face up close to hers, and I snarl. “What have I got to do, Rose?” I ask. I have to get us both out of these moods before someone ends up dead. She’s hurt, I get it. She wants to punish me like she couldn’t punish the others because she knows she can. And I will take it all.
Her eyes are hard, her expression cut as she stares me down, her cheeks pulsing. “I said no,” she grates.