Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

“Okay, that covers the first few months. How about the
four and a half years after that?”
When he looks at me now, his gaze is assessing, like I’m
someone he hasn’t met before.
He says softly, “You’ve changed.”
“Yep. I’m not worried about being easy to swallow
anymore. You can choke.”
After another beat of silence, he says, “Why are you so
angry with me?”
I don’t recall him being this stupid.
“Gosh, where to start? Oh, here’s a good place: you
disappeared. The day. Before. Our fucking. Wedding.”
He stands abruptly and walks across the room, his hands
shoved into the pockets of his shorts, his shoulders tense.
Looking out the open French doors toward the sea, he says,
“I’m not the man you think I am, tulip. There’s much I didn’t
tell you.”
“I’m already caught up to date there, David. And don’t
push me on the tulip thing. I meant what I said about the bowl
of shells.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. Then he glances down
at my left hand.
“There’s something you’re not telling me, too, isn’t there?”
I twist Kage’s promise ring around with my thumb.
Suddenly, it feels hot, like it might burn through my skin and
sear my bones.
When I remain silent, he prompts, “I know a Russian love
knot when I see one, Natalie.”
“I bet you do. Did you give one to Claudia?”
Surprise flashes in his eyes. It’s followed quickly by alarm.
He turns from the French doors and walks back to me, his
expression worried and his tone rising. “How do you know
about Claudia? Who’s been talking to you?”