Page 76 of How to Kidnap a Fake Date
Which makes me want toscream. This pretender who’s swooping in and poisoning my father while pretending to be the sweet, darling bride.
Well, fuck you, Priscilla. Today’s the day I prove to Dad that you’re not who you say you are.
I hover in the doorway waiting for the perfect window to disappear. Roman will already be waiting, and I need to move before the ceremony guests start arriving.
She’s distracted when the florist arrives with an insanely large, but admittedly stunning, bouquet. I’m not quite sure how she intends to hold the thing all day; it looks as heavy and cumbersome as the hire-a-kid.
I glance down the corridor and spy Roman leaning against the wall. Jacket off and sleeves rolled up. Damn, he cuts a fine figure looking all brooding. Anyone else would think he’s relaxed. But I know he’s as apprehensive as I am. Probably more so, given that I’m at least blood-related to the household of knife enthusiasts.
I give a nod.
Now.
His brows lift, and he pushes off the wall without a word.
I attempt to slip away slyly and nearly plough straight into a staff member holding a steamer like it’s a Faberge Egg. She gasps and apologises to me, despite it very much being my fault.
Then I’m out. Making my way downstairs to the cabinet, where Roman waits.
Right. Maggie Hamilton, you can do this.
You’re the eldest daughter. And assassin-adjacent, at least. And this time I’ve come armed.
I pull the screwdriver from my pocket and shove it in the slight gap in the antique cabinet while Roman keeps watch.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’
‘It would be a better idea if you bloody well helped.’
I twist the screwdriver, but only manage to scratch the wooden door.
I try again, harder.
Still nothing.
‘Open up, you stupid wooden wanker,’ I whisper.
Behind me, Roman laughs.
‘I’m not sure insulting it will help. I still think this is a terrible plan.’
‘I’ve had worse plans.’ The screwdriver slips, and I jolt forward, narrowly missing spearing myself in the face.
‘Like when you kidnapped me.’
‘Exactly. Awful plan. Although it’s resulted in numerous orgasms so far, so again, I’ll reiterate that I’ve had worse plans.’
The feral noise Roman makes at that statement has me considering abandoning the screwdriver for a screw. But, being that Roman’s not mounted that particular obstacle, I feel he might not want to go there. With me at least. As he has with half of the rest of London.
Tempering my jealousy, I ignore my wanton pussy and turn back to the matter at hand. If I can’t get into the cabinet, I have no proof. And without proof, Dad will keep brushing me off. I can’t let the wedding go ahead while Priscilla is trying to kill the bloody groom. No matter how hard-headed he is.
My gaze flicks up to Roman.
To those ridiculous arms. Rolled sleeves. Forearms corded with muscle. Veins standing out like a map to follow right up into his shirt. Roman isstrong.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ I hiss. ‘You’re the one with muscles. Get your arse over here.’
His mouth curves. ‘Are you hitting on me, Miss Hamilton?’
