Page 84 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
Or we’re just gifted actors, I think, as Asher gives me a convincingly sweet kiss on the lips when we reach him. I lean my head against his shoulder as I focus on what the people around us are saying.
René, Owen and Martin are speaking French. I glance at Asher. I didn’t know that he speaks French, but when I realize what they’re saying, I know for certain that he doesn’t.
Because if he knew what they’ve been saying about him, he would be pissed.
René and Martin are shit talking Asher in front of his face, and while Owen looks uneasy, he isn’t defending or denying anything they’re saying.
I’m pissed the fuck off when I interrupt, “Chacun voit midi à sa porte.”
It’s a French proverb that literally translates to, “Everyone sees noon at his doorstep.” What it means is everyone feels like their opinions are the objective truth, but really, they’re clouded by their own personal interests.
I’m essentially saying that René’s words are spoken out of self-interest.
I just stabbed a metaphorical knife in René’s protruding gut, and I’m about to twist it. “Je me demande ce que vous voulez gagner en parlant mal de l'amour de ma vie.”
I wonder what you wish to gain by speaking ill of the love of my life.
There’s silence for a moment before René reacts. He takes an aggressive step forward, his fists clenched in fury, but Martin grabs a hold of his arm, and René stops. The look of rage remains, though. Madeline glances uneasily between René, Martin and me before settling her eyes on her husband. Both of Owen’s brows are raised.
I can feel the tension radiating off of Asher. I squeeze his hand reassuringly and press an apologetic kiss to it. He wants to know what I said, but I can’t tell him in front of everyone. Doing so would just bring more attention to his inability to speak French, something René can continue to use to Asher’s disadvantage.
A few more seconds of tense silence pass before Owen barks out a loud la
ugh. A delighted smile crosses his face. “She speaks French!” he says like it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.
And it’s starting to feel like it is.
They’ve been trash talking Asher in front of his face, making him look foolish in the process. They’ve probably done it before, too. And now, they’ll have to think twice before doing it again.
René’s eyes narrow in suspicion. He’s visibly calmer now. “Yeah… Where did you learn to speak French?”
“I spent the last two years volunteering abroad, mostly in predominantly French speaking countries in Africa. I picked up a thing or two.”
“A thing or two,” he parrots drily.
I like to think it makes him sound like an idiot.
And because I can never help myself, I say, “Now, if you guys don’t mind, Asher and I must leave. He may be too polite to say anything, but I’m uncomfortable being around people who would trash talk my fiancé, let alone do it so brazenly and distastefully.” I turn to Madeline and hug her. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” I genuinely mean it, too. Then, I turn to Owen and say, “Anticipation can be more valuable than knowledge.” I gaze pointedly at Madeline’s belly. “But neither anticipation nor knowledge are more valuable than love.” My words are clear enough to get my message across but cryptic enough that all the other prying ears won’t understand what I’m saying.
Owen looks stunned. I probably overstepped my boundaries, but I don’t dwell on it as I grab Asher’s hand and lead him to the coat check with Xavier and Maybe Dominic trailing closely behind us. Asher is tense as we wait in the long line for our coats.
I turn to face him, slipping both hands under his coat to massage his back. I can feel how coiled his muscles are. When I stand on the tips of my toes and kiss under his jaw, I feel a muscle in it clench.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Standing here with my arms in Asher’s coat jacket and my lips brushing against his jaw is intimate. But I’ve already overstepped my boundaries with Madeline and Owen, so I might as well overstep the ones between me and Asher. I’ll relish this moment without caring for the consequences that will inevitably follow it.
I press another kiss to the other side of his jawline, darting the tip of my tongue out to trace it. He isn’t pushing me away, but he also isn’t returning the attention I’m giving him. I sigh, stepping into his body until we’re entirely pressed against one another.
He finally wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. I enjoy being in his arms for a moment before the line moves forward. Instead of turning around to walk normally, I take a step backward, remaining in Asher’s hold. He follows, and when he tightens his grip on me, I feel like his lifeline.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t real.
I glance up at him. He still won’t look at me, and it’s bothering me. Ignoring how inappropriate it is to do this in public, at a charity event no less, I stand on my tiptoes again and capture Asher’s lower lip in my mouth, tugging on it gently and caressing it with my tongue.
