Chapter 92: You Love My Chaos
VANESSA BELMONT JANG
The second the siblings disappeared over the balcony railing, Nathan turned to me with that look - the one that meant I was about to get A Very Serious Talk. I preemptively stuck my finger against his lips.
"Before you start lecturing me about enabling criminals," I said, "just remember that time in Barcelona when you gave that pickpocket kid 50 euros because he ’had honest eyes.’"
Nathan’s mouth twitched. "That was different."
"How?"
"He wasn’t holding a knife to your throat five minutes earlier."
I waved off his concern. "Details. Besides, did you see her grip? She’s left-handed. No way she could’ve stabbed me effectively."
"That’s not—" Nathan cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. "You’re impossible."
I grinned and plucked a chocolate from the turned-over nightstand. "And yet you married me."
The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway made us both tense. Nathan moved instinctively in front of me as the door burst open—hotel security finally arriving, about fifteen minutes too late to be useful.
The mustached manager took in the shattered wine glass, overturned furniture, and my torn dress with widening eyes. "Signore! What has happened here?"
Nathan opened his mouth, but I stepped forward. "We had a little disagreement about interior design." I gestured to the ugly vase now in pieces on the floor. "Turns out, modern brutalism isn’t our style."