Dancing With The Devil

Chapter 12

"Hey, how was your day?" I gushed, practically prancing into the kitchen in our high rise condo, my new heels clicking against the floor as I went. I felt incredibly sexy in my short navy dress, and I felt like I stood out starkly from out all gray and white kitchen, demanding Josh's attention. I swept my glossy hair over my shoulder and hoisted myself up so I was sitting on the counter, hoping that I looked coy and sensual. I know that I hadn't always been wildly in love with Josh, however we were engaged now and I had made the choice to say yes and now I was making a choice to give him the best chance I could. Besides, he wasn't truly a bad guy. He was so polite, and so kind to everyone we met, and he was always smiling. At first I had sensed that maybe there was something not quite right about him, but since I had been unable to pinpoint it it was time to brush it aside. Plus, he had this amazing apartment and insisted that I didn't have to work if I didn't want to. Not to mention that I enjoyed the way he looked in a suit.

"Where is dinner?" Josh demanded bluntly. His kept his back turned to me, staring down at his phone. Clearly my dress didn't have the instant impact I was expecting. He was always on his cell, it would've frustrated me if I hadn't grown up with a father who the exact same way.

"I thought we could go out." I said happily, sliding off the counter. "Somewhere nice to celebrate."

Josh finally turned around to look at me. Those calm blue eyes stayed on my face and his neutral expression didn't change when he saw me. I expected his jaw to drop at all the exposed skin and his hands to reach for my slender waist in an act of enthusiasm. I hoped that his forever collected behavior would slip, even just for a brief moment, in an act of lust and he would say something appreciative. I wanted that wild passion that I read about in books, even just for a second. But he just crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter.

"What are you wearing, Camila?" he said. His tone shifted to one I had not heard before and couldn't label immediately. All I understood was that he wasn't particularly excited.

"Do you like it?" I asked in a sultry tone, slowly turning around so he could see the slit on the side and just how short the dress really was. He didn't say anything for a while so I added, "Come on, I made a reservation at the new little Italian restaurant downtown."

I still had that silly, optimistic smile on my face when a loud cracking noise whipped through the air and the pain rushed through my cheek, leaving me breathless.

I cradled my cheek instinctively, trying to soothe the wild stinging sensation as my mind whirled away. I clung to the counter to keep my body upright as I desperately tried to catch my breath and my thoughts. My fiancé was standing in front of me, the only one in the room. He was still looking as calm as ever and though the impact had felt like a slap he couldn't have done it. His chest wasn't rising or falling quickly, his eyes weren't clouded with fury and his hands weren't clenched into tight fists in an attempt to rein in his anger. He looked the same way he always did, whether he was proposing to me or dealing with a frustrating client. Passive, gentle, and prepared. Nothing could ever phase him.

But I was at a complete loss for words.

"You look like a slut." He stated, his words not matching his casual tone. It was like he was ordering coffee. "I asked you to make us dinner so we could have a quiet night in and you blatantly disobeyed me."

"I just thought-" I sputtered.

"No, you didn't fucking think, Camila. Then you came out here dressed like a cheap whore and you expect me to want to take you out?"

"I thought you would like it." I managed, feeling tears pool in my eyes from shock and pain. This was the man I was going to marry. Why did he feel he had the right to say such awful things to me?