The Boyfriend Gift From My Husband

High society never lacks for drama. And thanks to Raphael, I got to be at the center of it for once.

I swirled the wine in my glass, took the last sip like it was nothing, and walked away as if I were just another guest at someone else's show.

The hotel had rooms prepared for rest. I punched in the code and was about to slip inside when Tom followed me up, pressing his hand against the edge of the door to hold it open.

He stepped in.

I looked at him calmly. "What are you doing here?"

Before he could answer, the keypad beeped again.

I froze.

For a brief moment, my mind went blank. But Tom grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind the folding screen just in time.

The door opened.

Raphael stormed in with his mistress in tow.

"You could at least pick your moments. Have I been too soft on you?"

She looped her arms around his neck, her voice sweet and syrupy. "I just can't stand watching you with that woman."

She pouted, asking, "What does she have that I don't?"

"Nothing," he said, his hands now snug around her waist. "She's got nothing on you."

"How do you know?"

She giggled, teasing him as she guided his hand under her dress. "Have you slept with her?"

His hands were clearly busy. Her soft moan made it obvious.

Disgusted, I turned my head away.

Realizing Tom was still holding my hand, I tried to pull away.

He let go for a second—then grabbed it again.

I shot him a glare and yanked my hand back harder.

But he just grinned, entirely shameless, and ran his fingers over mine, like he owned them.

I was fuming, face burning, ready to curse out loud.

He leaned down, lips brushing against my ear. "You'll have plenty of chances to yell at me. Just don't get caught now."

Before I could shove him away, he turned his head deliberately, his lips grazing the side of my face.

He shut his eyes.

I nearly kicked him.

Unfortunately, I kicked the folding screen instead.

Behind it, the sounds of kissing—wet and obnoxious, like an old lady chewing on oranges—came to an abrupt stop.

Raphael approached.

He had his lover. I had mine. Fair play.

Fueled by pride, I reached around Tom's neck and lowered my voice to a firm, even tone.

"Kiss me."

His lips were cool and soft.

The screen was yanked aside.

I looked up—and locked eyes with Raphael.

He stared, shocked. Then, with a growl, he punched the screen to the ground. "Everything's blowing up outside, and here you are, making out carelessly!"

He roared again. "You've never been kissed before? Had to pick this moment?"

What was he? A double-standard idiot?

I gave a slow, sugary smile and replied in a singsong voice, "Oh? Weren't you also kissing your lover?"

His mistress lost it. She stormed up and yelled in my face. "Who do you think you're insulting? A woman like you has no shame! Raphael marrying you is the worst thing that's ever happened to him!"

I didn't bother sparing her a proper look.

I was the bride, and she came in a red dress trying to steal the show.

"You talking about virtue?" I sneered, glancing at her exposed lower half. "You were groping Raphael's—what was it again? Yeah, real virtuous."

She choked, speechless.

I turned to fix Raphael's wrinkled tie with a gentle smile. "Thanks, honey, for introducing me to my boyfriend. I like him a lot. His kisses are real sweet. But yours? Not even a dog would want them."

Raphael was furious, practically shaking.

But he'd brought shame to both families. And now, the Lindt family owed me—big time.