(TYLER)
I hear a cry behind me and wheel around to see my husband with his eyes on fire, his teeth bared, holding a black-clad figure by the throat up against one of the columns.
Shit. I know that look.
"Sasha!" He's already shoved me behind him, but I grab the flexing bicep on his arm, trying to calm him. "Sasha," I hiss again. "It's her. La Contessa, for fuck's sake!"
The lady's hood falls off her head and Sasha lets her go at once. The security guards at the checkpoints between the columns have noticed now, calling over, asking what's going on as she bends over, gasping.
"We're fine!" I yell at the security guards. "Just—messing around!" Sasha's muscles are still tensed, quivering.
La Contessa raises her head to glare at him. "What is wrong with you?"
"Wrong with me?" He lets out a dangerous chuckle, and then he turns on me, his voice low and dark. "I told you to stay where you were!"
