Blanche's POV
Vincent's silence stretched too long, making my nerves spike. "Blanche—did that old bastard say something to tick you off?"
He'd apparently bribed the fortune teller to feed me some line about being meant for him.
Since Vincent hadn't witnessed the conversation himself, he had zero clue what the old man had actually told me.
Clearly, he was sweating that the fortune teller had screwed up and left me furious.
My stone-cold quiet was only making him more jittery.
He spun around, grumbling, "I'm marching over there to find out what he said. If he upset you, I'll tear him a new one."
His sudden rage caught me off guard. I snatched his hand, yanking him back. "Vincent, stop. It's nothing—don't make a scene."
"Just tell me what he said," he pushed, refusing to drop it.
