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Those perfect, full lips plucked downward into a sign of distress, her eyes again leaving my face. Visibly, she swallowed. “My mother died in childbirth, and my father raised me until…”
She trailed off, pressing her mouth together so hard, her lips turned white.
“I suppose he couldn’t take the pressure of it anymore,” she concluded with a shrug, her gaze darting around anywhere but toward me.
Instincts took over, and I reached up to move her chin toward me.
“That’s not your fault,” I told her huskily, but her words struck a deep chord with me. “Trust me, it’s not your fault at all.”
Sadness oozed from her every pore, and I exhaled, understanding her on a primal level. I also knew what it was like to feel responsible for burdening my father.
“And how did you come to be here, at Maximo’s?” I asked, steering the conversation away from her clearly painful upbringing.
It was the right question to ask, and she exhaled a breath she must have been holding. “My best friend, Tristiana, is also a dancer here.”
“Oh, yes,” I said glibly. “I know Tristiana.”
The brightness in her eyes faded, and I immediately realized what she was thinking. I was quick to put her mind at ease. “But not that well,” I added with a small laugh. “She has a mate, doesn’t she?”
Maren’s shoulders sagged dramatically, and her reaction gave me intense pleasure.
She’s feeling this spark between us, too.
“Yes. They’ve been together since high school,” she replied. Her hazel eyes narrowed slightly, and she peered at me. “Did she tell you that herself?”
“No,” I admitted, impressed by her astuteness.
“How did you know? She doesn’t advertise her relationship much.”
I returned her stare evenly, wondering if I should relay my secret to her. There was just something so guileless about Maren, so open, that made me want to bare my soul to her.
“If I tell you, it will have to stay between us,” I told her earnestly, leaning in closer, my head almost touching hers. “Do you swear?”
Her pupils dilated, and more apprehension flooded her face, as if she didn’t know what she was getting into. I chuckled at her reaction.
She was like a timid mouse.
“It’s not a burden on you,” I promised. “I wouldn’t put you in danger or ask you to keep anything private that could get you in trouble. But it’s not a well-known fact, and I’d rather it didn’t get out.”
“Oh… all right,” she breathed. “I won’t say a word, Alpha.”
My stomach tightened, and I cringed inwardly at the title again, but maintained my composure. “I own this club.”
She drew back, surprised. “What?!”
“Silently, obviously. It’s not really something a prince—rather, a king—should have in his portfolio, but I invested in Maximo’s years ago, when my father first went missing.”
“I had no idea, Alpha!”
I shrugged. “No one does. That’s why it’s a secret.” I pressed my finger to my lips and sat back, reaching for my drink to wet my suddenly dry mouth.
Why did I tell her that?
But I didn’t really regret it. I had a feeling that she wouldn’t say anything to anyone. Call it instinct, or perhaps I was basing it on the mounting attraction I had toward her.
“I… I don’t know what to say. I thought Jergin owned the club,” she mumbled, dumbfounded.
“Jergin couldn’t run a lemonade stand,” I sighed, shaking my head. “There are many layers between me and Jergin, lawyers and such. I don’t care who everyone thinks owns the establishment, as long as it doesn’t come back to me.”
