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“Doors opening.”
Wringing my hands, I step into the elevator with Dmitri, wondering what the hell is going on between them. Not just tonight, either—I’m talking in general. At first, I thought they had a very close, really healthy relationship.
Now, I’m not so sure.
I’ve lived with them for weeks now. But now that I think about it, I haven’t really seen much, if any, intimacy between them. There was the time I saw Dmitri kiss Bee’s temple, but there was a subtle stiffness there that’s stuck out in my head ever since. It was two people acting out a script, not acting out their feelings.
Or is that just what you want to think? asks the prissy little bitch voice in my head.
I scowl and snap back to reality as Dmitri holds open the door of his black Porsche for me outside of the lobby downstairs.
“How long have you and Bee been together?” I blurt.
Something passes over his face. Like a shadow, almost. Close to a grimace. “A few years.”
“But you’ve known each other a lot longer, right?” His gaze slides over to me questioningly. “There are pictures all over the penthouse of you and Bee together as kids.”
He sighs, his fingers drumming on the car window like he wishes he could just slam the door shut in my face and end this conversation here and now. “Our fathers were rivals a few decades ago. Not in any significant way—no bloodshed—but it was tense. When the Irish started to rise in power, alliances needed to be made to preserve the status quo.”
“It’s like the United Nations of crime out here, jeez,” I mumble with an overwhelmed whistle. “Irish, Italian, Russian—how do you keep track of who’s doing what illegal stuff?”
His mouth twitches up in a facsimile of a smile. “Not all of it is illegal. You work for one of my many perfectly legitimate businesses. Now, get in the?—”
“Sure,” I say, standing my ground so he can’t shove me in the backseat just yet, “but aren’t they all just covers? Like, ways to explain where all the money comes from?”
“Partly.” Dmitri rakes a hand through his hair. “Get in the car, Wren.”
I exhale and do as I’m told. But as soon as he’s around and behind the wheel, I start right back in on the line of questioning again. “So your fathers became allies and you and Bee became friends?”
Is he gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary? Could be—who’s to say for sure, though?
“Something like that. ‘Friends’ might be pushing it. She was a pain in the ass back then.” He snorts. “Come to think of it, she still is.”
I wonder if I’m bold enough to ask him who Elena is. I sneak a glance at his profile and quickly arrive at a conclusion: nope. But maybe, if I keep asking questions long enough, she’ll just… come up naturally?
“So when did your friendship evolve into something more?”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “You can ask Bee all these questions, since the two of you seem to get along so well.”
Interesting. He seems almost resentful of my friendship with Bee. That’s a twist. Honestly, every time I think I’ve got him figured out, he turns around and surprises me.
“Contrary to what you and all men seem to think, girls don’t always gossip about guys when we’re together.”
He shoots me a sharp glance and I bite back my smile.
“But c’mon,” I press, “don’t hold out on me. I want to hear a love story. When did you know Bee was the one?”
His sneer could be measured on a Richter scale. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women. The kind who believes in soulmates. True love. Fate. All that shit.”
I shake my head. “That was Rose. She and Jared were meant to be.”
“And you?”
I peek out the window as buildings and pedestrians flash past. A million lives unfolding all around us, and none of them could possibly be as weird as mine is turning out to be.
“Me? I was on track to believe all that naïve crap myself when I was younger,” I admit in a near whisper. “But then…”
I trail off, wondering for a moment where William is right now. If he’s still with his wife. If he’s still playing at being a father.
