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I couldn’t remember ever experiencing one growing up. Why my parents even chose to have a child when they had no time or interest in me was something I still had no answer to. Was it me? Was I the reason? Would it have been different if I had been a boy?
Probably.
I sighed, then chose a table in the corner, took the seat with the back to the wall, and straightened in an effort to look as non-pathetic as possible. I’d brought the tablet with me—at least it was something to do.
I scanned the room and saw happy people enjoying their stay. In all honesty, the only thing worse than eating alone? Eating alone in a restaurant full of people on vacation.
I scrolled through social media, looked at all the yacht and beach photos from friends.
Wait.
I scrolled back. There was a picture of my old boarding-school friend, Frank.
I smiled at him cliff-jumping into turquoise-blue water. He was the king of the uber-rich clique I toured with all summer. Until I turned my back on them after the incident in Italy.
It just wasn’t the same. I wasn’t the same.
I looked at the comments. “Good times in Malta.”
Wait? Frank was in Malta? I checked the date, and sure enough, he’d posted the picture today.
I immediately DM’d him. Maybe I could find something to occupy the days here until I could leave.
He immediately wrote back and told me the whole clique was here. And they were going to party tonight.
I wrote back I was too tired. But I should’ve known Frank wouldn’t accept that as an apology. He sent me a begging GIF that had me chuckling, and I told him to message me the name of the club, and I would think about it.
A server asked me what I wanted to drink, and I shut down the tablet and ordered a glass of wine.
If I was stuck here sitting alone and watching all the families and happy couples surrounding me, I would at least get drunk while doing so.
And as if my situation wasn’t humbling enough. Alex Falcone chose the exact moment I’d had my first sip to make his rounds through the restaurant.
Bite me.
Okay. I did not want to see him. And I did not want him to see me.
Damn.
I watched him across the terrace.
He had his poker face on, no scowl or narrowed brows in sight; instead, his easy smile and natural charm had every man at ease, and even the kids seemed to like him.
He was such a chameleon.
Seeing him like this, you wouldn’t even believe he could kill a man in cold blood—which he probably did more times than he cared to remember.
“Princess, I am a bad motherfucker. I don’t need the image.”
And then there was the effect he had on women.
As if a shockwave of awareness was preceding him, women, regardless of age, suddenly straightened, pushed their chests out, and pouted their lips. The nervous female laughter was the soundtrack that followed him around.
No wonder he was a cocky asshole when this was how women usually reacted to his presence.
Well, not me.
I’d had more than my share of the Falcone charm and allure to last me a lifetime. And I really, really didn’t want him to see me sitting here alone.
