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Good.
The cousins exchange words I don’t hear before Stefan loads my duffel into the back and climbs into the front seat.11Stefan“Flight’s just over an hour,” I tell Gabriela when the plane takes off.
She’s strapped into a seat at the window and her nails are digging into the leather of the armrests.
“I don’t like flying,” she says. “Is this thing even safe?”
I take the flight attendant’s offered tumbler of whiskey.
“It’s perfectly safe. Here.” I hold my glass out to her. She didn’t want anything.
We’re on my private jet. I hate flying commercial and only do it when I absolutely have to.
She turns to me, looks at the drink and shakes her head.
“It’ll help you relax.”
“Can’t we drive?”
“It’s too far. Drink.”
She takes the tumbler, sips it, makes a face. “That’s nasty.”
I smile. “You’re young.” I see how her eyes go wide when she looks out the window again and I reach over to pull the blind down. “Relax. If it wasn’t safe, you wouldn’t be here. You went running with Rafa?”
“Is someone going to report everything I do back to you?”
“Probably.”
“Yes, I went running. Only because your cousin was nice enough to take me.”
“Rafa? Nice?”
She nods.
“Oh, Gabriela,” I can’t help my chuckle. “There’s nothing nice about Rafa.”
“I don’t know, he seems nicer than you.”
I don’t reply. I find silence puts people on edge. Forces them to talk. Gabriela is no exception.
“Actually seems to have a sense of humor,” she continues.
“Does he?”
“Your mom and his mom were sisters?”
Just how much did my cousin tell her, I wonder.
I nod. “It’s too hot to run unless you get up very early before sunrise or go after sunset.”
“I was fine.”
“If you wanted exercise, why didn’t you swim instead?”
“I don’t swim.”
“Don’t or can’t?”
“Doesn’t matter. Why is the engagement party in Rome? And since when is my father hosting it?”
I know about her mother’s drowning and I have questions, but now isn’t the time.
“Maybe he wants to show off the groom,” I deadpan, taking a sip of my drink.
“He hates you.”
“Hate is a harsh word.”
“It’s an accurate one.”
I shrug a shoulder. “It’ll be nice to be back to where we first met, won’t it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your bedroom.”
She’s confused and it takes her a minute. “The party’s at my father’s house?”
I nod.
“How did you get him to do that?”
“I have my ways.”
“How many people are coming?”
“A few hundred.” I want to change the subject. “What did you think of the wedding dress?”
“It’s hideous.”
“It’s one of a kind. Made especially for you, Princess.”
“I’m not a princess.”
“You are a brat, though. Grow up, Gabriela.”
She seems momentarily upset by that, offended almost. But she recovers quickly. “You wasted your money on it. I won’t wear it.”
“You’ll wear what I tell you to wear.”
“We’ll see.”
“We will.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Your brother died one day before my sixteenth birthday,” she says.
My hand fists around my almost empty glass. “He did,” I say, signaling for another whiskey.
She studies me and I know she timed this. She’s a clever girl. I’m sure she’ll be putting two and two together soon if she hasn’t already.
“Did my cousin give you a tour of the cemetery?”
One corner of her mouth curves upward. “You didn’t like me knowing. Why?”
“That’s a family plot. You have no business there.”
“But I’m marrying into the family, Stefan. You’re making it my business.”
“Be careful, Gabriela.”
“You be careful, Stefan.”
“Or what?” I ask, my voice a whisper. When I lean toward her, she plasters herself against the back of the seat.
She licks her lips, swallows.
I watch her throat work, watch the pulse drumming away along the curve of her neck. Tilting my head down, I close my lips over that rapidly beating pulse.
She gasps.
When I draw back, I see the shock on her face. But I also see how her nipples have hardened and are poking against the fabric of her dress.
“Do you like my mouth on you, Gabriela?”
Her cheeks grow red and her eyes are huge as she searches mine.
Keeping my eyes locked on hers, I brush the backs of my fingers over one taut nipple.
She captures my hand.
“Your body is very responsive.”
She shoves my hand rudely away. “Don’t touch me again.”
“But I think you liked it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Liar.” My gaze drops to her chest before I sit back in my seat and take the fresh tumbler of whiskey the attendant brings over.
“You’re a jerk, Stefan.”
“Relax, Gabriela. I’m just fucking with you.”
“Well, don’t.”
“Then don’t make it so easy.”
I drink, watching her, giving her space to breathe.
“Is that why…” she starts, sounding less certain.
I raise my eyebrows. Wait.
“How did he die?” she asks, and I guess I admire her courage. She’s afraid of me, but she hasn’t cowered. Yet.
This line of questioning, though, it takes anything casual out of our conversation.
“He was murdered. Shot. His head and hands removed.”
Her mouth falls open and the color drains from her face.
