Her plump lips part in a surprised O. “Really? And why is that?”
“Because they always tried to control who I dated when I was younger. Set up a match that benefited them. They wanted me to be with some old money socialite, but I wasn’t interested.”
“Not interested in a toff who exudes an air of superiority?” she teases in a stuffy-sounding voice.
“God, I love when you get all British on me.” I make a grab for her, but she steps back with a snicker. “Hands to yourself, McKay, or you’ll muss me all up.”
I lick my lips. “Oh, I’m going to muss you up later, baby.”
“I’m counting on it.” She bats her lashes at me, and I fight to control the way my pants are tightening in the groin area.
Christ, it’s going to be a long night.
The Palermo Chico mansion is beyond splendid, a massive house built to impress. Even I still get a little bowled over by its sheer size, and I used to live here. I scan the facade of my once-upon-a-time home, from the five-car garage on the end of the east wing all the way to the two-story solarium encasing the west wing, and sigh. It looks exactly the same, and I get an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. As beautiful as it is, the interior is just as cold and hard as the gray brick exterior it’s wrapped in—there’s no love or warmth anywhere.
Knox pulls the SUV in line behind a parade of luxury cars, and we start the slow crawl up the long driveway with the other arriving guests. The sad thing is, I know this house is vacant more often than lived-in. Anything wesee tonight is a show. A carefully fabricated masquerade intended to impress and intimidate. Shame, really. It could be an amazing place to live. You know, with people who actually cared about more than merely looking better and having more than every-fucking-one else.
“Damn,” Linc murmurs. “This place is sick.”
Addie doesn’t comment, but Knox lets out a low, “Well, la-di-fucking-da. I didn’t know we were meeting the freaking president of the world tonight.”
“Eh, I’ve seen bigger,” Brighton murmurs, clearly unimpressed and returning her attention to her fingernails. “Dammit, I chipped a nail.”
We’ve crashed a lot of fancy places before, but I think this one takes the cake. “Do you expect any less from Arthur and Wanda McKay?” I ask, my voice dry and more than a little annoyed. My father and stepmother have a way of getting under my skin, especially when they tag team me, and I’ll do my best not to let that happen. The sad truth is I miss and love my dad. When it’s just us together, without the influence of my mother or stepmother, he’s a completely different person.
Delaney must pick up on my growing vexation because she presses her thigh against mine. It’s a small gesture, but at the same time, it’s huge. Reassuring, and exactly what I need. Relaxing slightly, my anxiety eases a bit. For as much as she has the power to rile me up and make my blood run hot, she also soothes me. It’s the most amazingcontradiction, and I’m looking forward to testing both ends of that spectrum.
I wrap my hand around hers, and we squeeze. “We’ve got this,” she assures me.
We’ve got this.
Her words echo around in my head. Notme.We.No pretense or false bravado. She says it like we’re truly a team. I inhale deeply, memorizing her scent, but also attempting to infuse that confidence in her voice into my own nervous system.
When we reach the valet attendants, they sweep the doors open, and we step out. One by one, we line up shoulder to shoulder, my friends flanking me as we stare up the massive stone staircase lined with a pompous red carpet—because of course it is—leading to an equally massive set of double doors. Unlike past jobs, there won’t be any disguises or blending in as caterers tonight. I easily hacked into my dad’s email server, got my hands on the invite and duplicated one for each of us. That means we’re walking through those big, fancy, fucking double doors exactly as we are. No subterfuge. No aliases. No hiding.
Rolling my shoulders back, I link Delaney’s arm through mine and we start climbing the steps. Addie does the same with Knox, while Linc escorts Brighton. Hunter stayed back at the hotel, ready to fly us out of here at a moment’s notice.
The stench of money and wealth hit me the moment I step into the polished Italian marble foyer. I look downat the Calacatta gold tiles and try not to roll my eyes. I remember Wanda going on and on about how important it was to have a statement tile in the entry so it would make a grand first impression. My father didn’t seem to care one iota, but, of course, he agreed. Gave in like he always does with my stepmom. They tore out the perfectly fine parquet flooring and replaced it with “something more appropriate and impressive.” In other words—something pretentious as fuck.
I can’t deny I enjoy luxury things—I drive a Lambo and wear custom suits—but the difference between me and my parents is I don’t need it, nor do I feel the need to flaunt it. If my bank account dried up tomorrow, I would still work at A-Squared and hang out with my friends. I’m good with that. I wouldn’t feel less-than or that I’d failed because I couldn’t feed my ego for the finer things.
“Are you okay?” Delaney steers me toward the wall lined with tables offering endless food, from caviar to petit fours. A server holding a tray pauses in front of us, and we each take a glass of champagne.
“Fine.” I take a sip and instantly recognize the good stuff. Of course, I’m not surprised they’re serving hundreds of glasses of bubbly that start at two-hundred dollars a bottle.
“You don’t seem fine.”
I scan the room, searching for my dad and stepmom. Even though I don’t want to see them, I know it’s inevitable. When my eyes meet Wanda’s wide ones, I realizeI’m not up for a confrontation yet. Swallowing the rest of my champagne in one gulp, I set the glass down as the rich, vibrant sound of tango music fills the air. Grabbing Delaney’s hand, I pull her toward the dance floor.
“Where are we going?” She sets her barely-touched champagne on a side table and hurries to keep up.
At the edge of the polished floor, I pause. “Do you know how to tango?”
Her mouth edges up. “Bella Diamond does.”
“Then may I have this dance, Miss Diamond?”
When she nods, I guide her into the crowded sea of dancers. It’s been a long time since I’ve tangoed, but it all comes rushing back. I never wanted to take a ballroom dancing class, but Wanda insisted. Now I’m glad I didn’t hide or bail each time the demand was made.
