“Believe it or not, this has been a slow work week. You should see the workload when we’re in New York with multiple deals going at once.”
Noah tosses up his hands. “I’ll pass. I’m busy enough between here and…” He pauses looking at Sarina as if he needs permission to continue. She tilts her head subtly and he takes it as the sign he needs to resume speaking. “Our other ventures. I couldn’t imagine.”
Liam walks around the bar, grabbing a THC seltzer for himself while asking what else we want. At first, I say that I’m good, but then he insists, looking at who just walked in. Their dad. “You sure about that, bud?”
“On second thought, I’ll take another.”
“Make it a double. Both of ours,” Sarina adds.
We take our drinks into the event room, sitting at our assigned table, which thankfully isn’t shared with Sarina’s parents but instead with her brothers.
Small talk fills the time, until the first course is served. When we finish our salads and our plates are collected, the clinking of glasses sounds as Mr. Tesoro’s voice booms over the speaker system.
With a microphone in one hand and a champagne flute raised high in the other, he begins his speech. Though I’d be lying if I said I was retaining any of what he’s saying through that fake grin of his, since the three empty seats to his left are nowoccupied by two unfamiliar faces that just walked in and one very familiar one.
Sarina’s dad makes a point to glance over at our table, pausing his speech. He turns to hug the first two people who walked in, and with the microphone positioned conveniently by his mouth, he hugs James. “It’s so wonderful to see you,son.”
That was intentionally said for Sarina and me to hear. And of course, James, smug as can be, looks over at us, waving our way as he sits down, gloating.
None of us return the gesture. If anything, my fist, that’s resting in my lap, is doing the same thing Sarina’s brothers’ fists are doing from what I can see. They’re all clenched. All of us wanting nothing more than to walk over and punch him. It takes a lot of nerve for him to waltz in here the way he did.
I wonder since James and Michael Tesoro are so close if what happened at Luxe was mentioned. Not that James knew my name, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it came up in passing, with at least a description of what I look like. Then again, seeing as Sarina’s dad has a thing for playing games, he could very well know that a man matching my description was introduced as her husband, and be keeping it for some sort of ammo when I meet with him after the wedding to discuss business.
My mind is reeling, but all of that quiets when Sarina rises from her chair, seating herself on my lap.
“What are you?—”
“Shh.” She presses a finger to my lips.
For a moment I wonder if she’s sitting on my lap to get back at James. Not that I would blame her, but it’s when her dad’s signature disgusted look creeps back onto his face even as he resumes his speech, I realize it’s her way of getting at him. To a man like Michael Tesoro, control and appearances are everything. His daughter —grown as she may be— acting ina way that he can’t immediately correct, with a man he has no control over her being with, infuriates him.
Seeing how Sarina held back around him has become ingrained in my mind. I hated seeing someone with a voice deserving of being heard, instead be ignored. So if this is helping her speak to up in silence then so be it. She can use me however she sees fit. And seeing how I can’t stand her dad, I’ll gladly be an accessory to her pissing him off.
I keep my gaze where it belongs —on her— and tune out the end of her father’s speech and the ridiculous applause that follows.
“Sorry, I just needed to…” Hesitation claws at her throat, and a visible swallow flows down the column of her neck, and if we weren’t sitting in a crowded room I’d lick it.
“Piss him off?” My head subtly juts over to the direction of her parents’ table.
“That’s part of it. But I don’t know, I like how-” her voice trails, reducing itself to a murmur devoid of words.
“I make you feel?” A question camouflaged as a statement. A bold assumption that I need nothing more than to hear her confirm, whether it be through words or a simple gesture, anything at this point.
“Yes,” she breathes with confidence.
Pride soars through my chest, and I try my hardest not to let it show, not wanting to scare her off. “Are you okay?” I settle for.
She grabs my hand, lifting it and pressing it against her cheek. “I am now.”
“Good.”
She goes to get up, but I holster her in place, keeping her in my lap. “Where are you going?”
“To sit back down to eat.”
I keep her in place with one hand, reaching over the table with the other and bringing her plate closer. “You can eat right here.”
A flirtatious grin forms. “Is that right?”
