“How gentlemanly.”
“I try.”
A soft cheer rises up from the other side of the bar and Bradley glances over his shoulder. “I have to make some rounds. Come with me.”
“Is that a request or an order?”
“Well.” He leans up from the bar with a deep breath. “My promise to protect you doesn’t end just because we’re with friends. But it is still a request. One with gentle insistence.”
“Because without your supervision, I’ll drink more than three of these?” I tip my empty glass toward him, which sends the cherry stem swirling in the glass.
“Precisely.” Bradley holds out his arm to me. “Shall we?”
My heart skips a beat at how gentlemanly he’s being and I lean into it, ducking my head slightly and curling my hand around his elbow. “We shall.”
We find Cassian first who stands near the DJ booth in a loose-fitting, flowing white shirt and cargo pants. He’s tall with a beautiful smile and tawny skin that appears amber under the low lights. Running his hand through his close-cropped hair, he bites his lower lip as he studies the vinyl in his hand.
“Cassian?” Bradley prompts as we walk closer. “Didn’t we agree you wouldn’t be in charge of the music?”
“Harsh,” Cassian replies, placing one hand on his chest. “You wound me.”
“Like you’d wound our ears?”
“Bad music taste?” I ask, swallowing my nerves at the prospect of a real conversation with a tall, muscular man also embroiled in this strange Mafia world.
“Taste is subjective,” Cassian replies.
“Which means yes,” says Bradley. “There’s a time and a place for wind instruments.”
“You’re so uncultured,” Cassian mutters. “This is why you have infinitely more wrinkles than I. Stress ages you like overly ripe fruit.”
“Ouch!” Bradley snorts softly. “I’m still not letting you near the music.”
“Save yourself, Zira,” Cassian says and he points at me with the vinyl. “He’ll go after your passions next and before you know it, you’ll be a couple of overripe prunes. Save yourself!”
Bradley guides me away with a laugh, and I wave goodbye to Cassian. Our next stop is the birthday boy, Ruslan, who’s decorated in a banner declaring him as such and a paper crown sitting lopsided on his head.
“Bradley!” Ruslan throws his arms around us both, pulling me into the hug as well, almost as if we’re all friends. “Are you having a good time?”
The soft mellow of his cologne mingles with the sharper scent of alcohol which, given the beer bottle clutched in his hand, proves he’s definitely enjoying himself.
“Happy birthday,” I greet as he steps back and Ruslan’s eyes widen.
“Holy shit, you look beautiful! Ivy told me she was proud, but wow.Wow. Don’t you think, Bradley?”
I glance at Bradley, and when our eyes meet, for a second, the world stops spinning and the only thing I hear is his agreement.
“Beautiful, indeed.”
My heart lurches and warmth surges to my face, but luckily, Ruslan distracts us both.
“Have you had drinks? Food? The caterer is in the back if you need anything. Apparently, there’s a chef too, so everything is taken care of.”
“We’re cared for,” Bradley replies. “Enjoy yourself, Ruslan. You deserve it.”
“You definitely have been drinking,” Ruslan laughs, and he slaps Bradley on the back. “I love you, man.”
The warmth between them, between all of them, is unmistakable. It might just be the allure of the party, but there’s something about this group that makes me feel at ease for the first time in my life.
