Page 16 of No Darker Temptation

A bit of the tension eases from her shoulders as she smiles. “You better promise to protect me.”

“With my life.” I reply without hesitation. A beat passes before I ask, “I’m surprised that isn’t more of a concern for you.”

She shrugs. “At this point, I feel I’ve seen it all. I know what I’m getting into.”

The innocence with which she says this tells me she has no idea what she’s getting into. And part of me wants to warn her. Tell her she should forget about me and return to her plant watering and tea drinking on the fire escape. When I was younger, I’d have killed to live a life like hers if it meant bringing my father back. For so long, I was torn between resentment and vengeance, unsure of whether I should embrace this life completely or turn away from it. As a result, I threw myself into my father’s dream: a legitimate family legacy that almost cost me a nearly sixty-year-old empire. Now I know that there is no way out. You’re born into this life and you die in it.

That isn’t the case for Dahlia. She’s choosing me at the expense of herself and the future she may one day have. How can I claim to love her if I let her? But if I stopped her, took away her right to choose, would that be any different?

“We should also discuss what’ll happen if you decide not to come back.”

The color leaves her cheeks. “Oh…right.”

“I’ll leave it up to you.”

“A little guidance would be nice,” she snaps, though there’s little heat behind it.

“I don’t want you here unless you want to be here. And I don’t want to be with you unless you want to be with me,” I reply. “Guidance enough?”

Her lips thin to a fine line. “I don’t know how we could realistically give this a try long distance. You’re so far away.”

“I also have a jet. Several actually. You can have one if you’d like.”

A huff of frustration passes her lips. “Alex, I’m being serious. My graduate program is intense and when I’m not in school, I’m working. You’ll see me a few days over spring break if you’re lucky and I find the time to fly out there.”

“And the summer?”

“Most likely I’ll be interning at a firm one of my professors has a connection at,” she says. “What about you?”

“I could manage the summer. I’d be there on and off, alternating weeks. So long as nothing else comes up I should be able to make that work.”

Her hands begin to tremble and so she begins twisting her fingers, fidgeting. “And if it doesn’t work?”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there.”

Because the truth is I don’t have an answer for her. And the one penetrating the fog of my thoughts isn’t one she’ll like.

ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID

Dahlia

November

I’d rather shoot myself than be at this bachelorette party.

Far be it from me to understand why Brent and Karina chose to have their parties together, on the same weekend, in the same place. But what most boggles my mind is how they chose to go to Atlantic City on one of the busiest weekends in America. Thanksgiving.

Karina says it’s because most of the bridal party is here anyway for the holiday and it was the last time they’d all be in the same city until the wedding. I understand the logic but not the execution. It would’ve made more sense for the girls to have their party on Friday and the guys to have theirs on Saturday—separate entities that wouldn’t require the complicated logistics of travel and hotel rooms. But no. We’re spending three days here and I’d be more peeved if Brent and his family’s money weren’t footing the bill.

I guess I should be grateful. We left early Friday morning and since Karina didn’t want me to come into Jersey by myself, she and Brent invited me over to his family’s for Thanksgiving. My aunt cooked (small blessings) and his family provided the alcohol (bigger blessings) and it wasn’t as awful as I thought it was going to be. Minus being hit on by Brent’s brother. That was kind of weird.

We’re at the Hard Rock surrounded by noisy slot machines, rock music, and drunken idiots hoping to hit the jackpot. There’s an elderly couple arguing over how many quarters were in the bucket before one of them dropped it on the floor, a handful of teens trying not to get caught using fake IDs but talking loud enough for me to hear them several yards away, and a group of sixty-somethings celebrating some sort of reunion.

Karina looks beautiful in a dark orange mini dress and go-go boots, dressed like a sixties Barbie doll with bold makeup and neon blue eyeshadow. I’m wearing a satin corset dress with a cutout below the breasts and a slit running almost from my hip down to my right knee. Mimi insisted the dress code was “slutty” and I didn’t feel like arguing, although in retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have listened.

We are by far the most glamorous, overdressed people here.

Taylor is wearing a black bodycon dress with an illusion neckline, Stacy has a rhinestone-mesh-strappy thing going on, Shea’s wearing a bustier and feather mini skirt with the straps of her thong visible, and Yulissa’s wearing a bondage dress with a faux fur shawl.