Page 50 of No Greater Oblivion

13

BEST MAN WINS

Dahlia

The Present

There’s a party tonight at The Empress, and I refuse to sit at home alone sulking. I’m assuming Rian’s in a meeting with Damiano and Li because I haven’t seen any of them since I got here. When it comes to Rian’s business affairs, I know better than to pry.

Lesson. Learned.

I spend an hour at the bar drinking my sorrows away and wondering where I went wrong with my life. Alejandro’s words run on a loop inside my head and no matter how much it hurts to relive all the cruel things he said to me, I can’t help but wonder if there’s any truth to it. Was I sabotaging my relationships with Diego and Lettie on purpose or was it a side effect of my heartbreak? Things between Lettie and I fizzled out slowly and painfully. Phone calls became strained, text messages became short and vague, stretched over periods of time that became longer and longer. At least Diego and I still speak but not about anything of importance. Our conversations usually have to do with my finances.

Diego and Lettie were the closest I ever got to having a real family. My parents didn’t have more children after me and while I may have been raised surrounded by cousins and extended family, it isn’t the same. In Barcelona, it felt like I was part of something. Like I belonged to their family unit instead of being an afterthought. A random cousin who got taken in because they didn’t have anyone else.

I pull out my phone and start drafting a text. My fingers hesitate over the send icon but I hit it before I lose my nerve.

Me: Your brother is driving me crazy. Just like old times.

I almost don’t expect her to respond right away. It’s not even seven in the morning yet in Spain but I’m surprised by the message I receive less than a minute later.

Lettie: Unfortunately for you, I’m in Dubai right now. Which means he’s your problem for the foreseeable future.

Me: Dubai?!?

Lettie: for a friend’s birthday

The conversation fizzles out on its own. What else is there to say? Lettie didn’t elaborate any further, and coming up with more questions to ask her is like pulling teeth. Is Alejandro right? Is the damage I’ve done irreparable?

Suddenly, I’ve lost interest in this party and the plans I had for the evening. I shove my phone in my purse and look around for either Damiano or Rian, hoping that whatever meeting they had has finally come to an end. As if in answer to my prayers, I spot Rian upstairs.

He emerges from one of the halls of The Empress’s second floors, expression grim. With both hands shoved into his pockets, he stops at the railing, jaw clenched, and making no effort to come to me once we lock gazes.

A moment later, two more figures appear from the shadowy halls. Strobe lights dance across the mezzanine and bring them out of the darkness, illuminating the cutting structure of Li’s high cheekbones and the halo of blond hair atop Damiano’s head. They’re deep in conversation and I’m about to leave my seat at the bar to join them when the last of their group files out onto the mezzanine.

Sasha Antonov.

He towers over the rest, not in height, but in stature, the broad width of his strong shoulders accentuated by the heavy black coat clinging to his figure. He’s a shock of ink black hair and ivory white skin, eyes an everchanging shade of volcanic gray. Standing beside him and equally as imposing, a rare feat next to a man as big as Sasha, is Alejandro.

Head bowed, he listens intently to what Sasha is saying, expression indecipherable. Thick, sizzling tension absorbs the air in the room and I watch with emergent apprehension as Alejandro gives a single, firm nod of the head. Both men shake hands and Rian casts a glance over his shoulder at the conversation taking place between his estranged half brother and Alejandro. Dread drops like a fifty-pound weight in the pit of my stomach and when Damiano eventually catches my gaze he gives a quick shake of the head.

I’m not sure what it means but I don’t have to wait long. Alejandro takes his leave of the rest of the men—shaking hands with Li curtly but affording Damiano a shocking amount of courtesy and familiarity—and when he’s met with Rian, nothing transpires. They merely exchange glances in acknowledgement of the other’s presence and he descends the stairs. Halfway down, he catches sight of me at the bar and almost misses the next step.

I can’t stop looking at him.

I hate it.

Alejandro is an objectively attractive man. Gorgeous, even. But the initial spark of appearance driven lust was short-lived. At least on my part. During those first few weeks of our courtship before the night in Vallvidrera, I’d been enamored by him. He smiled often enough, was polite and amiable, always a generous host with the patrons of El Aliciente. But those real smiles, his expressions of joy or amusement, were always slightly off balance. His lips are full and beautifully shaped and when he’d laugh, one corner would always kick up higher than the other. The expression would spread to his eyes where the delicate skin there would crinkle just slightly, hinting at what will one day, many decades from now, be deep laugh lines.

What I loved most were his eyes. They’re so expressive, even without trying, that elusive shade of hazel evading true definition, never lasting as one particular shade long enough for one to memorize it. His thick, dark wavy hair, his golden skin, the sound of his voice whenever he said my name.

A pang of longing and loss runs through me, forcing me to look away.

I miss the way he used to say my name. My God, my heart used to sing whenever he called for me. Now when he says my name there’s weight in his voice. As if three syllables and six letters are such a burden for him to say that the sound is heavy when it leaves his lips. I remember when my name used to be his favorite word. He’d say it whenever, wherever, with such freeness one would wonder if it was really my name he was saying and not his own.

I miss the way he used to love me. The truth of this realization hits me with such intense vulnerability and rawness that when someone settles into the seat beside me, I don’t bother to turn my head and look.

“Dahlia.”