Page 89 of Diary of a Biker Queen

The guard jerked his head up from the list of names written on the clipboard in his hand. “Not on the list. Can’t let you in.”

Well, this was going to be a short-lived adventure.

But Luca wasn’t that easily swayed. “Check again.”

The guard sighed. “You aren’t on the list.”

There was a ripple of whispers from the people in line behind us, and even the people inside the room were starting to turn in our direction.

Lynx cleared his throat and tightened his grip on me. “Luca. Let’s go. Remember our conversation in the car? About a dessert table massacre? I’d prefer if we didn’t force that into existence.”

Luca ground his molars, still facing off with the guard.

“Let them in,” a voice boomed above the low, classy jazz music playing through the speakers discreetly hidden around the room. “Don’t you recognize my son when you see him? He doesn’t need to be on the list. He’s a Guerra.”

“Oh boy,” I whispered as every head in the room swiveled in our direction. “Nothing like sneaking in unannounced.”

Lynx’s grip on my arm was almost painful. “I don’t like this.”

Neither did I, but we were here now, and there was no turning back. We were swimming with the sharks, and the biggest one of all was pushing his way through the crowd and walking toward us.

The security guards stepped aside to let us through, and Carlos was waiting there behind them, Enzo at his shoulder.

I shuddered as Enzo’s gaze rolled over me in a slow, leering fashion that made me wish I’d worn a coat.

Carlos stepped up to Luca and embraced him.

Luca didn’t return it. He stood with his arms stiffly at his sides, every ounce of his discomfort in being around his father evident in his frozen posture.

Carlos was all show though. He pulled back and held Luca’s shoulders at arm’s length. “It’s good to see you, son.”

“Is it?” Luca asked.

Before he could get another word out though, my mother pushed between them to throw herself at me. “Nyah! You came. I’m so glad.”

The hug she gave me was as fake as the one Luca’s father had given him. I was equally unresponsive.

My father joined our little group and offered his hand to Carlos. “It’s good to see you, Guerra.”

Carlos’s eyes darkened. “Matish. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. After…everything. I didn’t think you were invited.”

A blush crept up my father’s neck. “The invitation was in my mailbox.”

“They must have been sent some time ago.”

The unspoken “before you tried betraying me by selling both me and MacGregor the same daughter” hung in the air between them.

I couldn’t even blame Carlos for the way he looked at my father, like he was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. My father was trash, only ever interested in what would get him up the next rung on the social ladder, what would bring him more power, what would make him more money.

I was sure when I looked at him my expression was about as welcoming.

As if things couldn’t get any more awkward, MacGregor strolled over like he owned the room, making a beeline right for me.

Carlos shot a death glare at Enzo and muttered something about not updating the guest list.

Completely ignoring the men, MacGregor took my hands and leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Nyah Matish,” he murmured in my ear. “Aren’t ye a sight for sore eyes. Are ye wearing my underwear?”

I was sure he meant the silky red number he’d forced on me in the airport, and not a pair of his boxer shorts or tighty-whities.