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I freeze. Suddenly, I wish I’d gone inside. This is the very last thing I need or want to hear.
“I mean, it’s an Italian villa. It’s bound to be crawling with them,” Cass says and her discomfort is loud and clear even from where I’m sitting.
“Exactly, ladies,” TB crows. “If you want me to teach you, all you have to do is ask. It’s not that hard. Men with money are the best boyfriends. They’re usually so busy making it they don’t have time for you. You might only have to fuck him once a month,” she says. A chorus of uncomfortable giggles ripples through the crackling air around me.
I know firsthand about women like her.
I’ve just finished freeing myself from the clutches of one.
My amusement, interest, and good mood fizzle all at once. I start to head back inside. At least I’ll know who to avoid tonight.
I’m almost to my door when my phone starts to ring.
The loud trill fills the air like a siren, and the conversation from the next balcony comes to an abrupt stop.
“Oh my God, is someone there?” I hear one of the chorus girls say right as I shut the door behind me and answer the phone.
DOLCE VITA
CONFIDENCE
“Who is that?” I lean over to Cass and whisper without taking my eyes off the tall, well-built, beautiful man who just strode into the tent like he’s about to tell us all he’s our new ruler and ask us to pledge our loyalty or die. He’s even more beautiful in that suit than he was in that hallway this afternoon. I can still feel the soft brush of his fingers on my neck. The way my breath caught in my throat when he’d dragged the pendant up my chest until it nestled into the small hollow at the base of my throat.
His dark, wavy hair is just long enough to curl right at the edge of his crisp white tuxedo shirt. It’s unruly and perfectly artless in a way that no human hand, and no amount of pomade, could create. Those silky dark-chocolate waves are the work of God himself. His profile is strong and bold; his nose prominent and straight. His lips are set in a straight line but I can see their fullness even in his profile. And God, his jaw. It’s chiseled and wide and covered in a beard low enough to be a five o’clock shadow, meticulously groomed so you can tell it’s not. His broad, tall frame is poured into a black tuxedo that fits him perfectly. He looks like he’s the sovereign of something—a country, a business, a thousand women in a harem somewhere …
Heads turn as he crosses the room. And I can’t blame them—not even a little bit. He oozes sex and power. His long strides eat up the floor, and he reaches the lone empty table at the back of the tent quickly. When he’s adorned the chair with his glorious body, he turns to face the front of the room where the bridal party is sitting and giving their speeches.
“Who’s who?” she asks and pokes her head around the room. I tug her arm and nod at him.
“Him. Also known as the man of all of my dirty dreams,” I purr excitedly, my eyes trained on the finest specimen of man I’ve ever seen this close up.
“Ohhh,” she drawls, eyes widening with interest and props her chin on her hand and ogles him.
“That’s Hayes Rivers,” the woman on my right says. Cass and I both turn to face her, surpassed by her interjection.
“Heir to Kingdom,” she says when neither of us respond.
“I knew it. He looks like a king. Which kingdom?” I ask. I’m already imagining myself in a ball gown, crown on my head walking down some long, red-carpeted aisle where he’s waiting at the end.
“No, not a kingdom.” And just like that, she kills my dream. “Kingdom is the name of his family’s business. He inherited all the money when he turned twenty-five. And now he’s the new Rivers king,” she says.
“How old is he now?” I ask, my curiosity overtaking my normal abhorrence for gossip.
“He must be thirty … he’s one of the richest men in the freaking world,” she exclaims.
“Really? Why’s he here?”
“His grandmother is friends with the groom,” our little canary says.
“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him. His return to Houston is all anyone’s talking about,” she says and looks at both of us like we’re crazy.
“I don’t live in Houston,” I say.
“Well, I heard …” Her eyes dart around as if checking for spies and then she leans into us. “Apparently, he had a fight with his ex. And it got physical,” she grimaces. But her eyes are twinkling. “I’m not one to gossip …” she says and Cass and I exchange a yeah, right look.
“But, she was all over the place wearing sunglasses. No one saw her, mind you, and she never said, but it was obvious he roughed her up,” she says.
My lawyer hat comes on and my eyes slide away from the delicious man to her. I make sure there’s no warmth in them and her silly, careless smile falters.
