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Juliet
There aren’t very many venues worthy of a fundraising reception in King’s Trace; most of the town is residential zoning and forestry, with a barely-breathing downtown peppered with various local businesses and decrepit cobblestone streets lined by pine trees. The most elite members of our city live on a strip of land overlooking Lake Koselomal, or in the falsely cookie-cutter Locust Grove neighborhood my family used to live in. Now, we live on the strip, and it makes sense that a man as rich as God would own one of the only elegant buildings in town.
The only place we ever seem to hold any kind of event, as if Elia has a monopoly on gatherings.
Caroline turns in her husband’s arms for the millionth time tonight, staring at me over his bicep. Her blue eyes glitter, tickled at my venture into the real public for the first time in weeks. She doesn’t know about my nighttime adventures, though. And although I should be excited about getting out of the house after moping for months, I can’t seem to muster anything other than absolute dread.
Maybe it’s because I still haven’t found my locket, despite spending the majority of my time scouring the cemetery for it.
Because her own life is so hectic these days, being a wife, mother, and business owner, Caroline has yet to notice my naked neck. And while I’m relieved, because she’s an insane person who would only worry, it also reinforces the invisibility I’ve come to wear as a second skin.
Right now, I’d give anything to be wholly transparent. For people to look through me as usual. But all eyes seem glued to us tonight; my sister, pregnant with her second child, glowing against the colonial backdrop of the arts center, and her entirely-too-sexy husband, a known criminal and altogether terrifying man.
They’ve been the talk of the town since their elopement, and while Caroline in a previous life seemed to always disdain the attention she received when our father dragged her to events, she eats it up now, comfortable in the spotlight in a way I’ve never been.
Caroline’s hand clasps around mine, pulling me into her side. I sink into her warmth, trying to extract some of the happiness from her, wondering if a sliver would be enough to light up any part of me. “You doing okay?”
I shrug. “Peachy.”
“You’re quiet tonight. I’m a little worried we brought you out too fast.”
“Jesus, I’m not a feral animal. I don’t need to be eased back into the outside world. And while I definitely would’ve preferred to stay behind with Phoebe and Poppy tonight, I’m stillfinehere. Stop worrying so much.”
“That’s kind of my job, Jules.”
“No, it really isn’t. You’re not my mother, despite whatever the crazy hormones surging through you are saying.” I blink, frowning. “I’m an adult. I don’t need you constantly looking out for me.”
“I’m just afraid you’re repressing—”
“So what if I am?” I put my free hand on my hip, raising my eyebrows. “As the former Queen of Repression, you should be used to dealing with it.”
Offering me a sad little smile, she squeezes my hand and releases it, dropping the subject. This is how most of our conversations go nowadays, obliterating all the closeness we’ve garnered as she worries more and more about my mental well-being, and I can’t help but push her away.
As soon as she lets go of me, Elia’s arm circles her waist again, pulling her into his body as if he can’t stand to not touch her. Even for a second.
Jealousy prickles in my belly, a low boil threatening to overheat, as I move my gaze from her in his arms to dart around the room, meeting eyes more jaded than my own. A masked man stares at me from his table near the stage, recognition flickering in his bright irises, and it unnerves me. My spine straightens of its own accord, my chin tilting in defiance, and I sever our connection before it can go any deeper.
Benito, one of Elia’s bodyguards, gives me a short nod as I plop into the seat beside him, glaring out at my sister and her husband as they entwine mid-conversation. I don’t begrudge Caroline her happiness—after spending her whole life as our father’s dirty little puppet, she’s certainly earned it—but it’s hard to look at them together.
Elia’s love for her bleeds out of him like ink on a white piece of paper, staining everything in its path. He stares down at her like she’s the entire fucking universe, and everyone else in the room is merely dust.
No one looks atmelike I bring the sun up every morning; they just look through me, seeing my body but nothing else. Like I’m completely hollow inside. Useless and stupid, like my father always said.
From the corner of my eye, I see Elia kiss the crown of Caroline’s hair—golden waves, just like mine—and fold her into his body, as if he’s trying to shield her from the crowd. My stomach churns, violent and angry; I reach for my wineglass, sucking down the liquid like a porn star swallowing a big fat load.
I scowl across the room, slamming the glass back on the table, and land on that same pair of mesmerizing emerald eyes. They’re bright against the gold skin of his mask, a contrast I’m not prepared for.
Gazing into them is like being hit by a bolt of lightning; I’m paralyzed as he stares back, unblinking, a slight tilt to his head as he tries to figure me out.
A slow smirk curls over the corners of his luscious mouth and a pulse kicks up between my thighs as I imagine it dragging along my skin, goose bumps popping up in his wake. Dark brown hair curves up over his head, long enough to drag my fingers through and yank while he buries his head between my thighs, and his sharp, stubbly jawline makes me wet.
I’m a sucker for symmetry. Art. And this man is nothing short of the work of Michelangelo. A masterpiece in a black suit and white bow tie.
He tears his gaze away, leaving me hot and needy. I rub my thighs together beneath my tight dress, wishing I could provide better relief.
Elia plops into the seat across from me, a broad smile plastered on his perfect face. Honestly, having these two men in the same room should be a fire hazard. Carding a powerful hand through his inky locks, my brother-in-law raises his eyebrows at me. “Tired of mingling already?”
“I was tired of it before I got here.”
