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I know him. He’s an okay guy, a few years older than my twenty-six and with good hacking skills. He’s related to the bride’s mother somehow—I think a stepbrother—as Luna’s grandfather continued having kids very late into his life.
They’re a total of twenty-four kids with only sixteen alive.
They’re also not the closest, something my sister-in-law wants to remedy by making him a part of the wedding party.
For the next two tracks, I don’t move from my spot. Can’t. Not when every single part of my DNA demands I pull her away from him and show the world she’s mine.
And almost as if she senses my reproach, Amberlyn’s smart enough to take a step back after the next song ends, and with a smile and turns to walk away. His eyes stay on her, though. I see the interest, but I’d never allow it.
Not in this lifetime. Not ever.
“Long time no see, primo.” Mirabel slides in beside me, pulling my attention away from my girl. There’s a sassy grin on my cousin’s face, a tell of her amusement. “Did she finally kick you to the curb?”
“Your shoes are hideous.” I have no clue if they are, but the woman is in the fashion industry and takes that shit seriously. And at the moment, if pissing her off gets her to shut up, so be it. The last thing I want or need is more meddling. “Dress is last season, too.”
“Asshole.” Not annoyed—there’s too much mirth in her tone.
“Everyone has one.” Bringing the glass to my lips, I knock back what’s left and wave the empty tumbler toward a waiter who nods. “Speaking of...where’s your husband?”
“No argument there, and at the bar talking shop with all the old men in attendance.”
“What is he selling now?”
“A ‘56 Chevrolet Bel Air.”
“Nice.”
“But enough about cars and husbands...” she trails off and I look over, catching an arched brow and a smirk on her lips. “When are you going to make it right?”
“You’re fishing for something that doesn’t exist.”
“Or am I calling it as I see it?”
“No clue what you’re talking about.” It’s then I sense my sirenita close. The heat of her stare is coming from my back. There’s this rush of something I can’t quite explain whenever she’s near, this electrical wave that settles on the tip of my cock and it flexes—fucking throbs against the zipper of my dress pants. My entire body, every muscle, tenses, and I exhale deeply. “Quit trying to annoy me.”
“Sure I am.” Mirabel’s eyes scan the room, searching for something, and then she flicks them back to me. She knows. As Thiago said, they all do. “Where’s red hiding now? I thought she’d be over after her spin on the floor. She asked me for information on this trip—”
“No clue. Don’t care.”
“Stop that. You love it.”
“She’s nothing more than an obligation.” My voice is loud enough that it carries, and the low gasp from behind me makes my chest ache. Please forgive me, little Sirenita. Trust me.
5
“SHE’S NOTHING more than an obligation.”
Heat flames my face, and it’s from shame.
Embarrassment.
The way my heart breaks as I watch the man I’ve loved since my youth talk about me as if I were a nuisance and not the woman he slept with a few nights ago. But then again, I’ve always been an idiot—weak—when it comes to Ivan De Leon.
I’ve given him my first kiss.
My virginity.
My heart.
