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My gaze narrows.
I want this woman to be ugly suddenly. I want her to be so repulsive that even her perfect body isn’t enough to tempt me. I live my life by denial, these days, because it’s all I fucking deserve.
As if willed by my anti-longing, she glances up as soon as she hits the bottom step, but she doesn’t see me. She’s too busy biting back a smile of relief for navigating such treacherous terrain in spiky, four inch-heels.
One look at her face, though.
That’s all it takes.
One look and my stomach is hitting Sanders’s white marble floor down by my black Oxfords.
Fuck. No.Anyone but her.
I left a girl behind in Colombia, but somehow that girl grew into a young woman while I was busy running, forgetting, and sinning.
She rounds the stairs, as graceful as an angel, and heads away from the party—gifting me the sheer heart-attack of a back view.
The dress is a scam. It’s gone from ‘demure’ to ‘revealing’ in the flick of her heels, leaving me with a canvas of fine white porcelain, right down to the dimple at the base of her spine.
I haven’t sketched in years, but I find myself itching for a pencil…a paint brush…anything.Her figure is perfection. None of the priceless artwork hanging in this house come anywhere close to her.
You took the curse, and you mocked it, Mi Cielo.You were always so much stronger than anyone gave you credit for.
“Drink this.” Sanders’s eldest son, Sam, appears next to me and slams a metal hip flask into my abdomen. “It’s way stronger than anything my father will serve you tonight.”
“Not interested.” I push it away. Truth is, I just lost my thirst, my appetite, and everything in between.
Sam cocks his head in amusement, knowing exactly what, or ratherwhom, is the source of my distraction. I can’t take my eyes off her, and I never usually notice women unless they’re buying or selling my product. “Isn’t this the unwritten Eleventh Commandment?” he drawls. “Thou shalt not covet the boss’s daughter?”
I flick him a vicious look. “She’s a child.”
“Who’s only a day away from being legal in every state in this glorious country.”
“Would you like your teeth smashed in first, or a bullet in both kneecaps?” I say idly. “Neither would be a great look for you, college boy.”
His handsome face cracks into a grin. He knows I’ll make good on my threat, but he’ll have a little fun before the pain starts.Crazy fucker.He’s already counting down the days when he can ditch class for cartel life. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Years.”
I seek her out again.
Hating myself when my eyeline dips southagain.
“A lot can grow in that time.”
Isolation, self-loathing…
“Besides, you and your deep-freeze heart cut her dead ages ago.”
“I moved away.”
“They don’t have postal services or phones in Monaco or Colombia?” He snorts in disbelief. “What did she do to you anyway? Steal your sketchpad? Wound your fragile teenage ego? If anyone dares mention her, you shoot them down—quite literally in some cases, or so I’ve heard. You’re only at her birthday party because Santiago demanded it. Admit it, Edier, you couldn’t have shown less interest in Ella these past six years than if her last name was Carrera.”
“Don’t mention those Mexican bastards to me. She’s sick. How the hell is she…?”
Walking around looking like that.
“Because she chooses to fight it, every single day of her life.” The respect in his voice catches me by surprise. Sam has more arrogance than common sense, so he’s notoriously short on the stuff. “You’d know it too if you’d ever bothered to ask.”
