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I turn on my heels and find a petite, thin-built woman with dark brown hair approaching me. She’s wearing a spaghetti-strapped shirt with blue jeans and sandals. Our outfits look like we called each other and coordinated.
“Just breaking the ice,” she laughs. Basque, an enforcer, is standing in the doorway, watching us. He doesn’t seem as amused as her. “Ignore him. He’s always moody.”
“Ah.” It’s the only coherent thing I manage to formulate out of my mouth.
“I’m Felicity and you must be the gorgeous, country bumpkin, who has my brother going crazy,” she grins.
“Gorgeous? I wish. Country bumpkin? Yes,” I laugh. “Driving your brother bonkers? Good possibility.”
“I said crazy, not bonkers,” she winks.
Is there a difference between the two?I wonder to myself.
“Well, the car is waiting out front for us,” she announces, looping her arm through mine.
“Car?”
“Apparently, we are going garden swing shopping,” she shrugs and laughs. “You really have my brother whipped.”
Hearing Nico’s sister tell me I have him whipped is mortifying. This is his sister, not a female friend. Although, I think I’d still be mortified.
“No. It’s not like that. He’s just worried someone is going to fall if they sit on the swing,” I blurt. Felicity rolls her eyes.
“Whatever you say,” she winks as though she knows something I don’t know and then proceeds to drag me out of the library and into the hallway.
“Felicity, she can walk on her own,” Basque groans.
“Hush. You overgrown sexy mother f–” Basque claps a hand over her mouth and she lets go of my arm. The other guys in the hallway quickly turn their backs to us.
“Are you trying to get me killed?” he whispers. Felicity looks up at him. Even with his large hand covering her mouth, I can still tell that she’s smiling. There’s even a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
So Basque and Felicity are a thing?I look back and forth between them. He’s extremely good looking and she’s stunningly beautiful. They make a cute couple without a doubt. I just can’t imagine Nico being okay with one of his guys dating his sister.
“Behave,” Basque sighs and drops his hand down to his sides. “This way, ladies.”
Felicity smiles and locks arms with me again. We make our way through the house, outside, and down the steps to the line of waiting black SUVs– ten to be exact. Beside each car is a minimum of two guys in black suits.
“This is insane,” I say, looking at the convoy of cars.
“The lifestyle of a Santoro,” Felicity laughs. “You should see it when my dad and Nico travel. They have more protection than the president. I’m not as important so I only get ten.”
“Why aren’t you important?” I frown. “You should be just as important.”
“Easy, killer,” she laughs and pats my arm. “I’m okay with not having as much attention. It’s a pain in the ass just having this many.”
“Ah. I can imagine.”
Always being in the public eye any time you left your house? That’d be a royal pain in the ass. There would be zero freedom. The life I thought was so boring sounds much better than the chained-down life of luxury.
“I want to take my car!” Felicity announces sweetly.
“Felicity,” Basque groans, standing a few feet behind us.
“Someone bring me my car. Now!” she shouts. This time her tone is more demanding. There isn’t a hint of playfulness in it. She means business.
“Someone grab, Miss Santoro’s… Which one car, Miss Santoro?” Basque asks professionally where those within earshot can hear.
“Red,” she replies.
