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An elderly woman appears, looking at my friend with motherly care. She must be Tamara, the housekeeper. But the tattoo on Aurora’s finger, combined with the meaning of the ring, ignites a rage that blinds me.
“How could you have let that happen?”
Tamara takes a step back, hurt clear in her eyes, but I am on a rampage. “She’s a girl whose freedom was taken from her, and here you look the other way. You are a shame to all women.”
“Chiara, enough.” Regret brims in my best friend’s eyes.
Tamara walks away, but not before I see the tears, and my heart squeezes.
“What? It’s true.”
“Stay here.” Aurora sighs and takes off after her.
Meanwhile, I shoot daggers at Cato who’s on his phone, gesticulating animatedly.
With renewed anger, I storm in his direction.
“What good is being powerful men if the only way to keep her safe is by marrying her off?”
Kieran rounds the corner, sending me an icy stare, that almost knocks me over. Everything about him screams danger, from his hard edges to his cold, blue greenish eyes. I imagine him as a cliff—stiff, stony, stoic, and Aurora is the sea—the only thing capable of sweeping him away.
“I’m glad my sister has someone who loves her this much, but your reckless, rebellious attitude won’t help anyone,” Cameron says with pinched brows.
I cross my arms over my chest. I’m not intimidated by Cameron, nor the darker hue taking over his hazel eyes. That authority will sure help him get elected, but it doesn’t work on me.
Cato wraps his fingers around my wrist, searing the skin with his touch. “You have to be my punishment, I swear. Come on, we’re leaving.”
I stutter on a breath. “I’m not leaving.”
I eye all three of them ready to bring them all down and take my friend away from here.
When Aurora returns, she finds us in a glaring competition.
“What’s going on here?”
“I told them I am not going anywhere.”
She looks straight at Kieran. “Why can’t she stay here? I married you. The least you could do is try to protect my best friend.”
“From who?” Cato asks.
I shake my head at her in a subtle message not to reveal anything, and she says, “From you.” It ends on a higher pitch because she’s the worst liar alive.
Cato raises his eyebrows at her, while Kieran says, “If you tell the truth, I’ll promise she won’t get hurt.” He knows her so well in so little time, but I can’t ponder on that right now.
“Aurora, don’t,” I plead with her.
She sighs. “From her father.”
“Aurora . . .” The fight leaves me, and I slump against the wall.
“What? Do you think I can sleep at night knowing God knows how he will punish you this time?”
A shiver rocks her body and Cato’s jaw tics.
“I’ll talk to him. Again.” His intense silver eyes on me do funny things to my insides—a concoction of exhilaration and trepidation that makes me feel drunk.
With that, he plucks the phone from his pants pocket and takes a few steps away, his body corded with tense muscles. Aurora and I grab flutes of champagne, glaring at the guys as we pass them. We end up on opposite sides of the garden, while we sip from the glasses, giggling.
