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"A Mafia princess you saved from an arranged marriage?"
I pause then ask, "That’s not a guess, is it?"
"You know better than to ask me that."
Of course. Nothing could stay hidden from a hardened ex-military guy who retired after he was awarded the Victoria Cross—the equivalent of the Purple Heart in the US.
"Well then, you’ll also know that I have the contacts in LA to give her singing career a head start."
"Hmm," he frowns.
"There you go again—" I glare at him. "Out with it, mofo. I hate your measured glances and considered pauses."
"I didn’t say anything."
"I wish you would and get it off your chest, so I can get on with my life."
"You sure you want to hear this?" His eyebrows draw down.
"Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t, asshole!"
"You sure you’ll be able to withstand all the attention coming her way when they discover her talent?"
I lower my chin. "So, you’ve heard her sing, I take it."
"I wouldn’t be co-owner of the leading security agency in LA if I couldn’t find out all the details of the principal I’ve been charged to look after."
I glance away then at him. "If you want the truth, it’s going to be bloody difficult to share her with anyone else, in any form, but if I’d known what was good for me, I wouldn’t have inserted myself back into her life the way I did, either."
13
Solene
I run my hands down my dress. Why are my palms damp? And why does my stomach feel like I swallowed a massive rock? I don’t need to be nervous. If there’s one thing in the world I can do, it’s sing. So why does it feel like I’m going to be sick? My stomach heaves. Bile laces my throat. I race to the bathroom, drop to my knees and bend over the toilet bowl. The scant contents of the dinner I ate last night spurts out. Gross! I reach up, flush away the remains, then grab some of the toilet paper, wipe off the seat and flush that away as well. By the time I collapse against the wall of the bathroom, I’m trembling.
Last night, after I made a fool of myself by trying to seduce Declan and failing—oh, except for being caught by that paparazzo on camera, the photos of which I haven’t yet seen on social media, thanks to not having a phone—I marched to my room and shut myself up there. I refused to come out for dinner, and when I finally peeked out my door, I found a tray of food left outside for me by of the staff. I haven’t seen them around, but I'm sure he has an army of helpers all trained to do their work and keep out of sight.
I ate the sandwich, drank the milk, then, surprisingly, fell asleep. I woke up to banging on the door and Declan telling me to get ready for an audition; and with a leading talent manager, no less.
Sweat beads my brow. I lock my fingers together and bring my knees up closer to my body.Maybe I shouldn’t do this. Maybe I was a fool to think I could go after my dream. What was I thinking? Everything I’ve lived so far has taught me to keep my head down, to not draw attention to myself. And while I’d tried to keep that flame of rebellion burning inside of me, my mother's and brother’s indoctrination must have snuck in under my skin anyway. Right now, I feel like the biggest fraud in the world. Trying out to be a singer? Leaving home to come with a man I barely know to the talent capital of the world in my attempt to pursue my childhood ambition? I must have been smokin’ something.Only I hadn’t. I was flying high on reconnecting with the man of my dreams, on knowing I didn’t have to marry a man I knew my sister was in love with. I felt like I could throw off the shackles of my past and forge forward… Into nervousness and anxiety and imposter syndrome. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean my head back against the wall.Oh, my god. Maybe I should have refused to go. Why did I think I could accomplish this? I can’t. I can’t. I—
There’s a knock on the bathroom door. "Solene, it’s getting late," Declan calls out.
I bury my head in my hands. No, no, I’m not ready. I’m not.
"Solene?" He bangs on the door with a little more force. "We have to leave in the next five minutes to get there on time."
I bite the inside of my cheek.
There’s silence, then, "Solene, are you okay?"
No, I’m not. Not that it’s any of your problem. It’s your fault I’m in this position. If you hadn’t extended the invitation for me to come to LA, none of this would have happened. It’s your fault, asshat. At least, my knowledge of words didn’t suffer as a result of my strict upbringing within the Mafia. Turns out, Mafia women have potty mouths and colorful vocabularies they aren’t above using when they're cooking and away from the menfolk. And I'm a good listener. And an even faster learner. Except when it came to realizing that I am absolute shit at singing in front of others.A bit late to realize that, isn’t it? After you’ve upended your entire life to pursue it?
"Solene, open up." Declan bangs on the door again. "Solene. Open. The. Door. Now." He lowers his voice to a hush and the force of his personality shudders through the space. There’s something strident, something so demanding in his tone that I automatically rise to my feet. I walk to the door, unlock it, and he pushes it open. His big frame fills the doorway. His shoulders are bunched, his jaw set so hard, he’s probably already cracked a molar. His nostrils are flared, and his hair is tousled like he’s run his fingers through it. He glares at me; I tip up my chin.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" he growls.
I firm my lips. "The fuck is wrong you?" I yell, then slam my hands into his chest.Stronzo’s bigger and stronger than I remember, and I haven’t grown a centimeter since I reached my five-foot-four-inch height at fourteen, but I must take him by surprise, for he stumbles back a little. I brush past him and am almost free when he grabs my arm and swings me around to face him. I lower my head, so my hair falls over my features. Not that it makes a difference. He pinches my chin and applies enough pressure that I have to tilt up my face. I glance away to avoid meeting his eyes.
