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Luna doesn’t understand. No one does. People see my crazy outfits and wide smiles and assume that I must be a super happy person without even the tiniest trouble in the world. And I always make sure to assure them of their convictions.
When my parents died, I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but everyone kept asking if I was okay. Arturo. Our aunt, who came to stay with us for a short time afterward. The neighbors. Even Asya. I wasn’t okay. How could I be all right when I woke up every morning knowing that it was my fault our mom and dad had died? If I hadn’t insisted on them taking us to the party, they wouldn’t have gone to work that night. And every time someone asked how I was doing, they reminded me of that fact. I just wanted to be left alone, but everyone kept prodding me until I couldn’t take it anymore. So I started pretending that I was okay. I joked and laughed and acted as if everything was fucking perfect. And people finally stopped asking questions.
Over the years, I somehow slid into that persona I created. I shoved aside the things that troubled me, burying them deep inside, never letting them come out. Problems. Fears. Insecurities. Everything got nicely tucked away. If I don’t think about the problems, they disappear. I liked that much better than the alternative, but since my sister left to live in Chicago with her husband, I’ve been feeling so . . . lost. Like a passenger who got left behind, standing alone on an abandoned train platform, watching the last train disappear beyond the horizon.
I don’t understand why I feel that way. My brother and sister love me, I know that. They would do anything for me. And still, I never could make myself open up to them because of an irrational fear that they would stop loving me if they realized I’m not all sunshine and rainbows.
“Hey!” Luna nudges me with her elbow. “You okay?”
I blink away my thoughts and laugh. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Oh, have I told you about the new story I’m writing?”
“The one about the mail-order bride?”
“Nope. I’m in a shifter romance phase currently. Listen . . .”
I watch the trio in the booth directly across from mine. The don’s chief of security, Nino, sits with his arm thrown over the armchair’s back, looking bored as hell. I’ve met him a few times, but we never talked long enough for me to develop a specific impression. My eyes shift, stopping at the two girls sitting on the sofa in front of Nino, snickering. One of them is wearing a black cocktail dress and has her blonde hair loose, every single strand smooth and in its place. Sophisticated. Classy. That’s probably the underboss’s sister. She definitely looks the part. I should be focusing on her, but my eyes are drawn toward the girl on the blonde’s right.
I noticed her the moment she entered the club, as did the rest of the crowd, men in particular. It’s hard to miss a woman wearing a shimmering gold jumpsuit that catches the light every time she moves. It molds to her perfect little body and ties around the neck, leaving her back and shoulders bare. It’s ridiculous and absolutely inappropriate for the strict dress code at Naos. If she wasn’t with Arturo’s sister, my men at the entrance wouldn’t have let her in.
I move my gaze from the deep V-neck on the front of the golden monstrosity to her pixie-like face. Sharp cheekbones. A tiny pert nose. Delectable month, currently widened into a smile as she says something next to her friend’s ear. I’m too far away to read her lips, so I leave my booth and cross behind the bar, passing the bartenders busy pouring drinks. There’s a particular spot in the shadows I like, just next to the big pillar that hides the electrical wires within. I lean my shoulder on the wall and focus on the sparkling girl’s lips.
“They are fated mates, but he rejects her for another woman. She decides to run away from the pack. However, she can’t shift into her wolf form, so . . .”
I raise an eyebrow. Pack? Shift into a wolf? Even with dimmed lighting in the club, the booth is amply illuminated by the lamp next to the sofa, so I’m pretty sure I’ve read her lips accurately. The sparkling girl reaches to sweep away a strand of dark-brown hair that’s fallen onto her face and tucks it behind her ear. The mass of her locks is weaved into two messy French braids, starting at the crown and running down the sides of her head. Each braid is decorated with what looks like a series of small gold rings. With all the women around in gowns or cocktail dresses, their hair in perfect classy styles, she looks completely out of place. Maybe that’s the reason why I can’t stop looking at her.
A hand taps me on the shoulder. I turn around to find Filip standing behind me, looking in the same direction I was. “So? What do you think? Not exactly your type.”
I throw a quick glance at the girl in the black dress. “Why? I like blondes.”
Filip furrows his brows, a grimace taking over his face. “Not the blonde one, Drago. The chick in a gold onesie thing is Arturo DeVille’s sister.”
Slowly, I turn around and stare at the sparkling girl. She’s still talking, waving her hands in excitement, multiple gold bracelets dangling on her wrists. I focus on her lips.
“He’s dying because of a wound in his chest. The one he got when he fought her mate in his wolf form.”
I look at my second-in-command. “Are you sure?”
“Yup. Do you want me to call Ajello and say you won’t do it?”
“Not yet.”
I turn back toward Sienna DeVille, take another sip of my whiskey, and wait to see what happens with the wolf man.
“And she rushes into the room and sees him covered in blood. Bam! Cliffhanger. What do you think?”
The blonde girl tilts her head, so I’m unable to catch her reply. She laughs, then nods her head toward the crowd, saying something else.
“I don’t think so,”Arturo’s sister replies.“I only saw a few pictures of him, but the shots were taken from behind. I hope he’s hot. But even if he’s not, that’s okay. Based on what I see here, he’s loaded. I can’t wait to start spending his money. So exciting!”
She giggles, reaching for her drink. I shake my head and turn around, intending to find Filip and have him call Ajello. If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a gold digger. And I’m not saddling myself with one, business be damned. I throw a final look at the booth. The blonde girl is leaning to the side, searching for something in her purse. Nino is still fumbling with his phone. But the thing that catches and holds my attention is the expression on Sienna DeVille’s face. Instead of the mischievous smile of only a few seconds earlier, her face is completely blank. The drink she’s holding seems to be forgotten as she vacantly stares somewhere in front of her.
When one of your senses gets compromised, the body adapts, heightening the ones you have left. I’ve had two decades to adapt and hone various ways of perceiving things. Body language. Facial expressions. The look in a person’s eyes. All those things say so much more than the words people actually speak. I lift my glass to my lips, watching the girl. The outfit she is wearing might be glittering like a damn Christmas tree, but there isn’t even a hint of a spark in her eyes. Nope, Sienna DeVille is not thrilled with the idea of marriage any more than I am. No matter what she says.
The blonde girl pulls out the phone from her purse and turns back to Arturo’s sister. A beaming smile overtakes Sienna’s face as she wraps her arm around her friend, posing for a photo, laughing. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a person changing both their facial expression and their body language so fast. She seems to be genuinely enjoying herself now, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t decide which of those expressions was the true one.
“So? Is he here?”
Nino ignores me, too focused on his phone.
