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He leads us down a long hallway, to a chic entertaining room. There are a hundred people dressed up just like us, milling around with champagne and canapés. I spot McKenna in the corner, surrounded by a crowd, and my suspicions are confirmed.
This is all about the politician.
Everyone seems to have a drink in their hand, so when a waiter approaches, I order a martini.
“I’m fine,” Nero growls, but I shake my head.
“He’ll have a scotch, thank you.” I tell the waiter with a smile, and he hurries off to the bar to get our drinks.
“What was that?” Nero demands.
I sigh. “Trust me, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you’re the only man here without a strong drink in his hand. It’s a cocktail hour. Just hold the thing if you don’t want to drink it.”
He frowns at me.
“But I’d drink it,” I can’t help adding. “You need something to loosen you up.”
He doesn’t argue, and I take the win.
“What’s this gala for, anyway?” I ask as the waiter weaves his way through the crowd, headed back toward us.
“Some charity that helps the homeless.” Nero shrugs. “I made a donation and got on the guest list.”
Of course, he did. Because a guy like Nero isn’t getting in any other way. He doesn’t belong here.
But I do.
I used to be a part of this world. Used to mingle with people like this all the time, at events with my parents, and all my private school friends. Charity functions, the theater, garden parties, and summers on Cape Cod. It was the life I was raised to,
And just like that, I realize, I do have something of value to Nero. More than just my body, anyway.
I have my charm.
My smile, my small talk, my ability to walk into a room and belong. Sure, those skills are rusty as hell, I haven’t needed them in ten years, but that social butterfly is still buried deep inside me.
And maybe she’s my ticket to safety. If not for me, then my brother, at least.
So if Nero wants to cozy up to McKenna, I need to make it happen.
I take a deep breath, and look around the room again, paying more attention this time. Nero’s already drawing curious stares, so I slide my arm through his elbow and lean in closer, acting like a couple.
Nero stiffens at my touch, but I ignore him as I flash a smile at a woman I recognize. She’s a trophy wife who loves throwing parties with her banker husband’s money. Her daughter was a couple of years below me in school, and thanks to what I’m guessing is the best plastic surgery money can buy, Bitsy Janssen hasn’t aged a day since I saw her last.
“Lily Fordham, is that you?” Bitsy exclaims as she reaches me.
“Mrs Janssen, hi!” I squeal, adopting an enthusiastic voice. I air-kiss her on both cheeks. “Look at you, you look incredible.”
“All thanks to Doctor Feldman,” she coos. “Let me know if you want his number. He’s a wizard with Botox.”
There’s a disdainful snort beside us. Nero.
Bitsy’s smile fades as she moves to him. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“This is my friend, Nero Barretti.” I say quickly.
I see a flicker of recognition in her eyes as I say his name. Fuck. But there’s no way around it, and thankfully, Bitsy is too polite to mention his career as a Mob boss. “Oh. Well. Lovely to meet you,” she says faintly, offering her hand to shake.
Nero scowls at her, not offering her hand. Not even saying a word.
