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CLARA
Embarrassment. Humiliation. Degradation. That was how the first man I’d ever kissed made me feel.
I HATED him.
Fleeing from the terrace, I ran down the corridor, as far away from Tatum as I could get. Spotting a sign for the bathroom, I threw the door open and slammed it so hard it shuddered in its frame, giving me a twisted sense of grim satisfaction. If I could only tear it down. Tear down the whole building. This whole city.
Gritting my teeth, I slammed my palms on one of the white porcelain sinks. As I dropped my head, hot tears escaped from my clenched eyes. My fingers curled around the sink, and I let out a rage-filled screech.
I glanced into the mirror and gave out a startled cry. Someone was in there with me. A woman I recognized from the party stepped out of one of the bathroom stalls. Her frightened hazel eyes met mine in the mirror and widened. I winced in pain. I’d probably terrified her. My gaze shifted away from her back to me, and my face crumbled again. Red blotches made my face look like a target-practice board. My eyes were bloodshot, with big black circles where my mascara had smudged, tracks of black makeup running down my cheeks.
God, I hated that man. I hated him for reducing me to this crying, hot mess of a woman. Crying over a bad kiss was so below me.
My shoulders slumped inward. And yet, here I was.
The woman—girl—really, because she wasn’t much younger than I was, her modest satin pink dress advertising her as an unmarried debutante—rushed over to me.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her hands coasting over my shoulder and arms, checking for injuries.
After assessing that I was unharmed—girl, the injuries are all internal—she wrapped her arms around me from the side and gave me a surprisingly tight hug. My eyebrows rose high on my forehead from shock. I was not used to having such an instantaneous, determined stranger come to my aid.
“He’s not worth it,” she said forcefully. “Whoever he is, he’s not worth it.”
I huffed out a half-laughing, half-choking sound. “What makes you think it’s a man?”
“Oh, please. Unless someone’s died, only a man can reduce a woman to your state.”
I pushed out my bottom lip. “Thanks a lot.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. Even the strongest of women can be brought down and reduced to shit. I should know.” Her eyes cast down. “I’ve seen it happen over and over again.”
I frowned down at her as she busied herself by rummaging through her purse and pulling out a surprising array of makeup accessories. That was an odd statement to make. She was too young to have experienced love, much less heartbreak, so she must be speaking of someone close to her. Maybe her mother?
“I’m Gabriela, by the way,” she politely introduced herself, pulling a sheet from a small package of makeup remover wipes.
“I’m Clara,” I replied.
She had to lift onto her toes to reach my cheeks with the wipe because she was a petite, doll-like creature.
Dabbing and wiping away the ugly black streaks on my skin, she said casually, “I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are.”
My brows puckered together. “You do?”
“Of course. The mafie scene in New York is filled with the most notorious gossips this side of the Atlantic. And how could we not be curious about a woman who comes to represent her clan all the way from California?” she asked matter-of-factly as she tossed the dirty wipe in the trashcan beneath the sink and grabbed another.
“Who upset you?” she demanded. “I’ll tell my sister, and if it’s a girl, she’ll take care of the little bitch for you. She’s the baddest of the bitches, my oldest sister is.” I almost smiled as she puffed her chest with pride, sweeping long, thick ropes of dark hair over her shoulder.
I snorted. “If it was a girl, I could take care of her myself. No, your instinct was right. It’s a man. The worst bastard I’ve ever met and consilier of this awful clan, of all things. Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come out as an insult, but you’d think he’d know how to behave, the fucker,” I finished vindictively.
“Tatum?” She pulled back, her hazel eyes turning round with disbelief. “I’m shocked. Never heard a whisper of anything bad about him. He’s always a perfect gentleman. With his height and blond hair, he’s, like, every girl’s dream. Everyone has a crush on him. Not me,” she hurried to add. “But he’s very popular. And no one’s ever seen him run around with women, Romanian or otherwise. He’s considered a prince.”
“He’s so not a prince,” I fumed. “He’s as far from a prince I’ve ever met. Ever seen.” I ground down on my back teeth and clenched my fists. “He’s a pig. A heartless prick who takes a kiss and then slings insults.”
“Okay, okay. Shush. There’s no need to work yourself up again. Tonight was way out of character for him. He probably drank too much, with Luca getting married. You see, Tatum is Luca’s close friend. He’s younger than him and already married. Everyone wonders why Tatum doesn’t have a wife yet. Any girl would marry him in an instant. Not me, but any other girl. You’ll see. By tomorrow, he’ll wake up with the worst hangover, apologize, and leave you alone.”
“Oh, he made it more than clear that he wanted nothing to do with me, acting as if he’s too good for the likes of me. I’m the Hagi se—,” I swallowed down the rest of the word before I got myself in trouble. “I-I’m stuck with him. He’s my keeper, and there’s no way I can explain what happened. I can’t exactly say, ‘Oh, Tatum kissed me, and I don’t want to be around him any longer.’”
“No, no. Of course not,” she confirmed in a horrified tone.
