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CLARA
My father gave me a day to stew in my self-pity and then forced me out of my bed to listen to the details of his newest plan, which included Grigore of all people. If I hadn’t been so depressed, I would’ve immediately told him I’d have nothing to do with it. Even thinking of it made me nauseous. There was only so much I could handle at one time, and unless I wanted to have a total meltdown, I had to compartmentalize. In this case, it meant stuffing his words to the back of my mind and going about my business of the day.
And the business of the day was making the rounds to visit clan members or risk insulting them, which of course, included Grigore.
After procrastinating the day away, I finally pushed myself to drive to Malibu. Parking in front of hiswhite, angular modern house by the beach, I stepped out of the car to find him waiting to greet me personally with a kiss on each cheek. His hand lingered on my forearm. Yuck. I barely stopped myself from shaking it off. His touch made my skin crawl, triggering reminders of my father’s latest scheme.
Grigore wasn’t awful, I chastised myself. This was my father’s idea, even if Grigore profited most from it. Mostly, it felt plain wrong for any other man to touch me. But Tatum was gone. And Grigore wasn’t a man to insult. There was no point in offending him when I was in a weakened state with secrets to hide.
I took a seat on a minimalist turquoise couch. There were two more sofas, both striped white and beige, and the three sofas framed a fireplace made of blue granite. I stared down at the fabric of the one I was sitting on. It was supposed to give a pop of color to the place, but good God, what an ugly color. The only Romanian elements in his house were the intricate, lavishly colored rugs on the light gray hardwood flooring.
I could see waves rolling in on a perfect, sunny California day through the open doors. I took a calming breath. I’d always have the glorious sun, practically every day of every year. I may have warmed up to New York, but California would always be my home. After years of living here, it still felt like a miracle to me.
Georgina, his maid, a dark-haired beauty who I was sure was his mistress, came to me with a small crystal glass of vi?inata, a sour cherry brandy I knew she made herself. I’d been to his place enough times for her to know my preference.
Grigore sat back against one of the sofas. He was a handsome man, older than I was but younger than Tatum. Completely different in almost every way. Not nearly as tall. Fit, but rangier than Tatum with his bulky muscles. Tatum was so tall and big. He’d made me feel safe and cared for. I gave a little sigh; reminiscing about his splendid body so did not help my state of mind. Perhaps there was some irony in the fact that I found solace in a big guy who ordered me around, but that was how it was. I felt like I could let go, shed every mask I wore, and just be me. He loved me exactly as I was, not as a Hagi princess soon-to-be sef.
He preferred me best sans makeup, wearing a pair of sweats, my hair in a top knot. Most Romanian men liked their women dolled up. Even as a boss lady, I was supposed to utilize my sexuality to manipulate men. I’d certainly done it with Grigore, used it in a dance to entice him while keeping him at a sufficient distance.
With Tatum, it was the opposite.
He liked me best, lounging on his bed, in the privacy of his own space, where I could relax and be my authentic self.
No guises. No façades. No dances. Only playing.
Those days were over with. I was expected to buck up, return to duty, and get on with it, even if my heart was cracked and spewing anger and grief.
“So …,” began Grigore, taking a sip from the glass of ?uica Georgina deposited on the small table beside him. “How was New York?”
“Average,” I said, feigning disinterest. “You’ve seen it, having visited Simu. It’s dirty. Cold. Crowded.”
“Hmm,” he answered cryptically.
“Don’t see yourself living there, then?”
I sat up straight, on the alert. “Of course not. What kind of question is that, Grigore?”
“Just making conversation,” he lied.
“Let me assure you, I have no intention of living anywhere but my father’s house until the day I die. Clear enough for you?”
“Quite clear,” he said with a wide, cold smile. Too many teeth. He was showing far too many teeth. I pulled in a deep breath, my tummy clenching in an unfamiliar tug of fear. He seemed more predator than human. Why had it taken me so long to see his snake-charmer smile? Cold. Fake.
“Good,” I replied pertly, taking a small sip from my drink.
He set his own drink down and sat beside me on my sofa, taking my hand in his. I stiffened my body to prevent myself from instinctually flinching away from him. The surface where his fingers touched mine prickled in disgust.
“I’m glad to have you back, Clara. It’s been so boring without you. There’s no one I can talk to like you. I’ve been on my own at weddings, celebrations, gatherings. Usually, you were there to help pass the time. We’d mock the various ludicrous things we’d see people do. How silly people are,” he murmured.
There was a dangerous edge to his comment. Silly? Like me. A shiver sped down my spine. There was an underlying threat behind his comment. I felt it in my bones. Did he know about me and Tatum? It sure as hell felt like it.
I pulled my fingers out from his grasp, patted his hand, and put space between us.
“I’m back, so you will be lonely no longer. How are the other clans?” I asked, redirecting the conversation, although my father and I had been in constant contact, and I was up to date with everyone.
Ignoring my question, he said, “I was worried, to be honest. I didn’t know if they would bring you over to the dark side. They’re a wily bunch. Charming, but devious. Especially that Tatum. He’s truly a brute inside.”
Better a brute than a snake, I almost bit out. The retort sat on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down.
