“Lose what, Mother?”
She stands tall. “There is nothing for you to worry about.”
Yeah, nothing. Only the shredding of the thing I swore I never needed but now beats for someone else completely.
Shaking my head, I reach past her, taking the glass of champagne Nana offered. I finish it off in one drink before trading it for another and then lean forward, inspecting my red lips in the mirror.
“Hey, Nana?” I step around my mom.
Nana steps from the corner. “Yes, dear?”
My eyes flick over my mom and while I ache on the inside, I remember all my years of training at her hand and manage to hide every facet of it, pulling out a sunny, socialite smile, as she so adores.
“Show my mother out the back door. Mr. Blanca has guests arriving soon, and I’m afraid she didn’t make the list.”
I step from the room as quickly as possible as the false bravado is slipping and slipping fast.
My palm flattens on the wall and I close my eyes, fighting for a deep breath. When I open them, I find Anthony standing there, staring right at me.
He watches me closely as he approaches, nodding his head in approval when he finally does allow his gaze to travel over me.
He takes my hand and I let him, my thumb twitching when his lips fall to my knuckles.
His eyes come up, and I don’t mean to, but I pull back when his fingers reach for my hair.
Something flashes over him, but he smiles. “I hope you’re ready for your birthday dinner, Jameson. I’m going to do everything in my power to make it a memorable one.” His grip on my hand tightens, my knuckles grinding together slightly to the point of pain, but I bite into my cheek to hide it. When he finally releases me, I’m given his back.
The moment he’s out of sight, I turn, lifting my hand to inspect the area. It’s red and throbbing, but the shading will fade and all I’ll have to do is avoid the use of it. People will be none the wiser.
I just have to get through tonight, and tomorrow I’ll have a clearer mind to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.
Opening and closing my palm once just to be sure nothing is broken, I hiss, and a slight shuffle catches my attention. My head snaps as my arms fly to my sides.
My mother stands there, tucked into the corner, but her eyes don’t meet mine.
They’re frozen on my hand.
“Tell me, Mother, is a man like that worthy of your name?”
Her eyes begin to lift, but I don’t stand there to find out what’s within them because it doesn’t matter.
She’s about to leave and I don’t get to.
The furniture in the great room has been moved in favor of small cocktail tables and random seating is scattered throughout.
The music is low and some classical bullshit the rich only listen to because some uppity asshole along the way decided it was to be part of the process.
The hors d’oeuvre table is fit for a rabbit cage and the gift table could rival a mall’s Christmas display, but I smile and play polite as I’m introduced to Anthony’s staff and who the hell ever the rest of these people are.
I know I sound like an ungrateful brat, maybe he’s trying to be nice and he absolutely didn’t have to do any of this, but considering the circumstances, I have not a grateful bone in my body.
My soul purpose is getting through this evening so I can slip back inside the room I’ve been assigned.
I’m basically Anthony’s shadow for the night, stuck to his side to smile, to play polite, and to laugh at jokes I don’t get while making small talk with women I’ll never fit in with. We didn’t discuss a story to share with his crowd, so I let him tell a tale of how we met through mutual friends and our connection was instant.
It’s true if the friend is my mother and the contract she put together within a few days’ time counts as the connection.
Either way...
Smile, smile, smile.
Thankfully, Anthony’s friends are his coworkers who all have work tomorrow, so they’re out by eleven-thirty.
As he closes the door behind the last guest, I spin away, but he catches my hand and walks me up the stairs.
“I have a gift for you,” he shares. “I was planning on waiting, but the circumstance doesn’t quite allow for it.”
“You didn’t need to get me anything, Anthony. I appreciate you setting this up for me tonight.” Lie.
“Of course, I figure it’s best we start off on a strong foot, one where we understand each other.”
I try to play coy, but suspicion swims in my gut. “Should I be following what you’re saying?”
“A better question, I think, would be, do you think you should?” he counters, lowering into his chair, leaving me standing before him.
“I get the feeling you wish the answer were yes.”
“But it’s not.” He cocks his head. “Is it?”
“Is this some sort of game to you?” I suspect. “We have a contract for the end of the year, you agreed to separate lives until then, and I think our Sunday afternoons have gone well enough, minus almost being turned into fish bait. So why the change, why bring me here, and what was the point of this entire evening?”
His eyes slowly narrow. “I told you before, I want to be—”
“Everything I want, yeah I heard, but you could have worked to achieve that later. Why am I here, Anthony? My mom breaks contracts for no one.”
The smile he wore along with the kindness of his gaze is gone, and he faces me fully. He reaches into the drawer on the small side table beside him and tosses a small piece of paper onto the ottoman before him, nodding his head for me to grab it.
I do, and as I open it up, my heart both sinks and flips.
It’s my note from Arsen, the one he left me the day Anthony showed up at my school unannounced, the note that, after the yacht went up in flames, was missing from my purse pocket.
My eyes snap up, locking with his, and he reaches in again, tossing out the keys to my new car—my mom must have given them to him.
Following that, a clip from the Daily Pilot.
The headline reads, “Misfortune at Gentry Vineyards.” An accompanying photo of charred vines following.
“Were you having me followed?”
“No, actually. That’s where things get interesting.” He cocks his head. “Did you know my father died when I was young, too, of course mine didn’t go out quite the same as yours.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “My mother, like yours, was quite the cold-hearted bitch who remarried quickly. That’s not why she’s cold-hearted, but a fact is a fact. She took her new husband’s name, I kept mine.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“What, is this not what they call pillow talk?” he mocks, but then he looks to his watch and a grin takes over. “I’m kidding. I’m telling you this, so that you understand, what happens next falls solely on your shoulders.”
A door slams downstairs, the hinges rattling and echoing with the help of the vaulted ceilings of this place.
“Ah,” Anthony drawls, slowly pushing to stand. “Perfect timing.”
Feet pound heavy against the stairs, and as they grow closer, my skin begins to prick.
Anthony’s smile is vicious, and it only keeps growing.