"Oh." I blink rapidly. "Cade doesn’t seem the kind of person who’d be scared of anything."
"Except maybe when he’s on the verge of losing his heart?"
I laugh. I can’t help it. "Now, I really don’t believe you at all."
Zara doesn’t join in. "I mean it, Abby. That man is a stubborn jerkface, and I say that with the greatest affection. He’s my brother, but he’s obstinate and cocky and has too big an ego. I should know; I suffer from the same faults. But he’s also the kind of guy who, once he’s admitted his feelings, will not waiver. It just might take him a while to get there."
I draw in a breath. "You mean I shouldn’t expect to hear from him for eight months?"
"I can’t predict what he’s going to do, and I think he should have let you know he was going to be away, but—" She takes my hand in hers. "As your friend, I’m going to tell you that you’re too good for him, and that he’s an asshole for not seeing it, and that you can do much better."
Nicely played, Zara. My lips twitch. "But?"
"But as his sister, who recognizes how good you will be for him, all I can ask is that you give him the benefit of doubt. And because I do believe that the two of you have a connection, which doesn’t happen very often, all I can ask of you is"—she inclines her head—"to be patient with him. Can you do that?”
23
Eight months later
Abby
“Oh, hope I’m not interrupting?” I squeeze my fingers around the vase of flowers and peek inside the hospital room.
Zara, holding the newborn in her arms, and Hunter, who’s fresh from his victory at the general election, glance up at me. I hunch my shoulders and look away, then back at them. Why do I have to be so diffident? Why can’t I feel half as confident as the woman who fixes me with her unblinking gaze. Don’t flush now; you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re only here to update them on the new campaign you’re working on. Why can’t I find it in me to be courageous? To hold my own and face the world head on? The silence lengthens. My cheeks turn fiery.
"I could come back," I begin, but Hunter rises to his feet.
"You’re not interrupting. And actually, I’d be reassured if you’d keep Zara company while I make a few calls." He kisses her forehead, then prowls past me.
"Come on in." Zara, who’s also my boss, gestures to me.
I walk over to the table pushed up against the wall and place my flowers amongst the many bouquets and toys scattered there. The scent of roses, lilies, and other flowers mesh to form a heady, floral perfume that embraces me. No hint of antiseptic or any of the smells one would associate with a hospital dare intrude here. After all, Zara is the wife of the Prime Minister, who also happens to be one of the richest men in the country. "Wow, this room smells like a garden!"
"All the Seven and the Sovranos sent me flowers and gifts for the baby," Zara says in a soft voice.
I lower my chin. "You’re talking about Sinclair Sterling who runs the 7A company with his friends—"
"And the Sovranos." She nods.
I stare. "The Sovranos? As in, the Italian Mafia?" I met Michael Sovrano and some of his brothers at Zara’s wedding. And of course, I noticed their dark good looks. I attributed it to their Italian heritage, but I didn’t connect the dots. "So, they’re part of the—"
"They were a part of the Cosa Nostra." Zara touches a finger to her baby’s forehead, then glances up at me. "But since they found their women and settled down, they’ve gone legit."
Which doesn’t mean anything. They’re probably running their Mafia businesses by proxy, as criminals who like to be viewed as being on the right side of the law like to do. I should know, after all. It’s the background I come from. I strive to keep my thoughts from coloring my expression. "So, they have a criminal background?"
"Doesn’t everyone have skeletons in their closet?" She raises a shoulder.
The flush which had receded comes back with a vengeance. This time, it’s accompanied by the flip-flop of my stomach. My guts churn. Stop feeling guilty. You have nothing to be afraid of. And if I’m hiding the fact that my background is closer to that of the Cosa Nostra, then… Well, I don’t need Zara to find out about it, do I? I glance away, then back at her.
"You’re not good at hiding your thoughts, you know?" She tilts her head.
My cheeks burn, and I lock my fingers together in front of me.
“Oh, so you noticed?” I laugh nervously, and she joins in. "It’s the curse of having such fair skin," I mumble.
"Or a pure mind." She half smiles. "It’s okay to be innocent. In fact, it’s preferable one retains a core of innocence at heart. Just don’t be naive when it comes to making decisions, okay?"
If she only knew of the decisions I made to get here, she wouldn’t think I’m that innocent. Guess I’m a better actress than I gave myself credit for. I bite the inside of my cheek. "Thanks Zara, I really appreciate you taking me under your wing."
"You’ve more than pulled your weight over the past few months on the campaign. Without your efforts, my husband couldn’t have been elected as the Prime Minister." She smiles.
I hunch my shoulders. "Th-thank you so much."
"Raise your chin," she orders.
"Eh?"
"Raise your chin, girl, and accept the praise. Own it like a mother—ducking—fitch." She glances down at the still sleeping baby in her arms, then back at me. "Oopsie."
I can’t stop myself from laughing. I move closer, then study the little bundle in her arms. "He’s sooo small."
She scoffs. "He didn’t feel that small when I pushed him out of my va—a—ah—ina. You know what I mean?"
"Jesus, that’s too much information," a deep voice rumbles.
The hair on the nape of my neck rises. I know who that is. I know that sinful baritone belongs to a man whose soul is as dark as his voice. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around.
It’s as if I have no control over my body anymore. As if I’m the puppet and he’s the puppeteer to whom I’ve handed over control. I pivot and take in the man lounging in the doorway.
The man I haven’t seen for eight months. So, I counted the days and scanned my phone almost every hour I was awake, hoping to hear from him. And reached for my phone almost every day to text him. I managed to reign myself in. Thank god.
My friends were a welcome distraction. I spent time with Solene whenever she was in town. I also hung out with Isla and Amelie—who I met through Zara—and I’ve become fast friends with them. Of course, it helps that Solene moves in the same circles as Isla and Amelie, thanks to her sister Olivia’s connection to the Sovranos and the Seven.
They knew I was involved with Cade, but I didn’t give them the background to our relationship. Or rather, our non-relationship, as it turned out to be. My friends, in turn, did their best to distract me, and almost succeeded. Almost. Except for the night I broke down in front of Solene. Even then, I couldn’t tell her everything. She assumed my tears were because I missed Cade, but that was only half-true. She comforted me, then took me home and put me to bed. And I survived another day without the twatface—the handsome devil currently watching me with interest. Now, I square my shoulders and finally raise my gaze to his face.