Thinking about my brother and how he got off easy when it came to party duty had me giving the room a quick survey, finding him in the opposite corner clutching a lowball full of bourbon in one hand and some blonde’s ass in the other. Mom would never reprimand him after he dumped Shelby for her; it was what she always wanted him to do. As the sister of the Minister, the most powerful decision-maker in all of Rubia, my mother saw herself as the second-in-command. No doubt she was hungry for the position herself. There was no way she would allow our gene pool to be watered down, except now a future generation wasn’t guaranteed.
Then again, Bruno had complete amnesty when it came to mostly anything. Apparently, even getting married.
“Hellllooo, Tuvy, you there?” Prim shook my arm, her dark eyes searching my face.
“Yeah, sorry. I was checking on Bruno, making sure he was still standing upright.” I didn’t know why I said it. Clearly I was in some sort of brain fog, discussing Bruno with Prim.
Of course, my best friend refused to turn and look because she’d been harboring an unrequited crush on my big brother, fifteen years our senior, for as long as I could remember. She pretended not to—but I’d seen all the signs. Every now and again she breathed a note of it my way.
Like now, with a satiny coral dress hanging off one shoulder, showcasing her smooth ebony skin, she swallowed and ran her own hand over her shoulder, trying to take a peek without anyone noticing.
“It’s always a hard time for him,” she said, making his case and furthering my theory that she was saving herself for him when he was finallybetter.
Not in the mood for any more Bruno talk, I nodded, pretending she was right. The last thing my brother had was a hard time; his difficulty was deciding who to take home to his bed.
Trying to end the subject I’d stupidly brought up, I said, “I know… Maybe I should find Caro and we can talk him into leaving.”
“It’s not your or your sister’s job. You and everyone else knows that ever since Shelby he hasn’t been right. Eventually, he will heal.” Prim didn’t give up her endless defending of Bruno.
Of course, I knew what had occurred. I’d been privy to the entire event when I should’ve been playing with dolls or out in the snow. My fingers tingled at the thought of it: the night I discovered my power.
In our small world, we all had at least one source of magic, sometimes two, and we could be granted additional ones as we served the country. As luck would have it, mine was morein demand than most, and sadly, created a dynamic with my mother I hadn’t wished for—ever.
My capacity hadn’t been seen for two generations—the ability to mend a broken heart—and at the age of six, I’d sucked all of Shelby’s pain and suffering out with the mere touch of my palm, sending my mother into a frenzy I’d never seen, and that said a lot. Mom hadn’t wanted to tell anyone until I honed the skill to perfection, but Shelby blabbed the story all over Rubia, and good old Ezza began using me without any regard for my age.
We might be a smallish sliver off the coast of New Jersey, cold in the winter and stifling hot in the summer, but our homeland was a fully functioning island, with a population close to that of Aruba, hovering around one hundred thousand.
Right about now, the supposed sun and warmth of the Caribbean seemed appealing…
The powers that be in North America knew we existed on maps, and indigenous people inhabited the islet but pretended we didn’t. Of course, we came and went as we pleased in our own airplanes, and they looked the other way. We held numerous business holdings in New York, Chicago, Hawaii, and Los Angeles, to name a few, and visited theme parks in Orlando, but we didn’t mingle. That was both the spoken and unspoken rule. In Europe, where we might have more dealings than the US, the same boundary held true—no attachments. It didn’t stop us from curating style and luxury items from Paris.
“Here he comes” was all the warning Prim spewed before Bruno was long forgotten and Donovan Malachite was standing in front of me, snapping me out of my reverie and dreams of a new Chanel bag.
“Happy Christmas, Tulya,” he greeted me, using my formal name and not taking his gaze from me.
I couldn’t help but run my shaky hand down the front of my skintight dress. “Same to you, Donovan,” I responded, meeting his emerald eyes.
“Prim.” He greeted my friend, using her shortened name.
Instead of saying a word, she nodded, slung back her champagne, and casually mentioned, “I’m going to check on Bruno. Someone has to…I think you’re right.” Typical, she would nominate herself to do it, which was not what I’d suggested. But without another word she scampered off, leaving me with Donovan.
“It’s a beautiful party,” he said, replacing Prim in leaning against the bar next to me.
“My mom still plans it. That’s why…it’s her specialty.” I tried to make my tone less sardonic, but this night always brought out the worst in me. I took a calming breath. “Mostly everyone knows I could do without this whole spectacle.”
On that, I finished my bubbly and watched as Caro floated across the room, her best friend Jules on one arm, and Maximillian, her boyfriend at the moment, on the other. She stopped to say hello and greet everyone in her wake, the perfect sibling.
Taking a risk, I snatched a peek at Donovan, who was watching Caro too.
“The good daughter,” I mumbled under my breath.
“I thought that was you. Rumor has it you’re under your mother’s thumb morning, noon, and night.”
I rolled my eyes. “I pull my weight around here, like the rest of us. We have the magic for a reason—and my family is steeped in the lore.”
He laughed, interrupting my diatribe. “Is that what they told you? Is it your responsibility to make everyone as pain-free as possible? Is that part of the mission of the powerful House of Vegga? Making sure everyone is happy and in love?”
I swallowed hard. “You don’t have to taunt me.”
