She ticks her chin in my direction, eyeing something behind me. “Then, who’s he?” She crosses her arms and tilts her head, letting me know I’m very much caught.
Shit.
I don’t want to turn around. That would be totally obvious. By the way Michelle’s looking at whoever is behind me, they know we’re talking about them already. No need to fan the flames of embarrassment.
“What do they look like?”
“Tall, dark, handsome, and wearing a suit.”
I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Michelle. You just described every man in this room. Be a little more specific.”
“Just look,” she tells me.
Like it’s that easy.
“What color eyes does he have?”
“Seriously?” She shakes her head, and I know she’s judging me. “Did you leave with more than one guy or something?”
“No, no. It’s not like that.”
“Well, prepare yourself. He’s walking toward us and…”
“Daphne.” The shivers from earlier skate across my skin, and I know Dreamboat’s behind me.
I turn my head and smile. “Hey,” I say casually because I don’t want him to know what he does to me or for Michelle to think something more happened than the tragic truth of my sad, lonely vagina missing out on what I’d assume would be numerous orgasms.
“Can we talk?” he asks, without even looking at Michelle.
“Give me a minute,” I tell Michelle and place my hand on her arm, hoping she doesn’t make a scene.
She stares at me for a second before glancing at Dreamboat over my shoulder. “He looks familiar.”
“He’s one of Lucio’s buddies,” I tell her.
In all honesty, I have no clue who he is, and a few minutes ago, I didn’t really care.
“Be careful.” She places her hand over mine. “With your father back, people are going to come out of the woodwork.”
“But it’s a wedding.”
“There’s no safe time or place when Santino’s around,” she reminds me.
That’s the cold, hard reality of my father’s line of work. There’s always a willing someone out there, thinking about putting a bullet in our heads as payback for some fucked-up thing our father did.
“I won’t leave with him. I promise.”
She stares at Dreamboat for a moment before walking toward the dance floor where Lucio currently has his head up Delilah’s dress, making a spectacle of retrieving the garter and taking his sweet-ass time too.
I turn to face the man I very well could’ve been naked with if it weren’t for my regaining my sanity. “Who are you?”
Dreamboat doesn’t seem frazzled by my question. He has one hand in his pants pocket and the other at his side, standing tall and just as confident as ever. “I’m Leo,” he answers, like his name should clue me the fuck in on something.
I don’t touch him, but I want to. I like being near him. I like the way my body reacts when he touches me, and I hate myself for it. “One of Lucio’s friends?”
Leo shakes his head.
“Delilah’s?”
