“Arlo, I’d like you to meet my grandchildren.” My grandfather nodded at my brother and me. “Aiden and Alexandrea.”
“Welcome to Devil’s Creek,” Arlo said with a forced smile.
Aiden tipped his head. “Hey!”
“Hi,” I said, shaking Arlo’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I started painting after my therapist introduced me to Evangeline’s art. Your wife inspired so much of my work.”
“That’s so lovely to hear, Alexandrea. My Eva would have been thrilled to meet you if she had lived,” he said, a sneer aimed at my grandfather.
As rehearsed, I approached the Salvatore brothers, slapping on a smile. “Hi. I’m Alexandrea. But you guys can call me Alex. My grandfather says we’re in the same grade at school.”
“Not the same as me,” said the most muscular one with messy black hair that flopped onto his forehead. “I’m two grades below my brothers.”
I nibbled on my lip, shifting my weight to the other foot. “Well, okay. Cool. I guess I’ll see you at school then.”
He nodded, then extended his hand. “I’m Marcello.”
I was so awkward and freaked out that my head spun from all the attention. Overnight, I went from no one noticing I was alive to gaining the attention of the four hottest guys I had ever seen.
“Nice to meet you, Marcello.”
I shook his hand and glanced at his brother. Rude and arrogant, Luca was the oldest—the one my grandfather had warned me about. Yet, wondering what made him tick intrigued me.
“You must be Luca. Has anyone ever told you that the two of you could be twins? You look so much alike.”
“No,” Luca growled, nostrils flared. “Can’t say they have.”
I gave up on the hot, cocky brother and moved to the next in line. Bastian wasn’t a Salvatore by blood, which was noticeable the second you saw him. While it was clear Marcello and Luca were Italian, Bastian looked Irish or Scottish.
“Hi.” I smiled at Bastian and gave him a tiny wave. As I inched closer, I noticed his eyes and couldn’t stop staring. “You have beautiful eyes. They remind me of slate.”
Bastian nodded and turned away, bored with this meet-and-greet.
“Okay,” I whispered, shaking my head, frustrated by their cruelty. “What’s with all the mood swings?”
I moved to Damian, who was almost as terrifying as Luca. Sure, they were gorgeous and filthy rich, but they were all assholes.
Well, not Marcello.
I could have seen myself marrying him. Yet, my eyes kept drifting back to Luca, then to Bastian, and now to Damian.
Damian was the leanest of the group with black hair, a jaw cut like a diamond, and blood-red lips.
I studied Damian’s face in awe, and my fingers itched to paint him. “Have you ever let anyone paint you?”
He stared. Blinked.
Hello, is anyone home?
“Well?” I said to probe Damian once more. “Have you?”
After the longest moment of silence, he shook his head.
“Your face is perfectly symmetrical. I would love to paint you.”
It was the truth. People with faces like his didn’t come around often.
I couldn’t tell if they were all acting like dicks because they didn’t want to marry me or if this was part of a game. But then I remembered Damian had selective mutism and tried not to take offense. I was a little disappointed because I wanted to hear his voice.
