“No. I just got divorced.”
“Precisely. And anyway, look in the mirror,cara mia, you’ll always be the prettiest woman in the room.”
Her weathered hand glides on my cheek, a soft smile on her face.
We get ready together, and I pray to a God I don’t believe in for her to have a good day. A full good day. And many more to come.
But prayers never get answered for sinners like me.
TWO
TOMA
Ifucking hate parties.
They’re a reminder that no matter what I do, there’s no concealing the bulk of my frame. I’m bigger than most people here, and some of the men arebigmotherfuckers. I still tower over most of them, and barely fit through the doors.
My nickname, ‘The Beast’, is on many lips tonight, and I don’t like it one bit. It’s what I can do—track and kill like an animal. It’s not who I am. At least, I’d like to think it isn’t. Especially when I’m so close to her light.
Lucie Ventura hasn’t arrived to her goodbye party yet.
She’s the only reason I’m here. For a glimpse of her, one of her real smiles. Maybe I can ask her to dance. I don’t dance but how hard can it be?
My mind stays fixated onwhat ifswhen she finally descends the grand staircase at the Ventura mansion.
The lavish space decorated with priceless art and illuminated with expensive candelabra and designer light fixtures pales in comparison to the exquisite woman taking steps to meet the crowd assembled here for her.
Her long blond hair falls in gentle waves around her round cheeks to settle on creamy shoulders. I’m unsure if it’s the thickmascara or false lashes making her eyes look even brighter and more lovely than usual, but damn, I can’t look away. I’m too far to see the hazel green that has become my favourite colour, but I know every sparkle and subtle change with her emotions. I’ve studied them a lot. Right now, I’d bet they’re tinted with that orange hue as she fights tears of joy at being surrounded by people who love her.
The shimmering, pink dress shifts on her ample body like it was designed to make her look like a goddess. In place of her usual Doc Martens black boots are open-toe heels. From my vantage point, I can’t see her toes but I’d bet they’re painted the exact same colour as her dress, with sparkles reflecting the light. I’d suck those toes if she’d let me.
Lucie Ventura is everything I don’t deserve. Monsters like me aren’t meant for women like her. Yet, my heart keeps beating a drum in my chest, and my primal brain refuses to acknowledge what I know to be true. It simply repeats that my darkness can hold hers. Because there’s no way Lucie Ventura is that happy and sunshine-y, with everything we witness in this life. She told me once her father never shielded her from anything and raised her with no regard for gender roles. Behind the bright smiles, something lurks. I can feel it. Or maybe, I’m just even more of a monster than I thought, finding excuses to justify my obsession.
Her real smiles are so few and far between, I’ve come to know them well. I can spot them from far away, and right now, they’re real. Why would she waste them on foot soldiers? I want them all for myself. I’ve lived in darkness my whole life, and she has been protected and well loved. Yet, sadness lingers on her face so often it’s uncanny. I want to peel all the layers of Lucie Ventura to reveal only the real sunshine and hoard it all for myself.
I’m the one who really needs it.
My whole body vibrates at her mere presence. There hasn’t been a moment since I laid eyes on her three months ago whenI haven’t looked for her every time I come here. And I have found a lot of excuses to immerse myself into the Ventura-Dobrev operation. People in power like them always need a good tracker on their team. I may be useless with words, but I’m good at math and coding, patterns and human psychology. And being invisible. All skills that matter in the underworld.
I’ve also looked for her when I’m far from the London mafia HQ, but it’s not something I’d admit in front of the Ventura-Dobrev congregation. They’d have my life for it.
The truth is, I just want Lucie to be safe and I don’t trust anyone to care about her well-being as much as I do. Not even her cousin. After all, he married her off. I may like the guy, and Lucie seems to hold no grudge, but that was a shit move and she should at least punch him for it. I’ll do it for her if she’s too pressed about hurting family.
When the need to protect her got too strong, I may have hacked into her phone. And her building cameras. And her car’s navigation system. And her e-reader. I’ve never pretended to be a particularly ethical person. Whatever my lady needs to thrive and be happy. At least, I left her social media accounts alone. Even I have standards and boundaries.
Maybe that last one was a step too far, but knowing my girl has a soft spot for monster porn was a revelation. I read along every single one of them and she devours one every two days or so. She seems to really like the ones with something I’ve learnt is called ‘the fated mates’ trope. Fitting, since wearefated, her and I. Even though I’m determined to stay in the shadows so I don’t taint her with my past and the blood running inside my veins. My father’s blood. My brother’s blood. We’re the worst of human kind, and day and night are never meant to meet.
When I look at her angelic face framed with long golden strands and those deep hazel eyes, one thing is obvious. I’m the monster that protects her in the dark, never to be seen.
My little extra-curricular activities are how I know she’s due to leave London in three days to start her first semester as a Psychology student at the University of Edinburgh.
And I’m coming with her.
I weave my way through the crowd of the Ventura-Dobrev coalition and their allies, shaking a few hands as I go. We’ve grown close while we were on our rescue mission for Dante, but right now, I don’t care about shooting the shit. A woman approaches me and I side-step her when she tries to touch my arm. I’m not hers to touch. I’m Lucie’s.
I only care about seeing and talking to Lucie, being touched by Lucie, beingseenby her. It’s a dangerous craving, one I only indulge in because we’re not alone.
She’s tucked in a corner, making Irina laugh. That’s such a weird sight. Irina Ventura doesn’t laugh. I heard her say once that she believes it’s for fools and will give her premature wrinkles. But even she can’t resist the little sunshine in pink.
