Which, actually, didn’t offend me at all. I’d been the hired help for most of my life, and it was good, honest work. If anything, I was amused by their little game, which only occurred whenever Angelo had been ferried off by his father to talk shop with some of the VIPs in the room. Despite his words about protecting me from everyone here, he could only do so much when he wasworking.
At least no one had thrown their wine at me this time, so that was a win. Walking away from the chardonnay lady, I arched my back, stretching out the ache developing there. Needing the bathroom, thanks to the multiple waters I’d consumed in my bid to remain awake amidst the glitz and glamor, I headed in the direction of the restrooms, wishing I was anywhere but here.
Not just here, but here and sober. Was there a worse combination?
Everything felt uncomfortable as I stumbled my way through the crowd. My Saint Laurent pumps were only a few inches high, but I wasn’t used to heels. Or the slinky black Chanel dress that hugged my small bump, boobs, and butt like a second skin.
If it wasn’t for the sleeves to my wrists and high neckline, I’d have felt half naked in this number—despite it being far more conservative than many of the dresses in this room. Apparently, charity events were the fancier version of Halloween: a perfect excuse for a chick to lose as many parts of her clothing as possible and not be called a whore.
That label was saved for me these days. Whore and waitress.
Eh, I’d probably been called worse.
Angelo had kept all social media and news articles from crossing my path since I’d been delivered into his possession, but no doubt the media was having a field day with my sudden departure from Bellerose. I could only imagine the headlines after being the first girl to “date” Rhett Silver in forever.
I was being watched closely as I walked through the large ballroom and managed to enter one of the smaller bathrooms. For the first time tonight, I had a little luck, as it was completely empty.
It took more than a few minutes to maneuver myself into a position to pee without destroying my dress. This pregnancy shit was harder than I’d expected. When I emerged and started to wash my hands at the sink, barely even glancing at the pale shadow of a reflection in the mirror, the door to the room opened. Noise entered briefly with the new occupant, before fading as the door closed behind her.
Finishing up, I dried my hands on the luxurious hand towels provided, and as I turned to exit, I came face to face with a goddess. She stood a head taller than me, her heels a good six-inches high as she towered over me. She had flaming red hair, a statement piece that made my dirty-blonde curls look positively lame. Her makeup was flawless, and large, emerald eyes examined me as she pursed blood-red lips, a similar shade to her hair.
Her dress was black as well, but it was far more extravagant than mine as it draped down her centerfold body, spilling across the floor. Clearly, far more expensive too.
“Bella, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she said, shocking the shit out of me. Blinking rapidly, my stomach started to do some deep churning as I figured out who this was: Valentina.The wife.She was the only person who made sense in this situation, and she was the sort of stunning beauty to perfectly match Angelo’s tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome. Fucking hell, she wasgorgeous,and I was the other woman.
“You need a waitress?” I said, acting more blasé than I felt.
My heartbeat slammed against my chest as I went to move around her, praying she wouldn’t stop me before I made a beeline for Angelo to get the hell out of here. We’d showed up, he’d talked shop with his dad and the high rollers, and it was time to bail now beforeVeemurdered me.
My prayers were dashed when her hand wrapped around my forearm, blood red nail flashing, but she didn’t dig them in as I’d expected. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a long time,” she said suddenly, offering a sheepish smile. “Sorry I was late tonight, but I’m here now, and I think it’s time we talked.”
A very light breeze could have knocked me on my ass as I stared. “Sorry, what?”
I mean, was I hallucinating? Had someone slipped something in my water?
There was no other reasonable explanation.
While I was still trying to figure out if I’d unintentionally taken some sort of wicked drug that turned everything topsy-turvy, Valentina released me and moved toward the door. A second later there was an ominous click of the lock slotting into place, and I shook myself out of the daze, expecting this was the point her polite facade faded and she tried to slit my throat with her lethal claws. Shit, she was a mafia princess; she probably had a gun tucked up her skirt.
“I don’t want any trouble,” I said shortly, crossing my arms over my chest like that might protect me. In reality, all it did was emphasize the belly beneath. Valentina’s eyes lingered on my mid-section for a beat before she took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to meet mine.
There was no anger in her light brown eyes; if anything, she looked relieved.
“You might want the sort of trouble I’m offering,” she said simply, and I was grateful that she stopped a few feet away, giving me a false sense of security. “Because I could be a very good ally for you in this world, and without my guidance, you might fall into one of the many,manydark traps littered about.”
My eyes narrowed on her as my mouth fell open. “Okay look, call me paranoid but I’m not buying the act.” This had to be some sort of prank. Like,drop a vat of blood on my head at the dancesort of prank. “What’s your angle? What do you want from me exactly?” Even if she was legit with her offer for help, no one did that without expecting something in return. No one. Not even people who gave a shit about me.
Except for maybe Rhett…
My Zeppelin.
Fuck.
This was not the time to fall into that mental headspace. Not when I was face to face with Angelo’swife.
"You don’t understand,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry; I’m not explaining myself correctly. For some reason, I expected that A would have filled you in on our situation, but I forgot what a gentleman he is. He wouldn’t share my secrets.”
Ahad to be Angelo, and for some reason, it riled me right up that she knew he was a gentleman. I mean, not that he actually was, but the familiarity in her tone told me that they were more than just people who’d married to unite their families—like he’d claimed back when his father forced them to get engaged at age seventeen. They were friends. More, no doubt. Lovers for sure, since they’d been trying to get pregnant.
