But no, apparently there is nothing between us. I’m here because he liked my dick that first time. Maybe a different guy would be flattered, but I imagined that after so many failed attempts at relationships, maybe this time I found someone who appreciated my sense of humor or… whatever. Doesn’t matter, I guess. I don’t know what I was thinking. Why else would a guy like Corvus pick me out of the gutter, when far lesser men didn’t bother to?
For now, I’m trying to focus on the catalogue of fabrics Salvatore, one of the tailors, is presenting to me, because while I don’t fucking care about the color of a suit made for a wedding with a man who doesn’t really want me, at least it allows me to ignore Corvus’s cousins. For now, they’re whispering, voices too low for me to catch what they’re saying, but Corvus’s name seems to come up several times. The blond shit who outed Corvus has the gall to be here too, and he keeps eyeing me with a wide grin.
The other is Damen, the prince, second in line to inherit the whole Van der Horn empire, and the third is Remo, who I know a little better, since he owns the club I work at. He’s probably the one who approved my time off, and while I wouldn’t dare approach him directly myself, I bet Corvus had Remo do him a favor.
If they were all a family of birds, Corvus would obviously be the crow, Damen an elegant falcon, Remo—with his short crop—a deadly vulture, and Aspen an unhinged parrot, the kind that in nature documentaries always ends up humping the presenter’s head. Even now, Aspen’s dressed in a green sweater with a red tiger embroidered at the front, which he decided to pair with leopard print sweatpants, and golden sneakers.
A parrot.
Remo is the opposite, clad in black with the exception of the dark brown combat boots. I’ve barely exchanged a few words with him during my time at the club, but whenever I see him pass through the venue, there’s a different scrape or bruise on his roguishly handsome face. Today, he’s sporting a nasty black eye, which complements the old scar going from his forehead to his cheek. For a man of his status, Remo Van der Horn is shockingly hands-on when it comes to handling business.
I’m surprised when he speaks to me directly while sipping fragrant coffee.
“How’s almost-married life treating you, Cross?”
Guess I’m gonna be family at some point in the future, unless Corvus decides to dispose of me like I’m a used condom.
“A lot to do, you know? Corvus’s mother has grand plans for the wedding.”
Remo nods, watching me as if his dark eyes can drill right through me. “You think you’re coming back to work, or—”
“Or are you gonna be Corvus’s sugar baby?” Aspen butts in with a stupid grin. He looks like he’s having the time of his life.
Damen groans. “How can he be a sugar baby if they get married?”
Aspen frowns, thoughtful for a while as he plays with the zipper of his sweater. “A house husband then?”
Remo smirks. “I don’t know about that. He almost burned down the house trying to make toast.”
Oh, so I see the story not only made the rounds but got embellished in the process. How typical. I chuckle, because what’s left for me to do? “I’ll want to go back to work one way or another.”
“You could do charity work, like all the Mafia spouses who ‘want to give back’.” Damen adds, a smile tugging at his mouth.
“Like your husband?” Remo asks.
Damen shrugs. “His choice.”
“My wife will have to be a real badass to keep up with me,” Aspen declares, as if he wasn’t a spoiled nineteen-year-old who only wears expensive clothes because of his daddy.
Damen shakes his head. “Will she need to wear animal prints top to bottom as well?”
He grins. “Why? You wanna know what panties my wife wears, pervert?”
Remo groans. “Aspen, you don’t have a wife, okay?”
At least when they’re bickering it’s not me in the hot seat. I’m stuck waiting to be measured because the assistant helping me had to go fetch a pair of shoes for me from a store two blocks down. Remo’s voice passes through my head without informing me what he wants,and he throws a ball of paper my way to make me acknowledge that I’m not alone. Just great.
“I’m just surprised. Weren’t you dating that guy with purple dreadlocks just last month? Are you and Corvus open?” Remo repeats.
Oh fuck. Of course. We told Daphne we met over a year ago.Fuck fuck fuck. I laugh it off and scratch my neck, feeling my cheeks flush more by the second. “I… um… Not anymore,” because I can’t deny Aiden existed in my life. Remo saw him. “We agreed to be exclusive before Christmas.”
Aspen pipes up and sits on the back of the large leather sofa, which seems to agitate Damen. “Oh oh! Was it a sex thing? Like, one of you didn’t want to do anal or something? And so you outsourced it but now worked it out? Is that why you’re getting married?”
Damen scowls at him. “That’s a lot of very strange and specific assumptions. Where did you even get that?”
Aspen shrugs. “I’m an ally.”
I really fucking hope I don’t have to answer this bullshit, because there are limits to my patience even among a pack of bloodthirsty mafiosos.
