“And when he leaves?” Bitterness sours the words, her dark eyes narrowing at the taste, “When he hops on that plane, what happens then?”
Reality is a bitch and no one delivers the punishing blow like Tahira Malik.
Ignoring the strips of flesh already screaming for mercy, I meet her gaze with a nonchalant expression. A casual shrug that offers no insight into the bone deep sorrow my future holds.
“Then I’ll do what I always do.”
Tahira nods, her eyes trailing down my body before she pushes herself off the bed.
“In that case, we may as well go bold tomorrow.” Strutting past the crumpled fabric on the ground, she grabs a hanger andholds it out for my inspection, “Go big before he goes home. What do you think?”
I tilt my head, studying the glittering scrap of fabric. Bold in colour and spirit, it looks a lot like the spark Christopher Deville put back inside me.
“I think we’re going to need it tailored.” A wide grin breaks across my face, “Unless you’ve got some spare tits hiding somewhere in this room.”
Tahira snorts, her attention already back on the party at hand.
“You need a lot more than tits to fill those straps out.”
It’s the friendship we’ve always had, the easy comradery that originally brought us together. Simple and uncomplicated, it’s the kind of connection that doesn’t dive much deeper than the surface. Sex that’s just sex and no one thinks twice about what it means.
I watch Tahira lay out our dresses for the gala tomorrow, the vibrant fabric handsewn to beautify and conceal even the darkest soul.
Minutes slip by and I try not to think about the grains of sand slipping through my fingers. The stolen moments that are dwindling as the countdown to the heist lies in unison with Christopher’s departure.
But just like I told Tahira, I’ll do what I always do.
Pick up the pieces and put myself back together again.
Chapter 47
CHRISTOPHER
I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t have done a lot of things today, starting with following Calista to the Malik Palace on the other side of town.
And watching her disappear into a bedroom for hours on end.
“It’s not like we’re fucking dating.”
A growl that has Ronan perking up from his bed in the corner. Staring at me with judgmental eyes, his ears tilt towards the door as if he knows an argument is on the horizon.
And the blood-thirsty bastard would be right.
The bedroom door opens and Calista walks through. Her ponytail is damp and matted from her walk in the rain, the dew clinging to her skin like a fucking portrait that deserves to be painted.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
A sentiment I echoed earlier but it feels a hell of a lot worse coming from the woman who patched me up last night. The same woman who had my mind running in circles, panicking and screaming at the thought of her crawling into a bed with anyone but me.
“Did you fuck her?”
The question explodes from my mouth before I can stop it.
Anger and agitation swirl around my gut, putting a twitch in my fucking step and a tremble in my hands. I feel like a live wire, a walking hazard that’s waiting to ignite.
“No.”
