Chiara snorts a laugh, finally catching Libby’s attention.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us, darling?” She towers over the diminutive Libby, her painted red lips curved up in an amused smile. Angelo grimaces.
“Libby, meet my wife, Chiara.”
Libby’s jaw drops in shock. “She’s back? I thought…”
“You thought I was still locked up in a sanatorium in Switzerland?” Chiara hums. “It’s amazing what drugs they have these days. I took all the drugs, Libby. So many drugs. And guess what? I feel fucking amazing now! Ten out of ten, would recommend.”
I stifle a smile as Libby takes a giant step back. It’s clear she thinks Chiara is unhinged, and I’m inclined to agree with her.
“Um, so happy you got the best treatment, Chiara.” She awkwardly pats Chiara on the arm. “Mental illness is no joke.”
“No joke,” Chiara repeats. “I am very grateful to my husband for making sure I received the best treatment money could buy.” She leans forward with a manic grin. “And all the drugs I wanted.”
“Lovely to catch up, Libby,” Angelo barks, correctly realizing this won’t end well. He seizes Chiara’s hand and drags her away before she can spout any more bullshit. I hold in my laughter just long enough for Libby to stumble off with a look of confusion on her face before I fall apart.
Chiara is more than a match for my grumpy best friend.
18
Chiara
I’m no stranger to upmarket galas. When Dad was alive, he would sometimes let me tag along to events like this. The adults loved to coo over pretty little girls like me, all dressed up in their Mary Janes and cute frocks.
Once Vivian came along, he chose her over me. In all senses of the word.
After I saw the press pack and hungry crowds swarming the entrance when we arrived, I remembered why I prefer sitting at home with Netflix and a bottle of wine.
Angelo drags me over to the temporary bar where he orders a bourbon. I raise one eyebrow while waiting for him to offer me a drink, but he ignores me in favor of stabbing his phone screen. I suspect this is his idea of punishment after I caused a scene with the tiny woman.
“Such a thoughtful husband,” I scoff, but no matter. There’s plenty of free champagne doing the rounds. Champagne isn’t my favorite drink, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I scan the crowd, searching for a familiar face, but see none. Not even Fina, even though I know she’s here somewhere. Kane’s also lurking nearby, but I pretend he doesn’t exist.
He catches my eye anyway, and smirks before eye-fucking me while Angelo looks away. The sensible part of me recognizes such behavior is pretty disrespectful for a man who works for Angelo, but lord help me, my libido sees it as a challenge.
Knowing Kane’s gaze is on me, I lean forward, ostensibly to scratch my ankle, but really to give him an eyeful of my tits as they threaten to fall out of my dress. Yeah, no bra. The girls are unfettered.
Kane stiffens—in all senses of the word. His tailored black pants can’t quite hide his erection. I straighten and smirk as he openly adjusts himself. What a…dick. Angelo turns as Kane spins away to check out the room.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks when he sees me grinning at absolutely nothing.
“Oh, just enjoying the vibe. It’s good to get out and enjoy somewhere new since I’m locked up in your mansion the rest of the time.” My voice rises an octave at the end of the sentence, and a couple standing nearby glance our way. I give them a finger wave before making a dramatic throat-slitting gesture. The woman, an octogenarian dripping in furs and diamonds, almost chokes on her drink. She whispers something to her reptilian husband before he swiftly moves her away.
Rude.
I could be a trafficking victim and they’re ignoring my cry for help?
“For fuck’s sake, behave, Chiara.” Angelo downs his bourbon with a scowl. My shoulders shake in silent laughter until I look up and see a tall man in a white tuxedo bearing down on us. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t quite recall where we’ve met before.
It could have been my ill-fated wedding ceremony, or perhaps he’s one of my father’s former business associates.
“Angelo. Good to see you, son.”
“Remington. Always a pleasure.” Their greeting is oh so polite, but there’s a discernible thread of tension between the two men, and I don’t miss how Angelo pulls me closer, his arm snaking around my waist in a blatant display of ownership.
Remington smiles, showing off a perfect set of white teeth. So perfect, the guy belongs in a toothpaste commercial. No, seriously.
