There’s a twelve-piece band playing on a stage across the room. I see a raised circular platform and guess that’s where I’ll stand to sing the first song. My stomach flips and I reach for my glass of chilled water, almost knocking it over.
Eli touches my hand. “How are you, my ruby?”
“Okay,” I lie. “Tell me more about the hotel. The people who stayed here. The food.”
With a smile, Eli bends his head to mine. I listen to him talk about pheasant and poached pears, Elizabeth Taylor, and Joe DiMaggio, as the room continues to fill. The crowd grows rowdier, and the band plays even louder to be heard over them.
Doc, Bobby, and Adriano are constantly scanning the guests. I know, when their faces go still, that they’ve seen the person we’ve been dreading.
“Eleven o’clock,” Bobby mutters. “Across the dance floor.”
My spine stiffens, and I inwardly sayscrew youto Mr. Bianchi. Mr. Parker and I were supposed to be separated by threat of death and ruin, not a dance floor. I refuse to look at him as my men shoot daggers across the table.
“God, it would be so easy,” Doc mutters. “So easy to smash his fuckin’ head in.”
“Calm yourself,” Eli says coldly. “If anyone hears you, we won’t get out of here alive.”
The statement makes me feel better and worse. Better because Mr. Parker will be held to the same standard. Worse because we shouldn’t be in this situation. Not after the contract.
Eli turns his head and studies Mr. Parker’s table out of the corner of his eye. To my amazement, he smiles. “Parker’s brought his new fiancée.”
The guys crane their necks to follow Eli’s line of sight and identical grins appear on their faces.
“What?” I ask. “What’s funny?”
“Look,” Doc says.
I don’t want to, but curiosity gets the better of me. I turn and see Mr. Parker, pink-faced and puffy-lipped, his hair combed flat across his head. He’s chatting to the bodyguards dotting his table, but to his left is a girl in a red dress. Her dark hair is pulled up like mine and her boobs are almost falling into her champagne. I turn back to my table, slightly annoyed. “You guys shouldn’t laugh at women’s bodies.”
“We’re not laughing because she’s got huge, fuck-off cans,” Doc says. “We’re laughing because Parker’s got himself a dollar store January.”
I whirl back around. I don’t think we look exactly alike, but there are plenty of similarities, including our breasts. I press a hand to my face. “Do you think… Is it on purpose?”
Four faces look incredulously back at me, and I realize I’m being naïve. Of course, it’s on purpose. Mr. Parker hand-chose me for his bride when I was very young. He obviously has a type, and me and whoever this girl is, are it.
But then why is Emilia his girlfriend?An inner voice asks.And where is she?
I know better than to bring it up with the guys though. Not in this loud, dangerous place.
A chill passes over me as I feel Mr. Parker staring at me. I sit completely still like a mouse hoping to hide from a cat. The men around me straighten, expand their shoulders, and clench their jaws.
“Don’t you fucking look at her,” Bobby mutters and as always, I’m shocked to hear the rage in his voice. He’s always sweet, and always calm but Parker brings out the dark side in him like nothing else.
You shouldn’t be here, bella.
Zia Teresa’s voice comes through clear as a bell.
I know Zia, I think.But we have no choice.
You have a—
A loud bang makes me jump half out of my skin.
I’m not alone, around me men yelp, women shriek, and people spill vodka down their fronts and drop salmon. The band grinds to a halt and half the ballroom turns to see what made the noise. The answer comes at once. A blackbird has flown into one of the gilded windows. It peels itself off, flapping its wings clumsily, and everyone laughs with relief. The band kicks back intoLouie Louieand Doc refills his water glass.
“Are you really not going to drink?” Bobby asks.
“You will at the toast,” Eli answers for him. “If you don’t it will—
