Seeing Lachlan, Harris, and Margot was worse than I ever imagined. I expected them to be weird, but they refused to even talk to me. Is it because of my relationships? Or is Corinne blackmailing them?
“Here, Pryntsesa.” Adriano pulls out a silver-backed chair and I realize we’ve arrived at our table. It’s right next to the dance floor, and the head table where Mr. Bianchi and Yelizaveta will sit. We take our places and waiters immediately start pouring champagne and handing around smoked salmon canapés. My men fall on them like wolves, demolishing the little fish disks in seconds.
“Aren’t you going to test them?” I ask.
“Bianchi’s team will have run everything through the same wringer I did,” Doc says, his mouth full. “There’s better security than the Pentagon at this shit.”
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—
