“Really?” I shove him lightly with my shoulder. “Don’t get my hopes up. Please.”
“Trust me.” He flicks the elephant ear with his finger and stands. “Get ready.”
My heart races faster and faster, but as a bubble of excitement swells in my chest it halts when Falco’s hand shoots out lightning fast to grab Giacomo’s arm as he passes.
“Name of the club,” Falco barks out.
My brother jerks his arm sharply out of Falco’s grip. “You’re not invited.”
“I go where she goes,” Falco remarks dryly. “And she doesn’t go if I don’t know the place.”
Giacomo glances back at me. While my irritation for Falco is strong, my desire to go out and be normal is much stronger. I clasp my hands together and plead silently.
He sighs and adjusts his shirt. “It’s called Syrup. You know it?”
Falco nods just once. “Fine.”
Syrup gets its name from the gigantic glowing pillars dotted about the club, flooded with some kind of slow-moving liquid.
Bubbles rise and sink within the pillars, sending trickles of light across the faces of every dancer filling the floor.
Music pounds so loudly that my back teeth ache, and I cling tightly to Giacomo’s arm as he weaves us effortlessly through the crowds toward the bar.
I can’t believe I’m here.
I’mactuallyhere. How he managed to persuade Mom is a mystery, given how often she mutters that he’s a bad influence.
I’m draped in a silver dress that’s loose enough to hide my rolls and curves, with my hair piled high, my makeup as neat as I can make it, and enough perfume that even Falco had to clear his throat when I passed.
I’m on cloud nine.
This place is beyond my imagination and better than anything I’ve seen online.
The dance floor is an oval with the bar slap bang in the middle, filled with colorful lights, flashing neon signs, and severalhundred silver streamers draped over the top shelf of expensive bottles.
I’ve lost count of the sexy women and handsome men that have flitted past me with bright eyes and drunken smiles.
The air’s thick with smoke from a machine and countless perfumes and alcohols clashing together into a scent that faintly stings my nose.
I’m not complaining.
“Hank!” Giacomo yells at someone as we reach the bar. “Hank!”
Placing my hands on the sleek surface, my bag slips from my shoulder and catches in the crook of my elbow.
A warm hand brushes my bare arm, and I glance up to meet Falco’s golden gaze.
“Don’t lose this,” he says sternly as he places my bag back on my shoulder.
I shrug him off and snap, “Leave me alone. The last thing I need is you hanging around.”
Falco doesn’t reply, but he does step further down the bar.
When he rests against it, the muscles in his arms strain against the fabric of his near black shirt, and his dark hair glimmers like liquid silver thanks to the bright lights above the bar.
For a moment, he looks almost human and my heart skips a beat.
How ironic that the only man to ever pay me a lick of attention is a man my father’s paying. It’s almost painful to think about.
