A sharp, black flick of liner and a vivid slash of red to my lips. Bare legs, slathered with a moisturizer containing a subtleshimmer. Killer heels. A tiny purse. My hair pulled back into a high assassin’s ponytail. It’s not just the dress that demands attention.
Opening the glass doors to the Juliet balcony, I pull them wide before throwing back a little more champagne. A sundae glass is quite a generous pour, but Dutch courage is the order of the evening as I slide my phone from the dresser.
Friday evening, 11:07 p.m., and I’m ordering a cab. I take a seat on the velvet bench at the bottom of the bed, decorously arrange my legs, and curl my fingers around the edge of the seat. All that’s left to do is wait.
I probably should’ve chosen an evening when we hadn’t gone out for dinner or maybe a day that isn’t the start of a weekend because it’s almost midnight, and I’ve fidgeted plenty, when my cab apppingswith an arrival notification.
Which I ignore.
Minutes tick by and a car honks.
Voices follow. Spanish words.
The sound of the electric gates gliding open.
More talking, then a shout as Leo calls something across the garden.
Anticipation tumbles through my insides when I glance at the open windows and pull a face. They might be a bit too obvious. A quick tiptoed dash across the room, and I rectify that, my butt thumping down on the bench just in time as footsteps out in the hallway match the tattoo of my heart.
I close my eyes and bob my head, pretending to be lost in the music.
“Lavender?”
Count to three—no, make it five.
I sense the door widening and open them as Raif steps inside. “You’re dressed?”
No flies on you, mate. I bite my tongue against that sarcasm. “There you are.” A flutter of my thick, blackened lashes a little, I paint on a smile. “Sorry, were you going to bed?”
“You’re obviously not,” he says as he takes in my outfit. My bare legs, bare shoulders, my not quite bared breasts. I feel every inch of his perusal.
And it is heavenly.
By the way…
“I’m going out tonight.” More head bobbing. To coin another of Taylor’s lyrics, I fucking shimmer. Also, I polish up.Nice.
The music lowers suddenly. “There’s a cab outside waiting for you. Care to tell—”
“Fab!” I jump up and slide my purse from the bench.Fab?Marriage has turned me into one of those women who say that unironically. “I must’ve missed the app’s notification.” A couple of swaying steps toward him, and I tip up on my toes, sliding my hand around the back of his neck with the intention of bringing his cheek closer to my lips. “Don’t wait up.” My words sound perky, my lips not quite meeting his skin as his fingers slide around my wrist.
“Out where?”
“Just out.”
“I’ll say it again. Where?”
Five words delivered in five beats, his eyes burning like coals.
My insides flip deliciously. I thrust my hands behind me to stop them from going rogue. Touching him up isn’t part of my play.
“I’m going dancing with Tod if you must know.” I give a provocative tilt to my head. “Like my dress? Maybe you can give me your opinion on the faux fur stole I have to go with it,” I say, tugging at the top of the bodice. “The dress is nice, but the stole elevates it to this wholemob wifevibe.”
“Mob wife?”
“Yeah, it’s a thing. Only, it might be too warm to wear it,” I add as though disappointed.
He gives his head a shake, not like he disagrees. More like disbelief. “You won’t need to dress up like a mob wife because if you go out dressed like that, you’ll find yourself married to a criminal. Because I’ll murder Tod and make it look like a fucking accident.”
