by Nora Flite
Bwah? Holy hell, my face was on fire.
Thorne bent near my ear. “I didn’t know you were such a good actress. You really should have just been a dancer, you’d have fooled every guy into thinking you were in love.”
I wasn’t sure it was a compliment. It definitely didn’t feel like one.
Peeking up, I saw the blue-eyed man was busy talking to his mother at the front desk. He hadn’t heard his brother’s observation; that was a relief. Thorne’s not wrong, this IS all an act. Even so, the idea that Costello might think I was trying to fool him was . . . painful. Dirty.
Costello turned and came my way. I stood as straight as I could. “Come on. I need to introduce you to Dad.”
My insides did a loop de loop. “Oh, right. Yeah. Of course.”
As we left the main entrance, I felt eyes on me. Francesca was glaring at me from next to her giant pile of sparkling suitcases. My poor heart rampaged even faster.
We didn’t walk for long, but I wished we had. We rounded a corner, and the hall opened into a wide room full of windows, leather seats the color of whiskey, and air that smelled just the same. It made my nose burn.
Maverick Badd was reclining in an overstuffed chair in the center of the empty hotel bar; clearly noon was too early to drink for most. He wasn’t moving, but that didn’t make him seem less dangerous. I was smart enough to know that a lion stretched out in the sun could come alive and shred you if you were stupid enough to get too close.
Standing within arm’s length of him, I felt very, very stupid.
“Dad,” Costello said, moving to one side. I’d prayed he would keep blocking me from his father’s view. I wasn’t so blessed.
Maverick slid his blue eyes onto me. Darien had thought he could make people crumple if he just stared at them? Hah. He had no clue what it meant to win a war with a single look. If Maverick had asked me, right then, to tell him everything about myself . . . I would have spilled my guts. He rose smoothly and came my way. I almost bolted. “You must be Heather!” he chuckled, grabbing me in a hug that stole my air. “Carmina already sent me a message. My phone’s been buggy with the reception out here, it’s a wonder I got her text at all.”
I was dizzy; I tried to smile. “Oh, uh, she’s very nice. And, I mean, nice to meet you, too, sir.”
“You can call me Maverick. Or Mav.” When he smirked, I was reminded of Thorne. But those eyes . . . this was where Costello got his icy blue color. “Did you see your room yet?”
“No,” Costello said, answering for me. He was acting cool—too cool.
Is he not scared about his dad figuring out we’re lying? That I’m not a girlfriend, but a girl who messed up gang politics at who knows what level? If Costello had such control over his emotions, he should have had the grace not to grind his dick on me when we were alone.
Because it was all an accident. No . . . an act. They were different things, even if you couldn’t spell accident without act and . . . Stop it, pay attention, I warned myself.
Maverick released me. “Go settle in. Tonight is going to be a long one.” He paused to brush his hair back, laughing sheepishly. “Or maybe that’s just how I feel. I drank a bit too much at Kain’s bachelor party last night.”
“Ginger tea,” I said, repeating one of the many remedies I’d used on Gina after her wild nights. “It might make you feel better.”
Mav rubbed his chin. “Hm. Worth a shot.” He evaluated me with some doubt, and I wondered if he was somehow seeing through my disguise. I should have just kept my mouth shut; it would have drawn less attention. “Thanks,” he grunted.
Costello took my wrist and led me down the hall. I went with him happily. After we ducked into the elevator, I dropped back on the cold metal wall. “Wow,” I breathed out, laughing from nerves. “He’s intense.”
“Yes. He is.” Tapping the buttons, Costello stared straight ahead. The elevator had no music; we were surrounded by our own silence. I could see my reflection in the metal-clad wall, smudged and warped.
That’s exactly how I feel right now. I gave him a furtive glance. This is my fault. I made everything so weird. I shouldn’t have tried to get him to kiss me in the motel. Or on the jet. It was clear to me that I’d been hoping for it hard. Why else would I be so let down that he called our almost hookup an accident?
On the third floor he led me to one of the many doors. “This is where we’ll be staying,” he said, tapping the key card.
“Both of us?” I asked, my voice rising.
“Of course.” Arching a perfect eyebrow, he waved me inside. “My parents think we’re dating. They expect us to share a room.”
“I guess they aren’t the living-in-sin type of people?”
Chuckling dryly, he watched me as I stepped through. The room was pretty big, much nicer than the motel room. “You should stay in here until the wedding.” Costello checked his phone. He was acting so damn aloof. “I have to go help Kain get ready for tonight.”
“All right. I guess I’ll just . . . watch some TV. Maybe one of those reality fashion shows will come on,” I babbled, tugging at my sweater as I sat on the bed. “I could get some ideas for how to turn this outfit into a grand ballroom dress, or something.”
His eyes softened on me. “No one will care what you’re wearing. They won’t notice you like I—” He cut himself off quickly.
“You really don’t think I’ll stick out in this plain outfit?”
Looking from me to the windows, he breathed in slowly. I started to lean off the bed, hoping he’d offer to take me shopping. Instead he just shut his eyes and whispered, “It’s safer like this.”
Right, safe as a sardine in a can. Maybe drawing parallels to already-dead things wasn’t the best move. “It’s okay. You’re right, this is the smarter route.”
His fingers drummed on the side of the door. Finally he came over to me, holding his phone out. “If you need anything, call me.”
A tiny rush danced its way up to my throat. “You’re giving me your number?”
“How else would we talk?”
It was such a silly, normal thing that normal people did. Except this wasn’t normal. The oldest son of a notorious crime empire was giving me his phone number. He wasn’t some sweaty guy fidgeting as he asked me out.
Quickly we exchanged information; my hands were shaking the entire time he lingered near me. They vibrated for several seconds after he left me alone in the hotel room.
Covering my eyes with my arms, I dropped back on the bed. Stupid heart! Stop thumping, I want to be over this guy! Each time I wiggled a little farther from his pull, Costello roped me closer with such ease.
The knock at my door made me sit up so fast I bit my tongue. “Augh!” I winced. “Uh, one second!”
It wasn’t my handsome ice prince returning to keep me company. Three women stood on my doorstep, only one of them familiar. “Francesca?” I asked, squinting at her, then at the strangers. “Hey, what’s up?”
The curvy girl shot a tired look at her companions. The first to speak had pretty green eyes, her hair up in a loose knot that was nothing like Fran’s—this one was definitely a rush job. “Hi there,” she said, offering me her hand. “I wanted to come meet you . . . before the wedding and stuff, I mean. I’m Sammy.”
The bride. “Oh,” I said, giving her hand a quick squeeze. Sammy didn’t do quick, apparently, because she crushed on hard enough that I winced. Her laugh was sweet as honey; it took the edge off, made me think she was just being friendly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Heather.”
“I guess you met Fran,” Sammy said, motioning.
“I’m Sammy’s bestie,” Francesca said darkly. “And her maid of honor. Don’t go getting any ideas.”
My lips quirked up. “Right. Thanks for the warning.”
Sammy gave the woman a sharp tap on the head. I got the impression she was used to Fran’s antics. “Relax, I’m not going to pick a new maid of honor at this hour. Not all of us are that nuts.” She jerked a th
umb to the willowy woman beside her. “This is Lulabelle.”
Lulabelle looked down on me—and she could in her heels, she was that tall. I was reminded of an ivory tower. I didn’t doubt her strength, even if her pale skin made me wonder if she ever saw the sun.
Her eyes were flat as a snake’s when they settled on me. “I hear you’re dating my brother.”
I’d have appreciated how to the point that statement was, but I was busy reeling from it. Her brother? Lulabelle was Costello’s sister? In the far reaches of my memory, I dug through the bits that hadn’t been activated in forever. The only thing I recalled about another Badd daughter was that she’d been mentioned in a few Enquirer-style newspapers in the grocery stores.
They’d waxed poetic about the Missing Mafia Princess. Had she been abducted by aliens? Had her father murdered her? Had the whole Badd family conspired to hide the body?
But I hadn’t really cared; I’d been fifteen at the time and busy with my own life. Besides, I’d never met the girl; I didn’t know enough to wonder.
Considering her question, I said, “Yeah. I’m dating him. That a problem?”
I’d like to say I wasn’t put off by how fiercely she studied me, but my palms were sweating before she finally let a serene smile pass over her full lips. “No. I’m glad he’s finally opening up to people.”
I gloried in a tiny spark of pleasure. It was nice to have her approval—even if the relationship was fake.
Throwing her hands up, Fran rolled her eyes. “Am I the only one totally confused by this? Something has to be wrong with this girl if she’s into Costello!”
I was done letting her be so cold to me without explaining why. Leaning forward, I started to ask her what her problem was, but Sammy intervened, patting Francesca on the head and saying, “Whoa now, down, girl. I think it’s time we got you that manicure.”
Lula looked down her nose at me. “Come with us.”
My jaw dropped. “Really? Are you sure it’s okay?”
Perking up, Sammy nodded enthusiastically. “I’m the bride. If I say it’s okay, then it is. Unless you had other plans?”
All three of them had to have guessed I didn’t. What could I possibly do between now and the ceremony? Peering back at the hotel room, I hesitated. Costello told me to stay put, but that’s because he wanted me to stay safe. And staying safe means not being suspicious, which turning down their invite would be.
Grinning, I said, “The bride always gets what she wants.”
The salon was right inside the hotel itself. Though it was small, they’d decorated it with lush flowers that weren’t in season. The squishy chairs vibrated us with a massage as five girls—one for each of us, as Mama Badd was here, too—did our nails.
It was such a relaxing experience that I let my guard down. I giggled along with all the banter between Sammy and Fran, my eyelids growing heavy as my body gave in to the soothing music.
I wasn’t prepared for Sammy’s attack. “So,” she asked, facing me, “how did you meet Costello?”
Everyone leaned closer. They’d obviously been wondering the same thing. Had they planned to lull me into safety here before digging for details? Ah, fuck. I’d tried to come up with a cover story while flying on the jet. Costello’s plan had been to keep me from talking to his family, clearly, because he’d made no attempt to coach me on what to say. Or maybe he just didn’t do enough dating to come up with a fake history for “us.”
I started to scratch my cheek, but the nail tech clicked her tongue, stopping me before I ruined her paint job. I’d gone with silver and blue. It was only after she’d painted my nails that I realized I’d chosen those colors because they subconsciously reminded me of Costello. “Well, I ran into him at a bar. We got some drinks, started talking, and that’s that.”
Fran rolled her eyes. “That’s about as romantic as I’d expect out of him.”
“Fran!” Mama Badd hissed. “You need to get yourself under control, girl.”
Pouting, she sank deeper in her chair. “Hmph. You should be worried, too, Mama. Maybe he’s taking advantage of her!”
I pushed my lips together. “I’m twenty-five. I’m a grown-ass woman, no one takes advantage of me.”
Ignoring how the nail tech scowled, Francesca jumped to her feet. “I’m taking Mic out for a walk.” The little dog had been sleeping in her huge purse. Snatching them both up, she stomped out the door and left us staring.
Mama Badd cleared her throat. “Forgive her, please. Frannie has a bit of an attitude.”
That was putting it mildly. “I don’t get it,” I said softly. “Am I wrong, or does she have a problem with me?”
Sammy and Lula shared a look. “It’s not you,” Sammy began hesitantly.
“It’s her husband.” Mama Badd shoved her nose into our conversation. “He’s been spending so much time away, having a mansion built for them out in Los Angeles. It’s all very grand, but a man should spend time with his wife. Of course, I love having her at home with us—who knows how often we’ll see her when that house is done? But Midas couldn’t even make it here for the wedding.”
“That sounds hard,” I said. I couldn’t imagine marrying a man and then never seeing him. Plus, not getting to dance with him at her brother’s wedding . . . it made my heart soften for Fran.
The larger woman was nodding. “It’s a real shame, but Frannie will bounce back.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Lulabelle and Sammy scrunching their faces up. Either they’d eaten lemons, or they were choosing to stay silent.
“Maybe I’ll go talk to her,” Sammy said.
“No. If anyone should, it’s me.” Lulabelle rose, smoothing the sweater that hung down to her hips.
Feeling weirdly responsible for this tension, I half stood. “Let me go, too. I want to clear the air with her.”
Sammy and Lula spoke a simultaneous “No.”
I froze in place while I waited for them to explain. Lulabelle came my way until her lips were nearly touching my ear; she used such a soft whisper it gave me goose bumps. “Francesca has trouble letting go of the past. As long as you’re close to my brother, I wouldn’t bother trying to win her over.”
It was a warning that vibrated with pain. Was this about Costello somehow, and not Francesca’s absent husband?
Lulabelle left, but neither she nor Fran returned. Sammy walked me back to the hotel with Mama Badd, both of them apologizing for the other women. Neither of them gave me any good reason why everyone was acting weird, and I didn’t press. It was a relief when they said goodbye to me in the lobby.
Family drama, I mused to myself. What a concept. I’d witnessed very little of it growing up. My mother and father were sickeningly in love, they always supported my choices, and as far as they knew . . . I’d never done anything worth getting upset over.
Stepping into my hotel room, I nearly tripped over the box on the floor. “What?” Bending down, I set the long white container on the bed. Tiny raindrops of anticipation pattered along my spine. They increased even after I opened the gift to reveal the rose-colored dress inside.
“This . . . What?” I asked the empty room for a second time. Lifting the outfit high, I hung it down my body. Whoever had gotten this for me had done a good job guessing my height. Being tall had always made shopping an exhausting chore; things were usually too short on me.
Swaying in a circle, I hugged the dress as if it were a lover. Where did this come from? Even as I wondered, deep down, I was sure of the answer. Costello . . . did he realize how out of place I’d look at the wedding in my jeans? Slowing down, I clutched the soft material in my fingers. I wanted it to be a genuine gift.
That wasn’t Costello’s way.
It’s all about business, I reminded myself. Everything he does has a purpose. Keeping me hidden was another job for him. Same as searching me for a wire, nothing more. I stripped my sweater off and started to tug the jeans down. They had sealed themselves to my hips—or maybe they’d shrunk. Were they really
that much smaller than me? Putting my thumbs in my pockets for leverage, I touched a tiny, hard bead.
My nose piercing glinted in the light when I held it high. I’d stashed it there to complete my disguise. I bet the hole is already closed, I thought, touching the edge of my nose. It’s funny how certain parts of us heal faster than the rest. I hid the stud away again.
I was never one for fancy clothes, so dressing in the pale pink gown was an experience. The threads were silky, warm as they hugged my waist. It had a high collar, like a turtleneck, but the upper chest was cut open to show off some skin. Spinning in it, I admired how it made me look . . . no, how it made me feel.
The best part was that it was long enough to hide my sneakers; there were no heels in the box. I didn’t mind, heels always made me tower over people. Not Costello, I mused, touching my throat and imagining him buying the dress for me. Even when I’m in heels, he’s taller than me.
“It fits you perfectly,” a thick male voice whispered behind me.
I twirled like a top, the material clinging so tight it barely shifted. My own hair fell into my eyes; I was partially blind. That didn’t keep me from swelling with desire at the sight of Costello Badd.
His jet clothes had been replaced. In a silver vest, black long-sleeved shirt, and matching slacks, he was the epitome of dark and handsome.
Oh God, say something! But what something? Go for being honest! “You look hot,” I said. Dammit! Too honest! “I mean—uh, good. You look good.” Like a million-dollar-prize-on-a-game-show level of good. I didn’t say that last part, but the edge of his sharp smirk hinted that the damage was done; I’d made my feelings pretty obvious.
Adjusting the front of his vest, he said, “We match.”
“Huh?”
“Your nails.” Pointing at my manicure, Costello approached in his usual hunter-on-the-prowl way. When he lifted my hand to study the silvery nails, I held perfectly still. “Did you know what I’d be wearing?”
His face was close to mine, his touch scalding me. One second. Two seconds. Uncountable seconds passed in which I forgot I was supposed to respond. “I . . . No.” I sought for some of my normal fire. Costello was smothering it—but I still had a spark. “Light pink is my favorite color. How did you know that?”
