by Kit Rocha
Right now, all that energy was focused on her. The clink of dishes and the chatter of the other women felt distant. Even the sound of Nita trying to drape Laurel in more of her diamond-studded jewelry faded away.
It took a hundred years for Ivan’s hand to close the distance between them, and his fingertips lingered on her bare shoulder as he brushed back a lock of her hair. For a moment--an eternity--they were alone in the world.
The illusion ended with a low cough at her elbow. It was one of Nita’s chamber servants, holding a calling card that bore Alexei’s name. “Ma’am.”
Maricela stared at the cream-colored paper, unable to make sense of it. “He wants to see me? Now?”
“He asked if you had a few moments.”
Nita appeared and glanced over Maricela’s shoulder. “Well, he’s one of the only nice ones here. Take the library, if you want.”
He could only want one thing--to press his suit before the ball began and others started proposing to her, as well. She could deny him now, but she couldn’t outrun this all night. “Yes, of course. Please show him to the library and tell him I’ll be along in a minute.” That task complete, she turned to Ivan. “I need to speak with him alone.”
Ivan studied her face, as if trying to judge how serious she was. “I’ll stay outside the library,” he said finally. “But the door stays open.”
She could hardly bear the thought of hearing all these proposals herself. The idea of Ivan listening to them as well was intolerable. But she couldn’t argue with him about it, not here. “Very well.”
Alexei was waiting by the fireplace--which was laid with a fire that was not only unnecessary in summer but downright stifling. His tuxedo was elegant and perfectly tailored, accentuating his lean frame and strong arms. He smiled self-consciously, his gaze skipping over her shoulder to the open door--and to Ivan, hovering a few feet beyond it. “Don’t worry. I won’t make this miserable.”
She didn’t see how he could make it anything else. “You don’t want to marry me, Alexei.”
“No,” he admitted readily. “No more than you want to marry me. You deserve to be happy, and so do I. But we are who we are. We can fight it with everything in us, but in the end, we’ll both give in.” He shrugged. “And I’m the best person you could ever choose to grudgingly marry.”
Her chest tightened until just drawing a breath ached. “It’s not funny.”
“Oh, I’m not laughing.” His cheerful expression faded, and she got her first glimpse of the bleakness in his eyes. His voice lowered until there was no chance it would reach Ivan’s ears. “I didn’t get to bring my star-crossed love. Hugo is a genius. People say he was blessed by your mother. He could make a garden grow in dead, salted earth. He just has one flaw.”
“You can’t marry the gardener.” There was no advancement in that for his family, no way it would help them climb the social ladder or generate new business contacts.
“Maybe if I already had an appropriate spouse or two.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “There are four great families. The best chance we have of becoming the fifth is if I marry you.”
“And what about Hugo?”
“My only hope is to marry a man or woman who understands. Who might even come to appreciate a surly genius who seems brooding and rough at first, but underneath is just a teddy bear.” Alexei’s gaze held hers. Serious. Intent. “And if you appreciate men like that, I would be understanding, too.”
The future he offered stretched out before her, all the more dismal and depressing because he was right. It was their best-case scenario--a practical marriage full of affection but devoid of passion, where they each were free to seek solace in the arms of others. He could have Hugo at least part of the time, and she could have--
Would Ivan agree to such an arrangement? Or would he consider it beneath the office of a Rider, to carry on with a married woman, even if everyone involved knew what was going on and why?
And could it ever be worth it?
She didn’t realize she’d asked the question aloud until Alexei looked away to stare into the fire. “I don’t know. I want to believe it could.”
Or they’d end up hating each other over it. “No. I like you too much for that. I know you had to ask, but now that you have, I’m going to forget it happened. Sound fair?”
He managed to look disappointed and relieved at the same time. “Absolutely. I’ll even make you a deal--you save me from overeager suitors, and I’ll do the same for you.”
People had probably already started to gather downstairs. “I’m afraid it’s much too late for that. I’d rather have a promise that you’ll step in and save my toes if they’re getting trampled on.”
“Consider it done.”
She accepted his arm and began walking him the back way toward the suite’s exit. “I know this ball is about courtship, so everyone is focused on marriage, but I also make a pretty good friend. If there’s anything I can do to help you--”
They turned the corner, and a brash voice rose in a tipsy slur. “There she is! Enough of this babbling about announcements.”
The maid guarding the door turned to give Maricela a pleading look. Javier Montero filled the doorway behind her in a rumpled tux, looking drunk and extremely affronted--and, for once, absolutely nothing like his brother. In all the years Maricela had known him, Gabe had never once worn that expression of angry entitlement.
“It’s all right, Lindsey.” Maricela put herself between him and the maid. “I’m afraid I have to finish getting ready now, Javier, but I’d be happy to save you a dance later.”
Javier’s gaze raked over Alexei in accusation. “You had time for him.”
Only years of practice kept the vague smile on her face. “A waltz, perhaps?”
Alexei stepped forward. “Javier--”
“Shut up.” Gabe’s brother swept his arm wide as he stepped into the suite, knocking Alexei back. He loomed over Maricela. “You know his family just wants to use you to claw their way to relevance. You should be spending your time with a better class of people.”
Her spine stiffened. “How ugly. If you insist on offering opinions like that, I’m afraid I’ll have to skip that dance.”
Javier’s breath stank of liquor, and something desperate stirred behind his eyes. Maricela didn’t know what family ultimatum had driven him here, but the bitterness in his expression made it perfectly clear how much he resented needing her. “I don’t want a dance,” he snapped as he clasped her upper arm with bruising strength. “I want to talk to you--”
“Hey!” Alexei reached for Javier in protest.
He didn’t get a chance to do anything, because Ivan burst into the foyer in an explosion of movement so fast Maricela barely had time to free herself from Javier’s grip. The man yelped in pain as Ivan grabbed him and bore him back, through the open doorway and across the hall. Ivan slammed him against the wood paneling with his forearm across his neck and lifted him until Javier’s toes only just scraped the floor. He clawed at Ivan’s arm, but no words could make it past the pressure on his throat.
Ivan stood there, an immobile statue carved of hard muscle and anger that seethed beneath every word he managed to bite out. “Don’t touch her.”
Javier’s red face was taking on a decidedly purple tinge. If Maricela didn’t intervene, Ivan might hold him there until he passed out--or worse. She stepped forward and touched the back of Ivan’s shoulder. “Put him down, please. You have to put him down now.”
He tensed but obeyed--a little. Javier’s shoes touched the floor as Ivan eased the pressure enough for him to gasp in a breath.
“Ivan, put him down.”
After another trembling moment, Ivan abruptly stepped away. Javier slid partway down the wall before locking his knees, embarrassment and rage battling on his face.
Rage won. He glared at Ivan as he straightened, tugging his tuxedo into place. “It figures you’d be feral. Just like your uncles.”
Ivan’s stony exp
ression didn’t waver. “And I’ll kill anyone who lays a violent hand on a Rios. Just like my father.”
“Go ahead and bare your teeth like the rabid dog you are.” Javier stepped into Ivan’s space. “Someday you won’t heel when she tells you, and I’ll enjoy watching them put you down.” When Ivan stared at him without reacting, Javier turned to Maricela. “I hope you know I just wanted to talk about our future.”
“We don’t have a future.” Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them in her skirt. She didn’t care if she crushed the delicate satin. “I knew you could be petty, Javier, but I didn’t know you were cruel. Good night.”
“Maricela, be reasonable--”
“Enough.” Ivan grabbed Javier’s arm and turned him around roughly. “Maricela, go back to the others and finish getting ready.”
Maricela watched them retreat down the hallway and disappear around the corner. Tears threatened, and she kept her eyes open, wide and unblinking, until the burning subsided.
She didn’t have time to ruin her mascara.
A soft touch on her shoulder tore her attention away from the end of the hall, and she turned to find Avery eyeing her with concern. “Are you all right?”
The compassion in her friend’s voice was enough to shake her careful self-control. As it was, it ripped past every polite, automatic assurance, and the truth slipped out. “No. I want to go home.”
Hunter
The seasonal celebrations thrown by each of the four most powerful families in Sector One were as different as their hosts. Estela Reyes had always preferred a more formal occasion, which was why Hunter was sipping champagne, making small talk, and resisting the urge to tug on the bow tie constricting his airway.
He was the only one of the Riders who seemed to be suffering. Reyes looked as comfortable as ever, as if he didn’t even feel like his range of movement was severely limited in a tuxedo. Gabe looked his usual level of broody. And Zeke, the traitor, even though he’d fought the idea of being custom-fitted for something so stuffy and expensive, was actually enjoying himself.
All the minor heiresses giggling at him from behind their fans probably didn’t hurt.
Hunter sincerely missed the days when he was too young to officially attend the ball. He and Reyes and Gabe would sneak down from their rooms while the servants were busy setting up and hide beneath the buffet tables. They’d spend the entire evening under there, sneaking treats and peeking out to watch for hints of scandal at the edges of the ballroom.
Reyes grinned and lifted the edge of one pristine white tablecloth with his heel. “I think you can still fit, if you want to give it a go. I’ll cover for you.”
“Shut up,” Hunter grumbled.
Reyes saluted him with a fresh glass of champagne, only to have it plucked from his hand by Deacon. He didn’t look uncomfortable in his formal clothes, either. In fact, he didn’t look any different than usual. He was just like Ashwin and Lucio--he wore the tuxedo like a uniform or tactical fatigues.
Like he was still a soldier, even in this stuffy, restrictive getup.
Deacon eyed the crowd with a frown. “Anything?”
“Not a peep.” So far, all of Hunter’s best intelligence-gathering efforts had come to nothing. If anyone at the house party was responsible for hiring the Suicide Kings, they were keeping the information close enough to avoid even hints of gossip. “No chatter about anyone’s liquid assets or spending habits changing. Just the usual--who’s sleeping together, who’s not sleeping together. Who drinks too much.”
“If we get lucky,” Reyes observed, “that last one will help us out tonight. Champagne does tend to loosen tongues.”
And inhibitions. Hunter lowered his voice. “There was one situation. A personal one.”
Zeke glanced at Gabe and raised both brows in a prompt so unsubtle, Gabe sighed. “My brother got drunk and pushy with Maricela, and he and Ivan scrapped.”
Deacon’s frown deepened. “He did what?”
“Said some dumb shit. Tried to talk her into marrying him, I guess. The maid who was with them told me he grabbed Maricela’s arm to keep her from leaving, and Ivan threw him out of the room and into a wall. Then they...exchanged words.” Gabe’s grip on his champagne flute tightened until Hunter half-expected the delicate stem to snap. “I don’t know what’s going on. None of that is like him.”
Reyes rubbed his shoulder. “It’s just the pressure. It gets to everyone sometimes. He’ll be all right.”
Hunter hoped it was true. Javier had often joined their close-knit group as a youngster. He was witty and fun, and as one of the youngest children of the family, he’d grown up carefree and wild. His only responsibility was to marry well one day, making some fine connections for his family in the process.
But then, one by one, his older brothers had scattered. John married Isabela, effectively becoming part of the Rios family. Martin had died in a riding accident, and Gabe had joined the Riders, and pretty soon only Javier was left to carry on the family business and secure their legacy.
It was enough to make anyone a little nuts.
The band started playing, and the crowd turned in unison to the wide staircase that dominated the foyer. Their hosts came down first, and Hunter stifled a smile when Reyes threw his mother a lazy salute.
Gideon was next--alone and unsmiling, nodding instead of waving to the gathered guests. Isabela and her family followed, and Hunter spared a wink for his sister as she accompanied her wives and husbands past him, into the crowd.
A handful of gasps and murmurs drew his attention back to the top of the stairs. Ivan stood there stiffly, with Maricela on his arm. Her strapless dress was sewn with crystals on the bodice, completely covering the fabric around the top but slowly thinning in number as the white satin flowed into a full skirt. The crystals caught the light as she moved, and half the crowd broke into applause.
Laurel appeared out of nowhere, nudging past Hunter to steal Zeke’s glass of champagne. “No offense, but the rich people in this sector are weird.”
“Rich people are weird, full stop,” Zeke retorted, snagging another glass from a passing server. “That’s what happens when you don’t have to spend your time worrying about how you’re gonna eat every day. You get weird.”
The temple acolytes began to make their entrances, and Hunter turned to Laurel. “Any luck with the lost heir last night?”
“Nope. The guy was stone cold.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not his type.”
“I’m taking a run at him next,” Ana murmured, stepping up next to Deacon. “If he won’t flirt with me, I say we send Zeke.”
“Better to send one of these louts,” Zeke said, jabbing his thumb toward Reyes, Gabe, and Hunter. “You know, someone whose family can buy half a sector.”
Reyes slapped his hand away. “I already took a shot. He kept steering the conversation around to Maricela. I’d say he’s a man on a mission.”
“Is there anyone here who doesn’t want to marry her?” Laurel asked.
“Marry a Rios,” Hunter corrected.
“Huh?”
“They all want to marry a Rios.” He shrugged. “I don’t think they much care which one it is.”
“Charming.”
“Oh. Oh.” Reyes stared past them at the staircase. “Oh, there is a God.”
Grace was coming down. Instead of her usual ponytail, she’d curled her hair to tumble down over her mostly bare shoulders, and her dress was made of thin, clingy silk, the kind of thing that danced back and forth across the border between sweet and scandalous.
Zeke’s mouth fell open.
“Yeah.” Ana couldn’t hide her laughter. “She looks like that, and she made the damn dress in, like, two hours this morning. After making Maricela’s and Nita’s. She’ll have to beat Gabe’s cousins off with a bat.”
Reyes groaned. “Please don’t talk about beating off right now.”
Zeke flushed and jammed an elbow into Reyes’s side. “Shut your foul fucking mouth. That�
�s Jaden’s baby sister.”
“Hmm. Sister, yes. Baby? No.” Laurel shook her head. “That is a grown-up goddamn woman.”
“Laurel.”
Reyes leaned over Zeke’s shoulder. “So, hey. Are you gonna...? I mean, I figure you’ve got dibs and all, but if you’re not gonna, then I’m definitely gonna.”
Zeke had turned an alarming shade of red, and Ana took pity on him. “Don’t worry, Grace is too smart to fall for Reyes. Plus, if he annoys her, she’ll tell Nita, Nita will tell me, I’ll tell Ashwin, and Ashwin will break so many parts of him, he won’t be able to make jerk-off jokes for a month.”
Reyes snorted. “Frankly, I think you’re underestimating me--on many counts--but whatever.”
The music changed as Nita appeared on the second-floor landing. If Grace really had made her dress, then Ana was right--the families who dealt in textiles and clothing would be eager to fold Grace’s skills into their businesses. The dress was deep purple, with a jeweled bodice that hugged Nita’s breasts and a voluminous skirt that seemed to be made of miles and miles of floating fabric.
She looked beautiful. She always did. But the smile on her lips as she gazed down at the partygoers sent a chill sliding up Hunter’s spine.
At one time, they’d been close. Not exactly friends, maybe, but close enough for him to look at her and know whether she was happy or sad, amused or horrified, no matter how well she’d schooled her expression into a polite mask. But her masks had gotten better over the years, and now not even he could see through them.
She descended the stairs like she was floating, her back straight, her smile fixed. As her gaze drifted across the crowd, it clashed momentarily with his. He raised his glass in a silent toast, and something softened in her eyes. She inclined her head to him in the tiniest of gestures.
“Damn, Reyes,” Ana murmured. “If you want to talk about hot sisters...”
“Hey, you’d be lucky.”
