by Skye Warren
My whole body flushes warm.
I imagine Giovanni in the room with me. What would he think of this dress?
What would he think of this cleavage? I wonder if I’ll get a chance to show him. He might be at the party. My mind is awash in fantasies. Dancing on the ballroom floor. Stealing a kiss in the garden.
I know they’re stupid dreams. His father is a foot soldier—they don’t often get invited to these kinds of affairs, much less their underage sons. And even if Gio came, would he dance with me? Or would that tip off our fathers that we knew each other?
There are a hundred reasons why it’s a bad idea. But sometimes it feels like if I want it enough, if I wish hard enough, it might happen anyway.
* * *
We are lounging side-by-side on the old, musty sofa. One earbud is in my left ear, the other is in Gio’s right. Above us, dust floats in the moonlight. I’m back in my standard jeans and tank top. No longer glamorous or over-the-top sexy. But this moment feels so perfect it almost hurts. I want a million of these moments, strung like beads on a necklace, one after the other.
When the third Glee song comes on, Giovanni slants me a dark look that makes me giggle.
“What?” I ask, going for innocent. But I don’t quite succeed. I like making him suffer with fun songs. He doesn’t tell me that much about his life outside of these nights, but I know there’s not enough fun in it.
“Really?” he says.
I sing along. “Don’t stop believing…”
He groans, but I see the smile that plays on his lips. He likes it. “You know high school is nothing like that show, right?”
“Duh,” I say. “That’s not even realistic. It’s obviously more like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”
He flicks his thick fingers lightly against my arm. “Smart-ass.”
I stick my tongue out, which probably proves him right. I don’t care. “Hey, it’s not my fault I never got to go. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have to guess what high school is like. I would already know.”
“I don’t agree with much your father does, but I think he got that part right.”
Stung, I face the ceiling again. “Whatever.”
“I’m just saying people would know who your father is. It makes you a target.”
“So I should just never live, is that what you’re saying? I should just stay locked up and marry whoever he tells me to and dress however Byron says—”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What did Byron tell you?” He’s facing me, eyes a little wild.
Unease rolls through me. Gio and I, we’ve had our little spats. It’s part of the teasing ups and downs we do. But I’ve never seen him quite so intense. Except maybe about his father. But then he mostly shuts down if that topic comes up.
He’s not shutting down now. His expression is furious and expectant.
“He didn’t tell me anything,” I say, trying to calm him down. “He just said I was going to the party. And that I should look my best, whatever that means.”
Gio swears in Italian. I mostly don’t understand the words except to know they’re bad.
“That fucker,” he says.
Okay, I know that one. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a big fucking deal. He needs to keep his filthy fucking hands off you—”
“He didn’t touch me.” I prop myself up on one elbow, concerned. Cautiously, like approaching a wild animal, I rest my hand on Gio’s arm. “He didn’t touch me, okay?”
I watch Gio take deep breaths in and out. He calms down slowly, though I sense the rage is still simmering beneath the surface. After a beat, I lie back down. The song changes to Angels We Have Heard on High. It’s early May, but I love Christmas music any time of year. It’s so hopeful. I especially love the Glee version.
Maybe I did think high school was a little like that…
“I thought you weren’t allowed to go to the party,” he says, his voice low.
I shrug. “I guess they changed their mind.”
“It’s not safe for you.”
Umm… “Everyone will be there.”
“That’s exactly why it’s not safe.”
“Will you be there?” I ask hopefully. I’m not worried about the safety of this party. I mean…it’s a party. But I want him to be there anyway. “You could protect me.”
He lets out a disgusted sound. “No. I have a job that night.”
A job. That sounds ominous. It’s not like he’s got shifts at a movie theater or something. A job means something for his father. Something for la familia. What if something goes wrong? What if he gets hurt? He still has bruises from whatever awful thing happened the other night. How dare his father send him into violent, dangerous situations.
Then again, that’s exactly what my father is doing with Honor.
“We’ll see each other after,” I say. I was thinking of telling him we’d skip that night, but lying here with him now, that feels too painful. And now that I know he has a job, I’d just be worried about him until I saw him again.
“The party will be late.”
“I’ll leave early. I’ll tell them I feel sick or something.” I don’t mention that I already feel sick. I’ve wanted to go to a party, to anything, since forever. But now that it’s here, it feels all wrong. This isn’t about dancing in ballrooms and getting kissed in the garden. This is being paraded in front of Byron’s friends while Gio is off somewhere risking his life. “Please. I need to see you after the party. Meet me here.”
He grunts, still looking at the ceiling. “Maybe.”
Chapter Four
The party is a success. I know this because at least five people have told me so. How good the food is. How pretty the flowers are. How grown up I look in this dress. It makes me wonder if they want something from me.
Maybe I’m just being cynical. The people do seem very nice…if a little superficial. Every conversation I’ve had has been about the weather and the best wine vintage. And the weather again.
I miss lounging on the couch, choking down whiskey or listening to music. I miss resting my head on Gio’s strong thigh, feeling the warm weight of his hand on the back of my neck.
I miss him.
“Dear?”
My attention snaps back to the woman in front of me. It’s almost hard to see her face with all the diamonds crowding her neck and earlobes. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Donato. I didn’t hear you.”
It helps that the ballroom is crazy loud. It makes it less weird that she has to keep repeating herself to me. “Call me Ines,” she says with a knowing smile. “You’re practically a woman now. One of us.”
One of us. But who is that exactly?
It’s like there’s a secret handshake that no one ever taught me. I understand what Gio meant about staying in the background and hoping not to be noticed. There’s something almost creepy about all the smiles and the wealth. And the congratulations for my sister, when everyone here knows what a monster Byron is.
Heck, everyone here is a monster.
All the jewels dripping from wrists and necks were bought with blood. But I’m supposed to smile and say, “I’m so thrilled to be here.”
She clucks. “It’s so hot though. More than usual, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it has been warm this year.”
Which is a lie. We live in Las Vegas. It’s basically a giant oven, a kiln that’s been baking the cracked clay earth for centuries. The grounds of my father’s estate are lush green, a testament to what huge sums of money and half the city’s water supply can accomplish.
We’ve made our own little oasis. But that doesn’t make it any less of an illusion.
I scan the crowd, but I’m too short to see above the black tuxes and fancy hairdos. “Have you happened to see Honor around?”
Mrs. Di Donato winks. “I saw her leaving the ballroom with Byron a few minutes ago. Young love is a beautiful thing.”
I manage some kind of nod that convinces her before makin
g my excuses. Then I’m crossing the ballroom. I readjust the shawl as I go, making sure it’s covering my cleavage. My feet are aching after hours of standing in heels—seriously, whoever invented these was a masochist. Or a sadist. But they don’t slow me down. Whatever is going on between Honor and Byron, it’s not love. I have to check on her.
A man stops in front of me. I start to go around him, but he touches my arm.
I flinch back. Only then do I realize he was stopping me on purpose.
He smiles. “Are you Clara?”
I’ve never seen this man before. And I have no desire to meet him now. “Excuse me. I’m looking for my sister.”
He grins, mouth stretching wide. He looks kind of like a movie star, and I don’t like it. “I’m afraid she’s indisposed at the moment. I hope that will give you a few minutes to talk to me.”
I’m standing in the middle of hundreds of people, but I’ve never felt more alone. I don’t know where Honor is. She could be anywhere in the house. Heck, she could have left the house. And with Byron, who is no doubt hurting her in some way. He will always hurt her. There’s no way we can stop him. As I stand in the crowded room, a deep and sorrowful certainty takes root.
We have to go. Leave. There’s no reason to wait.
There’s no reason to hope things will get better.
The only thing to do is leave—and never see Gio again.
“Excuse me,” I say again, this time more quietly. I’m breaking apart inside. “I think I need to be alone.”
His expression turns apologetic. “Actually, Honor sent me to check on you. She knew she’d be busy and wanted to make sure you had someone by your side.”
I narrow my eyes. Is he flat out lying to me? It feels that way. Honor would know I don’t want some weirdo stranger hovering around me. But then again, she does get protective sometimes. Maybe she did worry about me in the ballroom by myself.
But why not send someone I actually knew? Or at least introduce me to him first?
Then again, it’s not like Byron would have given her time to do anything. If he says to jump off a cliff, he’s already pushing you off. That’s how he operates.
I look back at the party. I do feel sick now. Sick of smiling. Sick of pretending. I want to be in the pool house, teasing Giovanni. But it’s still my sister’s party. And I don’t need to listen to my intuition to know she might be hurting right now. I have to find her before I go. I’ll make sure she’s okay. Then I’ll make excuses so I can sneak to the pool house.
“Can you bring me to my sister?” I ask the strange man.
“Of course.” His smile disarms me. He actually looks pretty nice when he’s not blocking my path and being pushy. “She just stepped outside for some air.”
* * *
The lights strung up over the patio cast the rest of the lawn into darkness. I can’t even see the outline of the pool house from here. A couple is making out, half-hidden by a bush, but they stop when they see us. Actually, not us. Him. Whoever this guy is, he makes their eyes widen and they run inside, straightening their clothes as they go.
“Where’s my sister?” I say.
He absently scans the dark landscape. “She’ll be along.”
It’s not only secluded here. It’s quiet. Much quieter than the voices and five-string orchestra inside. It makes me feel a little stranded, being out here alone with him, with no one to hear me. “Umm, what did you say your name was again?”
“Markam,” he says with an easy smile. “Javier Markam.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Wasn’t he in the news about some big controversy? “The governor’s son?”
“Does my reputation precede me?”
I can’t remember what he’d supposedly done. But no one in that ballroom has clean hands. Not even me. We all benefit from the criminal enterprise in some way, even if it’s only the bed we sleep in or the guards that lock us in. “Not really.”
“Good.” A glint enters his eyes. “I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot.”
Suspicion is a dark knot in my chest. “Are you friends with Byron?”
“Good friends, yes. We go way back.”
My heart pounds. Honor would never send one of Byron’s friends to me. She wouldn’t trust him any more than I do. “He said something about wanting me to meet his friends. Was he talking about you?”
Dark eyes study me. “Direct. I like that in a girl. I hope we can speak frankly with each other.”
“Why would that matter?”
“Because we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other. At least, if I have my way.” He winks to lighten the words, but I can read between the lines. He always gets his way.
“I don’t understand.”
He shrugs. “You know how these things work. Powerful people make powerful enemies. We need to stick together. Like Byron and Honor, for example.”
We are nothing like Byron and Honor. They’re engaged. And if that was a marriage proposal, it was seriously lame. “I’m fifteen.”
That earns me a chuckle. He has handsome features and an expensive tux, but he’s twisting and distorting while I look at him. Everything looks exaggerated, fake. His smile. His hair. Even the good humor in his eyes. It’s a creepy kind of humor. “I know you’re too young for anything serious. We’re just getting to know each other. Getting to know if…there’d even be a point in pursuing this, understand?”
No. “And if there is?”
“Then you’d still stay here, finish your studies. You’d be under Byron’s protection. I’d visit from time to time.”
In other words, he’d be free to play the field while I’d stay locked up in here. Gross. “I’d like to find my sister now.”
“Look, Clara.” He drops his head. It’s an endearing move. A practiced move. “The truth is, Byron didn’t only introduce me to you because of the family connections we could make. He thought I’d like you…and I do.”
Somehow I don’t think he’s talking about my personality. “Why would he think that?”
“You have a certain innocence. A youthfulness I find appealing.”
It’s called being underage, jackass. “Well, thanks. I guess. I’d like to find my sister, though. I’m worried about her.”
“You never have to worry about her. Byron would never let anything happen to her.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. I take a step back. Then there’s a hand clamped around my wrist. Javier’s hand. “Let me go.”
He pulls me closer. I wobble on my high heels, almost falling into him. The shawl comes lose. His gaze drops and darkens.
“Clara, I think you and I really get along.”
“Let go of me now.”
He walks forward, and I have no choice but to walk backward, stumbling as I go. One of my shoes twists off, and then the other. I’m off balance, almost falling, except that he’s holding me up, fingers clenched into my skin, wrenching me. The trellis is at my back, the same metal trellis I use to climb down, the one I use to escape, and now it’s part of my prison. I’m caught between those unforgiving bars and his body, breath coming fast. Now I understand how Honor feels. I understand why she puts up with it—because she has no choice. I knew it before, but I never experienced it until now, never felt fear like a living thing inside me, clawing its way up my throat.
I kick at him, even as part of me knows that will only make it worse. I don’t have the poise and class and core of steel that Honor has. I can’t endure this, even when I know I have to. I can only fight.
“You little bitch,” he snaps as my knee connects with his shin.
He twists my wrist, and I’m facing the wall. The scarf is long gone, and my breasts are pressing into the metal criss-cross. Javier is holding me in place, his breath hot against my temple. “I want us to get off on the right foot, Clara. I told you that.”
And this is the right foot. Violence. Coercion. Tears stream down my face. There’s no way out.
This is how Honor must feel. Trapped.
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There is a sudden cry and groan from the man holding me captive, and then he’s up against the metal grate himself, flat with arms spread wide, while Giovanni punches him again and again. The only reply Javier makes is a groaning sound that makes the hair rise up on my neck.
“Giovanni, stop!” He’ll kill him, and that will be so much worse. He’s the governor’s son—and worse than that, he’s Byron’s friend. “Stop!”
Giovanni turns to see me, and the rage parts like dark clouds, long enough for me to see him looking back. Him, the boy who spent those nights in the pool house, cracking jokes and letting his hand brush against mine. The haze clears. “Clara?”
I’m crying, my hands clenched together as if in prayer. Begging. “Giovanni, please.”
He turns and faces Javier. For a minute I think he’s not going to listen. He’s just going to keep beating him until Javier is dead, and then what will we do? I don’t even know what we’ll do if he’s alive. We’re in so much trouble. This goes beyond trouble.
Giovanni speaks low, so low I can barely hear him. “How does it feel without your buddies backing you up, huh? How does it feel one-on-one?”
Then he slams Javier into the wall one last time. Javier’s eyes are closed as he slumps to the ground.
I stare at the unconscious man, his nose bloodied, his crisp tux rumpled and torn. “Is he…dead?”
Giovanni wipes his brow with his forearm. “No.”
“Is he the one who did that to you? The bruises?” With his buddies.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Why would he—”
“We need to get out of here.”
Right. What would happen if we were found out here? Every man in there is packing heat. Some of the women too. “We have to find Honor.”
“There’s not time.” He puts his hand out to me. He doesn’t grab me. Not like Javier did. His eyes are as dark as the night behind him—unfathomable. They scare me just as the night too, but I trust him. No matter how much he’s tried to scare me away. No matter that he once stroked my neck, that he once held it in his hand.
