by Stasia Black
“What’s dessert?”
“Chocolate mousse.”
Cora fought against licking her lips. She adored chocolate.
“So tell me. What made you change your mind and come back?”
“Oh.” Obviously her favorite word for the evening. “Well I went by my former employers to pick up my, um, paycheck and my belongings but there was, um…”
Cora looked towards the window. “…a little bit of an issue.” She glanced back Marcus’s way and then down at her plate. “Anyway, I wasn’t able to get my paycheck or any of my things. They’d already thrown them out. And I lost my phone last night when that man… So I didn’t have anyone’s phone number because they were all in the phone and I didn’t know where to go without any money…”
She shoved another bite of lamb shank into her mouth if only to cut herself off from saying anything else. She hazarded another glance at Marcus. He had his glass of wine in his hand but he set it abruptly down on the table, frowning. “They didn’t give you the money they owed you?”
Cora swallowed the meat and reached for her cup of water. All the sudden she felt hot. She fanned herself with her other hand. Did he feel like it was hot in here?
Marcus was still staring at her, obviously expecting an answer, so she shook her head, three quick shakes back and forth.
It was embarrassing enough experiencing it the first time around, but now having to tell Marcus seemed like adding insult to injury. She didn’t know what was worse, him knowing all the details of her pathetic situation or thinking she was a mooch, eager to eat his fancy food and sleep in his fancy penthouse hotel suite.
“That’s not acceptable.”
The dark look that crossed his face on her behalf both pleased and scared her a little.
She quickly waved a hand. “It’s one of those things that happens, I guess. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“But surely you have some money in the bank?”
Could she die of embarrassment?
“I don’t have a bank account. I kept it all in cash.”
She could feel his eyes on her even without looking up. “And, well, I don’t exactly have an ID either. Or a social security number. My mom’s kind of…intense, I guess is one way to put it. I grew up way out in the middle of nowhere on a farm and my mom homeschooled me and everything. Mom wanted to be off the grid.”
Cora fiddled with her fork in her grits. “Like, really off the grid. Apparently she even gave birth to me at home and never, you know, got a birth certificate or social security card or anything for me.”
Cora braced herself and finally looked up at Marcus. But she couldn’t read a single thing from his features. It wasn’t that his face was blank—his eyes were lit with interest, but he didn’t look as shocked or appalled as she’d expected. It gave her the courage to go on.
“So when I left home and came to the city, I didn’t have any paperwork. I didn’t even think about it. I didn’t know you needed that kind of thing to get a job. But it turns out it’s really important.”
“But you still got the nannying job.”
She shrugged. “They were fine with paying me cash.”
“And they didn’t require references?”
“They told me they’d have a nanny cam on me at all times and I got along really well with Timmy during our trial play date. Plus I wasn’t asking for as much money as other nannies, I learned later.”
And it had been Paul who’d interviewed her, not Diane. Cora shuddered. Was that the real reason he’d hired her? Because he found her attractive and had hoped to have an affair with her?
“Well first of all, we need to start the process for getting you a social security card. You’ll be crippled for life without one.”
Cora’s mouth dropped open. First by the we and second by how confident he sounded that she could actually get a social security card. She’d looked into it on the internet a few times but almost everything that came up was only for how to get documents for babies born at home while they were still babies. Not when they were nineteen.
She’d thought about going to the social security office and asking but had gotten afraid. What if she got in trouble for not having the documents? She couldn’t actually prove she was who she said she was. She couldn’t even prove she was a citizen and with how crazy everything had been with immigration lately, what if they tried to deport her to a foreign country? Yes, she was good at thinking in terms of worst-possible-scenarios. After living with her paranoid mom all her life, it was usually her knee jerk reaction.
Besides, she’d gotten the nanny position so it didn’t seem so important and definitely not worth the risk.
Feeling stupid even as she asked it, she couldn’t help herself. “Doesn’t that seem, I don’t know…risky? How would they prove that I am who I say I am?”
“I’ll have my lawyer look into it, but I imagine it will involve a series of affidavits by your mother and people who knew her while she was preg—”
“No,” Cora said sharply.
Marcus’s eyebrows went up.
Crap. How to explain this? “My mom and I didn’t part on the best of terms is all.”
Marcus nodded, looking thoughtful.
Cora took another bite of her food if only for something to busy her hands with when Marcus asked, “Have you ever done any modeling?”
Her eyes bulged and she choked, grabbing for her napkin and dabbing at the red sauce she was sure was all over her mouth.
She hurriedly chewed and laughed. “Ha ha,” she said. “Funny joke.”
He wasn’t laughing, though. His features were set with their stone intensity again. “When I’m telling a joke, you’ll know it, Cora.”
She scoffed. “I don’t look like a model.”
How many times had her mother picked on her appearance? Why won’t you let me cut bangs again? Your forehead is obnoxiously huge. It needs to be covered. And what have you been eating? I’m surprised you can make it through the door with those hips.
Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be one of those girls who pretends she doesn’t know she’s beautiful.”
Cora’s cheeks flamed. Did he think she was fishing for compliments? She waved a hand at him but he persisted.
“I have a friend who’s a fashion designer, Armand, and I know he’d love to get his hands on you.”
Her mouth dropped open again, the second time in as many minutes. Get his hands on—
“Not like that.” Marcus tilted his head, his grey eyes turning dark. “No one will ever lay hands on you again.”
The way he said it had a quality of finality that probably should have disturbed her. And was it just her or did she read an implicit, “Except me,” in his eyes in the silence after his statement?
“But it would be work I think you’d enjoy,” he went on. “You’d get to meet people your age.” He smiled in a way that made her feel every one of the years between them. “And wear pretty clothes.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’d feel more comfortable in overalls and flannel. Farm girl, remember?”
Although more than once, she had snuck into her mother’s closet and tried on the heels hidden in a box at the very back. She’d about broken her ankle the first few times she tried walking in them but had eventually gotten the hang of it. She’d dreamed about the sort of life Marcus was describing, but in the same way she dreamed about knights and castles from her books. Not as anything that could ever be real.
“You own businesses, right?” she asked. “Why can’t I work for you?”
“Out of the question,” he snapped and Cora shrank back from the table.
Marcus swiped at his mouth with a napkin. His eyes were on her again. “I own bars. Hotels that aren’t in the best parts of town. Not where an angel belongs.”
Cora frowned a little. She wasn’t sure she liked being thought of as an angel all that much. The more she got to know Marcus the more she thought she might like to be right down here on the earthly p
lane with him. For him to see her as a woman.
A chair scraped and Marcus’s shadow fell over her. “Cora,” he took her hand and it happened again, the electricity, but far more intensely this time. Warmth pulsed up her arm, her blood simmering, the flush spreading over her chest and rolling down. Cora gasped and Marcus’s forehead crinkled. “Cora?”
She stared at him as her body throbbed, her lips tingling and breasts swelling. From his touch. One touch. She never even knew that was possible.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Her mouth still worked even though her throat had gone suddenly dry. A miracle. “I’m good,” she whispered.
Marcus narrowed his eyes a moment before his face softened. His thumb stroked over her pulse. Her limbs turned liquid.
“Angel,” he said softly, and the way he said it sent thrills through her.
He didn’t say anything more, and he didn’t have to. Did he… Was he... feeling it too? He had to know how he affected her. And he didn’t pull away.
His grey eyes gleamed. Oh gods, he was. He was interested. In her.
Very interested, if the way his nostrils flared were any indication.
This was nuts, totally nuts. But it was happening. It was, wasn’t it? She wasn’t just making things up in her head? She searched his eyes, feeling desperate from all the sensations he was stirring inside her.
“Why are you helping me?” she blurted the question that had plagued her since she’d woken this morning. “I’m no one.”
A final squeeze, and his tall, powerful frame moved gracefully back to his seat. She felt breathless, all the nerves in her body still firing from his touch.
He looked down at his plate, his expression shadowed. The silence stretched.
“It’s just, you’re doing all these things for me. And I’m so grateful, don’t get me wrong. But if I could understand why—”
“You remind me of someone,” he said, eyes still on his plate, and she didn’t miss the way his jaw worked. “Let’s say helping you is paying a debt I owe.”
“Oh.” Cora’s stomach sank to the floor, all the lovely feelings dissipating. She was a debt to him? So much for him seeing her as a woman. She felt so foolish. Like a schoolgirl with a crush.
“And this city is a dangerous place. I know better than anyone. I had a sister who was a little younger than you when I lost her.”
A sister? And he’d lost her? Cora immediately felt like a witch for being so self-absorbed. Schoolgirl indeed.
“I’m so sorry. Marcus.” She reached across the table and laid her hand on his. “What happened? No, gods, I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.” She gave his hand a squeeze and he exhaled a huge breath, finally lifting his grey eyes to hers. She couldn’t look away. In front of her was a man, not a boy. He was a man who’d lived through things and survived them, things she couldn’t even comprehend. She suddenly wished she was more…well, just more, so she might be any sort of comfort to him.
“I want to tell you.” His eyebrows were drawn together and she could see a deep grief in his eyes that time obviously hadn’t healed. Cora felt his pain cut straight through her own chest down to her bones. “She was my sister and I loved her more than anything else on earth. When she and my parents were taken from me, brutally, violently,” his hand shook under Cora’s, “for a long while, I wished I’d died with them.”
“Marcus,” Cora whispered, barely able to get the word out, her throat was so thick. She reached her other hand out and clasped his, both of her small hands only barely surrounding one of his huge ones.
She didn’t know why he’d chosen her to share this with, but from her limited interactions with him, she felt sure this wasn’t common for him, that he was a man who rarely if ever wore his heart on his sleeve. He was too in control of himself, too measured in everything he did. Whatever his reasons, she could only feel honored to have this peek beneath the mask to glimpse the genuine man.
“But I vowed to do everything I could to take the city they loved under control so that the monsters who killed them would never have free reign again. So you understand why I can’t let you go,” he said, gaze more direct than ever. “This city is a beast. A beast in a cage. Violent. Brutal. Innocents fall and the criminals go unpunished if left unchecked.”
He believed everything he said and he believed it passionately. Absolutely. It sent a shiver down Cora’s spine.
“But what about the cops?”
“What about them?” he sneered. “The police do nothing. They’re either corrupt, or have no power. There’s no law and order, just violence. The strong crush the weak, and death walks the streets. There’s a reason they call the part of the city where you were clubbing The Underworld. But it’s not just the south side. The whole city balances on a knife’s edge. And it’s men like me who keep it from going over and falling into chaos.”
It’s not safe. The world out there isn’t safe.
How many times had her mother told her that? She’d repeated it over and over. Not safe. Not safe. Not safe.
“I don’t want to live my whole life in fear,” Cora whispered.
Marcus shook his head. “You won’t have to.” He flipped his hand and this time it was him squeezing hers.
She felt the strength of his grasp all the way down to her toes.
He leaned in, the burning intensity of his eyes flipping her stomach again as he vowed, “You’ll live among the angels where you can’t be touched.”
Five
“Babe, babe, come on, move!” Cora turned and was blinded by the lights. She’d stepped into the studio and was immediately overwhelmed by the frenetic energy of the place.
“Out of the way! Move it!”
Cora took a step to the side, disoriented, and then noticed the harried cameraman trying to pass her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, moving out of the way even further. He shook his head at her as he rushed past. She stood unsure, looking this way and that until a short but well-built man came up to her.
“Cora Vestian?”
“Yes.”
The man grinned broadly. “Armand.” He was fresh-faced, dark-haired and olive-skinned, with sharp cheekbones and flashing black eyes. She wouldn’t have thought anyone outside of the seventies could pull off a mustache, but on him it was dashing. Along with his big framed black glasses, tight jeans and suspenders over a striped vintage Parisian shirt, he looked incredibly hip in addition to handsome.
Cora tugged on the hem of her white t-shirt and rubbed her hands on her plain black leggings. Marcus had asked her what wardrobe basics she might like and she’d asked for the bare minimum, insisting she would take care of it herself as soon as she had her first paycheck. But maybe she should have worn the blouse and skirt he’d given her the first day.
Armand held out a hand and when she took it to shake, he pulled it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Enchanté. Thanks for helping a chap out in his hour of need. Now let’s get you into hair and makeup.” He took her arm and led her to a chair on the far side of the room in front of a row of mirrors, each lined with light bulbs.
“Armand!” Another man came running up to Armand, a tablet in hand. “It’s a disaster! The zipper ripped on the nymph’s maxi dress. Her tits are hanging out. And its Zephoria so there’s not enough tape in upper New Olympus to keep those things in without the dress securely zipped.”
Armand lifted a heavy eyebrow and smiled Cora’s way. “A designer’s job is never done.” Then he looked to a skinny man with a receding hairline who was hovering by Cora’s chair. “Mr. Ubeli said to treat Miss Vestian with the utmost respect. You understand?”
Cora sensed rather than saw the other man immediately come to attention at Marcus’s name. “Yes, sir.”
To Cora, Armand said, “Relax and be yourself.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. His cologne was manly and as sophisticated as the rest of him. “You’ll do fabulous out there darling, I know it.”
With
that he was off and Cora was left feeling extremely overwhelmed and out of her element.
First came hair, an extensive process of rollers and gels and sprays. While her hair was ‘setting,’ the makeup artist had his way with her.
He murmured about good bone structure and classic cheekbones but never spoke directly to her for the entire hour he was working on her. Two hours after she’d sat down in the chair, hair and makeup were finally finished.
Cora looked at herself in the mirror and was stunned. She was covered in violet-shaded white makeup, topped with a powder that gave an iridescent glow to her face, chest, and arms. Striking purple, silver, and black makeup surrounded her eyes, topped off with the longest fake lashes she’d ever seen. It felt funny every time she blinked, when the lashes flapped against her cheeks.
Her hair hung in dark cascading waves down her shoulders, little wisps pinned up here and there that created a wild, ethereal effect.
She looked absolutely nothing like herself.
“Perfect,” the artist said, and spun her out of the chair. “Let’s get you to costuming.”
Costuming. Cora could only internally shake her head. This certainly felt like playing dress up. Had she really been wiping a toddler’s runny nose only three days ago? Though actually, that felt far more real.
This was the dream world. A strange realm full of beautiful, elfin people who were too tall, too thin, and perpetually grouchy. Apart from Armand, she hadn’t seen a single person smile all day.
The assistants who dressed her acted as impersonal as the hair and makeup guys. The dress itself was gorgeous, though. In silver, charcoal and purple tones, it was a draped dress with fabrics that were sheer as clouds and had the effect of falling like water. With a pleased sound she turned in them and watched the material float around her. Armand was a genius.
The assistant was less happy. With a string of curses, he stepped in to pin something, and instead he stuck Cora’s flesh.
Yeouch! Cora jumped.
“Well fuck, stand still and I won’t accidently fucking pin you. Fucking amateurs, I fucking swear,” he hissed under his breath. “Where the fuck did they find this one?”
