by Lee Savino
Cora crossed her arms. Almost as soon as she made the move, she dropped her arms again as if aware of her every vulnerable gesture. “You admitted to getting my friend to spy on me. And I’m sure you’ve had your men trail me.”
“Or I could’ve bugged your apartment.”
“You didn’t. Did you?” Then her brows came together angrily. “The flowers.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Cora, I was kidding. I didn’t bug the apartment. Have the programmer check.”
Cora glared at him, clearly unamused.
“Listen.” He ran his hand through his hair. This wasn’t going how he’d envisioned. He wanted to be straight with her for once. No games. No bullshit. “I want to talk to you. To get everything out in the open.”
“Everything?”
He thought about it. “Okay, no, not everything. You know some of my secrets are better off kept. It’s not just about me, it’s about my business—”
“Your business is the thing that’s keeping us apart.”
“Is that why you left?”
She clammed up, shaking her head and looking down again, hiding her eyes from him.
He took a step forward. She stepped back automatically and he stopped in his tracks. “Tell me why you ran. Talk to me.” It was infuriating not knowing what was going on in her head.
“Still giving orders.” She shook her head but didn’t look at him.
“I remember you liking when I gave orders.”
When she didn’t take the bait, he sighed. “What are you afraid of?”
The silence rose again between them.
“Is it AJ? Because he’s gone.”
“Gods.” She turned her back to him, shoulders suddenly tense.
“I know you felt threatened.” If Marcus could kill AJ all over again, he would. And he’d draw it out this time. “But I can keep you safe.”
Cora stared across the garden. The wind whipped the tops of the trees; the leaves shivered below them. She leaned forward onto the stone balustrade and Marcus couldn’t read her body language. He didn’t like it.
He came and leaned on the railing next to her. “When AJ called and said he had you, nothing else mattered anymore. You mean so much. You know that, right? You know you’re everything to me.”
Her eyes closed like his words pained her.
His arm brushed hers and she flinched away. Marcus pulled back, chest cinching tight.
“Don’t ever be afraid of me, Cora.” His voice came out more rough than he intended, but hell. “I’d never hurt you. I was angry, but mostly I was worried about you. I tried so hard to keep the ugliness of my world far away from you.”
“You failed,” she choked out, finally looking at him and there was such pain in her eyes. It sliced him to the bone.
“I’m sorry. I never wanted to put you in the middle of things. And when AJ took you…” He broke off, shaking his head, not able to continue. He still didn’t know everything she’d endured that day. She’d come to him covered in blood.
His hands shook, thinking about it. AJ had done something to her, made her witness something—not only brought her into their world but drenched her in it. And of course she’d run. If Marcus were any kind of good man, he’d send her away instead of luring her back.
“It’s ok,” Cora whispered. The wind blew hard enough that even though she wrapped her arms around herself, chill bumps were still visible on her skin.
Marcus frowned. So much for taking care of her. “Let’s go back in. Get you out of the cold.”
She made a noise that could be interpreted as negative, so he took off his coat and came towards her instead. At the last minute, she turned around and let him place it on her shoulders.
“I swear to you, Cora, I’m not a monster.” Standing so close and breathing in her familiar scent, he could almost believe it.
He’d done great and terrible things to ensure the stability of his city and they’d rightly named him King of the Underworld. He’d soullessly embodied the title for years, holding the wicked in his iron grip so the weak didn’t suffer unduly. It was purpose enough, he’d told himself. It was atonement for failing to protect his sister all those years ago.
But Cora had burst into his black and white world in an explosion of vibrant color. She’d thawed the ice in his heart and he couldn’t go back. Not once he knew what it was like to love her and feel her love in return.
He felt her body tremble at his closeness. “Come back to me,” he breathed in the shell of her ear.
When she shook her head, he could feel her hair catch on the rough stubble of his chin.
“You’re not safe on your own. Without me.”
“People don’t think I’m safe with you.” She squeezed her eyes shut like if she closed them long enough, he’d go away.
Instead, he turned her gently towards him, and tipped her face to his.
“Who?”
“My friends,” she replied, a little breathless.
“Olivia Jandali?” Marcus gritted out. He’d looked into both her roommates. “Or the stripper? Your so-called friends who left you with AJ? I don’t need to tell you what I think of their judgment.”
Cora stiffened. He felt it, and his hands fell away.
“I want you back. I need you close to me, where I know I can keep you safe. I know we can work things out, if we just talk—”
She whirled to face him. “This is why I left, Marcus. You try to control me. You can’t let me be.”
“I haven’t called or spoken to you in months.”
“And you corner me and ask—no—tell me to come back to you. I left because I’d had enough of that. You can’t control me.”
She wrenched off the suit jacket and thrust it back at him. When he didn’t take it, she spun around and draped it over the parapet before leaning against the cool stone again. She gazed into the garden, stubbornly angling her body away from him.
Pushing her more tonight wasn’t going to get him anywhere. But she needed to know he wasn’t giving up. Not even remotely. She’d given him a taste of paradise, him who’d lived so long in hell. He wouldn’t live without her. He couldn’t.
“You can’t run forever,” he said finally. “We’ll talk again in a few days.” Before she could say anything else to contradict him, he turned on his heel and went back through the double doors into the mansion.
He’d allow her the illusion of choice for a little while longer.
Four
The party was over; the last guest had gone home along with most of the staff. Cora sat in a sea of blue green feathers, packing the decorations away into their proper boxes and trying not to think about Marcus. She felt buzzed, exhaustion pushing her to the point where she didn’t feel tired anymore. Sparring with Marcus hadn’t helped.
It wasn’t only him, though. Ever since that night, she hadn’t been sleeping. Work wore her down enough she’d been able to get a few hours of sleep sometimes; today she’d gotten two hours in as a midday nap before coming back to attend the party and she considered that a win.
Armand strolled up, hands in pocket, a leather satchel over one shoulder. Like her, he’d changed out of his formal clothes.
“Still cleaning up?” He smiled down at her, watching her wrap the feathers in tissue paper.
“Trying to get as much packed for the movers tomorrow.” She looked up at him, trying to gauge his mood. Standing there, hair mussed and deep circles under his eyes, he looked like a hardworking spa owner, not a devilish flirt.
“You mean today. It’s almost dawn.”
She nodded.
“I’m surprised you’re not scrubbing the floor, Cinderella.” Armand jerked his head to indicate the spot where Anna had given an impromptu performance earlier. Then his eyes got a little glossy. “Your friend is really something.”
Cora smiled at him. “Yes she most definitely is. Don’t worry, my staff cleaned the floor. If the hosts complain, my company will pay for the damages.”
“It’ll be fine, Cora.�
�� Armand squatted down near her, putting his satchel to the side.
She smirked at him. “Nice purse.”
“Thanks. It’s not a purse though, too manly.”
“Right. It’s a man purse. A murse.” She stopped and scrubbed a hand over her face as a wave of sleepiness hit her.
“When was the last time you slept?”
“I got a few hours earlier today.” Cora closed the box she was working on and started filling the next one. Armand scooted closer to help.
“And before that? Are you getting enough rest?”
“I’m sleeping. At least a few hours a night. Usually.”
“Insomnia is a symptom of another condition. Probably mental.”
“It’s definitely mental. I’ve been getting these crazy dreams.” Cora tried to laugh it off but the sound came out pathetic.
“You going to go see someone about it?”
“Maybe.” By which she meant no.
Armand sighed. He lifted a peacock feather and stroked down it’s spine with a long finger before Cora reached over and plucked it away.
“I’m still mad at you.” She pointed at him with the feather. “You colluded with the enemy.”
Armand leveled her with his gaze. “Your husband is not your enemy. He only wanted to see you.” He grabbed at the feather and Cora danced the frond away. “It was long overdue. You two talk things out?”
“Not really. We’re supposed to talk in a few days.” Cora lay the feather down and folded it in tissue paper.
“Well, that’s progress, I guess.” Armand crossed his legs and settled down on the floor facing her. “What did you two do up there, anyway?” He waggled his thick eyebrows at her.
“Stop it, or I’ll beat you with your murse,” she threatened. “We just talked. Why, were you hoping we went somewhere and he made wild, wild love to me?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Well, all the bedroom doors were locked. Which reminds me. Who owns this place?”
“This old palace?” Armand shrugged. “Belongs to my family.”
Cora’s mouth dropped open, looking across the acre of finely polished wood squares leading to the plush red and gold staircase. “Are you kidding me?”
“This, my lady, is the original Merche family home.” He raised his hand and swiped it as if to dismiss the vast ballroom.
“Merche? Like the company?” She mentally scrolled through the last things she’d read about the telecom company and the family that still controlled it. “As in Louis Merche? The head of the telecom company by the same name.” Her eyes widened as she realized something. “Full name Louis Armand Merche.”
“The fourth.” Armand cocked his head at her. “At your service.”
“Oh my gods. You’re like—”
“One of the richest families in the world? Pretty much. At least, until the antitrust trials broke the monopoly. But now Merche Ltd. is split into so many companies, and you can be sure my family has private controlling interest in all of them. No one really knows how wealthy my family is.”
“I can’t believe…” she stuttered. “You’re wealthy. I mean, really, really wealthy.”
“Not me,” Armand corrected. “My family. I’ve been disowned. The only reason I was able to get this place for the night is through my cousin. If my father found out who this party was really for…well, the only reason he wouldn’t kill me is because, to him, I may as well already be dead.”
“What? Why?”
“My father didn’t like my choice of prom date.” Armand lay back a little, leaning on one arm still facing her. “Papa thought I should date a nice white girl who came from a wealthy family. My mother bought a corsage for me to pin on her dress.”
“What happened?”
Armand smiled ruefully. “My date was white, and came from a wealthy family. But he brought me a corsage, not the other way around.”
“Your date was a boy.”
“Yep. Papa didn’t like confirmation that his only son is gay. Well, bi, to be more specific.” He picked up another feather. “Not that my father uses either of those terms.”
“Armand, I’m so sorry.”
“I came home that night and my mother was crying. But she and the servants wouldn’t let me in the door.” His head sagged a bit; his brow furrowed as he studied the feather.
Cora waited quietly, her hands in her lap.
“I spent the night with my date, hiding out in his room. A very different prom night that I had hoped for. He let me stay for a week at his place and then couldn’t smuggle me past his parents anymore. So, I was homeless.”
Cora sucked in a breath, feeling pain all through her. “Homeless? In high school?”
Armand nodded, his black hair wafting over his face.
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
She stared in horror, imagining the beautiful young man alone on the streets. “I’m so sorry.”
Armand lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m not. If I hadn’t gotten out, I never would’ve gotten on my feet. Would’ve never gotten double M or Fortune of the ground. I would be someone else.”
“And your family?”
“What about them?” He blew out a breath and his silky black hair wafted away from his forehead. “You want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for them. They threw away something good. They missed out. And they don’t know the best thing about life.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s never wrong to love,” he whispered. He shifted, coming to his knees across from her, taking her hands. She let him; it was a rare moment when he seemed his full twenty-seven years. “Let me tell you something about your husband. I lived for two years on the kindness of strangers, and as soon as I was old enough, I started a business.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. “Your salon. Metamorphoses.”
“I rented a small place and cut hair for ten hours a day. I’d just hired my first employee when some thugs came by and shook us down. That’s when I first heard of Mr. Ubeli. I went to him for protection.”
Armand shifted back, letting her hands go after a small squeeze. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. I’d heard of all the things he’d done: restoring his father’s restaurants, building his own empire. He seemed so powerful for someone barely thirty.” Armand looked out over the ballroom as if seeing the moment unfold again before his eyes.
“He’s amazing,” Cora agreed quietly.
“Yes.” Armand rubbed his face with his long fingers. “I wanted more than anything to be him. He gave me protection, and for some reason he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him my vision of the spa, and, after a year of working together, he came and told me he’d be a silent partner. And we’ve been in business together ever since.”
She sat silent for a moment. “Thank you for sharing.”
Armand’s black eyes were intense. “Your husband is a good man. Marcus plays by his own rules, but he’s loyal, especially to those he’s sworn to protect. When someone puts their trust in him, he’d rather die than break it. His word is his bond.”
Reaching out, he took her hand and gripped it. “Talk to him, Cora. He deserves at least that much. And so do you.”
She nodded, swallowing hard.
“Alright.” Armand dropped the serious expression, and his features relaxed into the playful flirtiness she was used to. “Let’s get you home. I’ll give you a ride.”
“What about the movers?” Cora looked around at the pile of feathers still left to pack away.
“I’ll take care of things tomorrow. I think I want to keep some of these feathers—take them home. My housemate loves peacock colors. Come on.” He helped her up, and rummaged in his satchel, drawing out a small plastic baggie that held five white pills. “Here.”
“What’s this?” She eyed the baggie but didn’t take it.
“Crack,” he said and laughed at her expression. “I’m kidding. They’re sleeping pills. Co
mpletely harmless. Come on, Cora, they’re barely over the counter,” he insisted when she still hesitated. “You need to sleep. Take one when you really, really need it.”
“Fine.” She took the bag and followed him to a small side door. He paused in the exit, smiling down at her.
“Trust me Cora…you did a fantastic job tonight. Your business is coming together. Model placement, party planning, image consulting—Perceptions is going to be hot.”
Cora laughed. “I need to settle into one niche.”
“That’ll come. You keep working hard and let me know what you need. I’m glad to help, like Marcus helped me.” The look in his eye was fond, like an older brother’s.
She grinned in answer, but let her smile drop the moment he turned away. Her mind was still churning with the words he’d spoken earlier.
Marcus plays by his own rules, but he’s loyal, especially to those he’s sworn to protect. When someone puts their trust in him, he’d rather die than break it. His word is his bond.
Her heart squeezed painfully. Marcus valued trust and loyalty above everything else. So what would he do once he realized she had betrayed him?
Five
Dawn was breaking by the time Armand dropped Cora off at Olivia’s apartment. She wasn’t tired anymore, but wired and on edge. On one hand, her head was spinning with thoughts of the party’s success, her new business, and finally moving in to her own apartment. On the other, the future held some hard conversations with her husband. Anxiety and elation flooded her with adrenaline.
Pushing into Olivia’s apartment, Cora walked into a gale of laughter. Olivia, black hair hanging wet around her face, sat on the kitchen counter. Anna was squeezed beside her in the tiny space, holding up the long black tamper for her serious commercial-grade blender. Despite being at the party only a few hours ago, the two women looked energetic and well-rested, both wearing comfy, casual clothes. Cora tried not to resent them.
“Hey guys.” Cora let her purse and bag fall to the oak floor, and started to pull off her boots. “What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast,” Anna said in her light yet sultry voice. Cora and Olivia sat around once discussing their sexy roommate, wondering if her voice was really that high or if she was putting it on. After six weeks, they figured it really was her voice.
