The Range Rover pulled up to the curb behind a line of town cars, limousines, and cabs waiting for their turn to stop in front of Terme di Boston. There wasn’t a huge crowd outside the velvet ropes, but photographers, the local news, and a few passing tourists looked on and snapped pictures as the Who’s Who of Boston, decked to the nines in formal attire and equally dazzling smiles, were ushered inside.
My dress roused a healthy measure of exasperation and excitement, but more than anything, a warm flutter in my chest.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when my morning coffee was interrupted by a delivery man carrying a massive box from Nieman Marcus topped with a glittering gold bow. I’d stared at the box in confusion as I set it on my dining room table. Sophie had attacked the bow while I’d opened the unmarked envelope.
Your dress for tonight.
M
Of all the arrogant presumption…
I shook my head and smiled remembering the burst of indignation I’d had reading the card that morning. And how quickly it had vanished as soon as I’d peeled back the tissue paper.
My hand had flown to my mouth in a move reminiscent of an over-acted period drama. Blood-red material was buried within gold paper, and a Givenchy label announced the extent of my buried treasure. With shaking hands, I ran my fingers over the dress like it was a dream that might vanish under the reality of my touch. I pinched the thin straps, pulled the evening gown out of its box, and giggled, literally giggled, at the plunging neckline of the narrow bodice.
The gown was a work of art. The bodice tapered following the deep V of the neckline, and the soft, springy material was ruched from its bottom to the slit that travelled from the floor to mid-thigh. Equally daring, the back of the dress was missing, for lack of a better word. Instead, a short train of material pooled at the floor.
The dress was beautiful. I’d never worn anything so exquisite, and gooseflesh pebbled my skin in anticipation of wearing it for Marco.
I was beautiful. Anna Barone, a modern-day Cinderella decked out in Givenchy and arriving in her Range Rover carriage to meet her Prince Charming.
Well, maybe not that last part. Marco was about as charming as a lion in heat. But I couldn’t deny my life had changed since he’d been in it.
The wallflower professor would never have worn anything so daring and attention-grabbing, much less walk a red carpet lined with cameras. He knew that. The dress was a nudge, however presumptuous, and his encouragement tugged at my heartstrings. I was nervous as hell, but armed with Marco’s support and the confidence I’d gained over the past few weeks, I was ready to enter the gala with my head held high.
Vito inched us forward the final car length, and my palms started to sweat. Great. Classic Anna. I wiped them on my coat and wondered what I was going to do inside sans coat when my nerves kicked into high gear. I grabbed my clutch and took several deep breaths while Vito walked around the outside of the car to open my door.
“You’ve met the Don of Boston,” I mumbled to myself, “witnessed a shakedown at city hall, fended off an FBI agent, and interrupted a mafioso poker game in an illegal gambling club. You can handle a few cameras, Anna.”
The door opened and bright lights lit up the night, a bewildering blitzkrieg of flashes and brilliance. Vito offered me his hand, and I climbed out, teetering on the strappy heels I’d bought as soon as I’d seen the dress. The sea of lights and people and noise overwhelmed me, and I squeezed Vito’s hand worried if I let go, I might drown.
“You know boxing?”
I glanced at Vito, confused. “A little.”
“Get your guard up. It’ll protect you no matter what punches they throw.”
The sage advice in Vito’s gruff, familiar voice buoyed me like a life preserver. I nodded, released his hand, and lifted my chin with an air of bravado I didn’t have but did my dress justice. No one had to know my palms were sweating or that I was silently thanking God none of the cameras were pointed at me. I strutted toward the entrance, my feigned confidence my guard.
Out of the corner of my, I caught a glimpse of dirty-blond hair and a tan trench coat. Agent Johnson tracked me from behind the small group of photographers. I kept my eyes focused on the entrance, blocking the punch while maintaining my balance.
But my dream of flying under the radar was dashed halfway down the red carpet with a firm hand on my lower back. “Right on time.” Marco’s deep voice and the intoxicating scent of expensive aftershave and cigar smoke flooded my awareness.
Someone must have caught sight of my elusive boss before I did; one click and flash later and all the cameras were trained on us in a blinding array of attention. Marco stepped next to me, ignoring them all, and offered me his arm.
God, he was gorgeous. The silver streaks in his slicked-back hair glinted beneath the flashing cameras, and his black eyes smoldered above the harsh angles of his cleanly shaved jaw. The tuxedo’s sleek lines hugged his powerful frame, the designer cut made sexier knowing the hard body hidden underneath.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said as he led us down the red carpet.
“This is my charity event.”
“I meant out here. Outside.” Everyone was staring at us, but I followed Marco’s lead and tried to ignore them, focusing on the steadiness of his arm.
“I didn’t want anyone to wonder who you were with tonight.” We stepped through the doors into the foyer, and he lowered his lips to my ear. “You’re mine.”
I shivered, but before I could respond, an attendant ushered us out of the way of incoming guests.
“May I take your coat, madam?”
The abrupt warmth of the lobby and Marco’s declaration had me overheating. I blinked a couple of times before I nodded and handed my clutch to Marco. I unbuttoned my coat, and the attendant eased it off my shoulders. I thanked him, and he hurried off to the coat check.
I turned to Marco, and he stared at me with such unmasked desire, my sex tingled with anticipation. His obsidian eyes travelled the length of my body and lingered where the neckline plunged past my breasts.
His eyes returned to mine, and they burned with sinful intent, napalm on the flames of my desire. Every day we’d spent apart, the wildfire had expanded, and now it consumed me.
“Thank you for the dress,” I said and reached for his hand. He interlaced his fingers with mine, but their steady strength provided only a fraction of the touch I craved. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s only beautiful because you’re wearing it.” He pulled me into him and slid his hand around my waist to the bare skin of my back. It prickled with goosebumps from the glide of his fingertips along my spine. “And I can’t wait to get you out of it.” He breathed in my hair, and when he exhaled, his chest rumbled with satisfaction. He released me and pressed us forward into the milling crowd.
Flowers, tuxedos, and satin transformed the lobby into a five-star gala. Flutes of champagne, crystal tumblers of whiskey, and fat red wine glasses sparkled under the chandeliers. A jazz quartet floated smooth notes across the space, background to the chatter and laughter of the lively crowd. The scene was a spectacle of wealth, power, and class.
Marco stopped when we reached the center of the lobby, turning more than a few heads and making me self-conscious. He scanned the room, his cold survey calculating, but I was sinking under the weight of whispers and glances. I wanted to escape, fade into the background, be one of the spectators, not the spectacle. I kept my eyes down and stepped forward, hoping to pull him along, but he held me in place.
“Wait, mia cara.”
“Why? Everyone’s watching us.”
“I know.”
Confused, I looked up.
His eyes captured mine, and they were filled with so much affection and pride, I thought my heart might explode. “You’re brilliant and beautiful, and I want everyone to see how brightly you shine.” He lowered his lips to my ear, and they brushed against its ridge sending a shiver down my spine. “And I want everyone to know, later tonight, I’ll be fucking the most beautiful woman here.”
His whispered promise and the brush of his lips sent a shockwave of sensation through my body. It made me tremble, and the slick evidence of my desire moistened my thong.
He pulled back, his touch replaced by a cold emptiness I couldn’t wait for him to refill, and we resumed our journey toward the bar. He nodded to several people along the way, none of whom I recognized, until a short, round man with gray hair and an artificial smile stepped into our path.
Holy shit. The mayor of Boston.
I flexed my fingers, cursing their clamminess. In a moment of frantic clarity, I wrapped my right arm around Marco’s waist knowing there was an inevitable handshake in my future and refusing to use a dress that cost more than my mortgage payment as a towel.
“Marco!” Mayor Kelson’s familiar voice rang across the closing distance. “Good to see you. Excellent turnout.”
“Rich.” Marco took the mayor’s outstretched hand and gave it a single pump. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Important cause and equally important guests. It’s an election year, you know,” the mayor finished with a chuckle. His pale blue eyes darted to me and back to Marco. “And who’s this?”
“This is Dr. Anna Barone. Anna is a professor of international finance at Sloan.”
The mayor’s head jerked back enough for me to notice, and his eyes traveled down my body.
I bit the inside of my cheek and forced myself not to roll my eyes. This wasn’t the first time I’d experienced that reaction. An academic with curves? Impossible! I bit my cheek harder.
He held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Barone. And thank you for contributing to the educational excellence of Boston. This city wouldn’t be the same without MIT.”
I dragged my palm down Marco’s back, then took the mayor’s hand in as confident a grip as I could manage. “The pleasure is mine, Mayor Kelson. I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished this term, increasing funding for public education. It’s an important investment in our future. Thank you.”
“There’s a lot of work left to do, so don’t forget to vote.” He wagged his finger. “Marco, I have rounds to make. Thanks again.”
“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you tonight, if you can spare a few minutes from your canvassing?”
The mayor’s lips twitched, and he eyed Marco warily. “For you, Marco? Anything.”
“Excellent. I’ll find you after we get drinks. Ciao.”
The mayor walked off to greet the next group of wealthy socialites, and the weight of Marco’s heavy regard tugged at my attention. I looked up, and the usual slash of his severe mouth had turned into a gleaming halfmoon of amusement.
“Did you just wipe your sweaty palm down the back of my Armani?”
“It was either Armani or Givenchy!” I whined and grimaced.
The deep boom of his laughter filled the space around us and transformed him from a serious executive with an impenetrable poker-face into a warm, carefree soul who made my heart leap with affection.
“You’re so goddamn sexy,” he said with a shake of his head and lowered his lips to my forehead.
The smile on my face threatened to split me in two. Marco had me tied around his finger in a neat little bow, and it didn’t bother me at all.
He scanned the room, and as if on cue, Vinnie Valenzano and his entourage walked on set. They sauntered across the lobby with all the swagger and thinly veiled menace of an old Western posse, but instead of cowboy hats, chaps, and spurs, they wore slicked-back hair, custom tuxedos, and Italian-leather Oxfords.
My body stiffened. “What—What is he doing here?”
“Relax. I told you. Vinnie is an important part of the Italian-American community.” Marco’s tone suggested I should understand why he was there, but I couldn’t get past who he was.
Mayor Kelson didn’t miss his entrance, either. He made a beeline for Vinnie, his hand held out in eager obeisance.
“Why don’t you get a drink. I need to go over there, and it’ll just make your palms sweat.”
I slugged him in the arm, and he chuckled.
“Go. Mingle. Introduce yourself to people.”
I raised an eyebrow.
He laughed in earnest and held up his hands in defeat. “All right. Well, at least get yourself a drink. Maybe some appetizers?” He glanced around. “Siobhán is around here somewhere.”
His hand moved from my lower back to my face, and he brushed his thumb over the two birthmarks on my cheek. A kiss to my forehead and a reassuring smile, and he left to join two of the most powerful men in Boston.
I took a deep breath and continued the journey we’d started toward the bar. I needed something to take the edge off. I needed champagne.
“Anna! Anna Barone!”
The familiar voice made me stop in my tracks and groan under my breath. I just wanted a drink but reluctantly turned to its source and what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.
“Tim,” I said and plastered a smile on my face.
“Anna!” He held out his hand, and I shook it. “I saw you come in but couldn’t believe that was you. You look so…”
I tilted my head after an awkward pause.
“So different,” he finished and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”
“Must be the dress,” I said with an embarrassed smile and a shrug. “But it’s still me.”
“No. It’s not just the dress, although you do look stunning. Something’s different.” He narrowed his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, eager to change the subject.
“My wife volunteers for the DeVita Foundation. Teaches English as a Second Language. Very good cause. In fact…” He glanced around the lobby. “Wasn’t that Mr. DeVita you came in with?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me, waiting for more explanation than my one-word answer. I really needed that champagne.
“I’m working for Mr. DeVita as a consultant. Unfortunately, I can’t share more details than that. NDA.”
“Ah.”
I nodded.
He rocked onto the balls of his feet and back down.
Someone, anyone, please, beam me up.
He leaned forward. “I didn’t think you’d actually take an industry job. I figured you just needed a break to recharge your batteries before the fall semester.”
I bit the inside of my cheek for the second time that night and gave myself the moment I needed to remove the edge from my voice. “You figured wrong. I meant what I said in your office, and so far, the experience has been everything I hoped it would be.”
He grunted, his expression landing somewhere between skepticism and scorn. “No, something is definitely different.”
“Well.” I looked down at my hands, clasped in front of me, and nodded. Maybe it was time to throw a punch instead of just keeping my guard up. I met and held his eyes. “Turns out, I do have the temperament to work in corporate finance, and you may have gotten the chance to see that if you hadn’t passed me up for the Deloitte partnership.”
His jaw dropped, and my fake smile turned genuine with my small victory. “Have a wonderful night, Tim,” I said and resumed my quest for champagne, leaving a stunned Dean of Finance in my wake.
The bartender handed me a glass of champagne, and I downed half in one long drink. Not the most elegant move, but better than throwing back a shot. With my empty stomach, the bubbles immediately went to work. Perfect. Now to find somewhere I could fade into the background for a long minute.
“Hey, stranger.” Siobhán’s sultry voice cut through the din of the lobby, and my shoulders relaxed. I spun to face her, and my mouth hung open like it was on a broken hinge.
Her short blonde hair was smoothed into perfect pin-curl waves and cinched by a silver bandeau around her forehead that highlighted her sharp cheekbones. The silver threads of her fringed flapper dress and long strands of white pearls shimmered beneath the lights and hung on her body in a way that accentuated her lithe frame. God, what I wouldn’t give for legs like hers. They went on forever before ending in a pair of spike heels with t-straps, the past meeting the present in a style quintessentially Siobhán.
Heads turned as she sashayed to meet me, several men ogling her so obviously they might as well have had tongues lolling out of their mouths like cartoon wolves.
Her teeth gleamed white behind bright red lipstick, and she held out her hand. The other carried a half-full martini chock-full of olives.
“Anna!” She took my hand and gave me air kisses. “That dress! Girl, you look absolutely fabulous!”
“Thank you. But not as fabulous as you. Jesus, Siobhán.”
Her lilting laughter danced above the music and chatter. “Come on, now. What I wouldn’t give for curves like yours. Gorgeous! I, on the other hand, look like someone bombed a beanpole with glitter.”
I shook my head, laughing at her ridiculous assessment of herself. “The 1920s vibe really does suit you. You look like an Old Hollywood movie star.”
She waved a hand at me and sipped her martini. I followed suit with my champagne. We found an empty high top, set our clutches and drinks on the table, and stood facing the crowd.
“So,” she said in a low voice. My eyes darted to her. She wore a wicked smile, and one of her eyebrows was cocked in gentle judgment. “I saw you and Marco come in.”
Across the lobby, Marco stood with Vinnie and Mayor Kelson, his laughter and smile a mask of public persona. He glanced in our direction, and his dark eyes held mine for a moment before turning back to the formidable group.
“Have you slept with him yet?”
My head snapped to face her, and my neck and cheeks burned so hot, they probably matched my dress. “What? No!”
She laughed. “Could’ve fooled me the way he paraded you around like a trophy. That man was sending a message.”
“Ugh.” My shoulders sank like that might help me fade into the background. “He can be such a caveman.”
“I told you to be careful,” she said with reproach. “Too late now, though. That man has made up his mind.”
I huffed. “I’d like to think I have some say in the matter.”
“Good luck with that,” she said dryly and turned back to the crowd, sipping her martini. “They’re all the same.” The tenor of her changed to something distant. “The whole lot of ’em.”
I followed Siobhán’s eyes across the room.
Luca.
He looked as though he’d stepped off the red carpet at the Met instead of Terme di Boston. His fitted white tuxedo with black lapels was a stark contrast to the uniform black worn by the rest of the men. With his matching white smile, slicked-back hair, and GQ cheekbones, he pulled off the daring fashion statement with effortless insouciance.
He chatted with Carmine and Angelo, and a blonde woman in a skintight, strapless cocktail dress clung to his side, hands resting atop his shoulder. She whispered something in his ear, but he barely acknowledged her—a distracted glance, a quick nod—never breaking conversation with the two men. She turned away, and I nearly choked on my champagne when I saw the size of her breasts; her dress defied the laws of physics. She walked away with short, dainty steps on platform heels toward the restroom.
Siobhán’s eyes never left Luca, like she was torturing herself with his presence. Before I could warn her to stop staring, Luca’s attention drifted across the room. He frowned for a fraction of a heartbeat, then his mouth twisted into a sexy sneer.
One hand in his pocket, the other holding a crystal tumbler, he said something to Carmine and Angelo, and started a casual saunter toward us, eyes fixed on Siobhán.
Siobhán threw back the rest of her martini.
“Okay,” I said. “I know you two don’t get along, but…” She met my eyes, and hers were filled with defiance and sadness. “There has to be more to the story.”
“Unfortunately,” she mumbled.
Luca rested the heel of his hand on the high top and drummed his fingers. “Good evening, ladies,” he said with a roguish smile. “Anna, you look ravishing. Rumor has it you’re a touch over-qualified for your administrative assistant position. Brilliance and beauty. Marco’s a lucky man.”
Unease shot through me like an arrow. “Oh. Uh… Thank you, but I… That is…”
“What is it, Luca?” Siobhán’s confident voice sliced through my nervous stammer. She lifted a toothpick lined with olives and touched the last of the green orbs to the bottom of her parted red lips. Luca’s eyes landed on her mouth, mesmerized by the olive. “Jealous Marco found a woman with more than two brain cells to rub together?”
She ran the olive along her lower lip and poked her tongue out just enough to touch it before she slipped it into her mouth. She closed her lips around the olive with a pucker and pulled it off the toothpick.
Luca’s throat bobbed through a slow swallow. “I think we both know I’m not the one who’s jealous, Shamrock.” The bravado had left his voice, and his taunt came out choppy and strained as he continued to stare at Siobhán’s mouth.
“Please,” she scoffed and quirked a wicked smile. “I’m just concerned your date might not find her way back from the bathroom. It’s a terribly large hotel, and I worry she can’t count high enough to remember all the left turns.”
She trailed a red fingernail down his shirt from just below his chest to where his tuxedo jacket buttoned at his waist. She let her finger dally there, tracing it in circles. Luca tensed. His hand atop the table balled into a fist, and his nostrils flared with effort.
“Did you let her know if she takes too long, you’ll move on to the next set of big breasts stupid enough to fall for your BS?”
Luca’s pouty lips thinned into an unhappy line, and he snatched Siobhán’s hand away from his waist, holding it between them by her wrist. “Tsk, tsk.” Luca shifted his weight and closed the gap. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Shamrock, even if green is your color.”
She jutted her chin toward him. “I told you not to call me that,” she hissed, each word slow and hot.
Luca leaned in, animosity and sexual tension crackling in the few inches of air left between them. “There’s that Irish temper. You can pretend all you want you’re not from Southie, but that accent always comes out when you lose your temper. Or, if I remember correctly, when you’ve had too much booze.”
“Why you—”
“You two behaving yourselves?” Marco’s deep voice ended the standoff.
“Always,” Luca said and released Siobhán’s wrist. He rolled his shoulders and eased himself back, schooling his expression and clearing his throat. “Marco.”
“Luca.”
“Well.” Luca downed the rest of his scotch and set the empty tumbler on the table. “I better go find my date. Wouldn’t want her to get lost.” He turned toward the center of the lobby and took a few steps before tossing one final barb over his shoulder. “Right, Shamrock?”
Siobhán’s lips pinched into a tight pucker, and she gripped the stem of her martini glass so hard I thought she was going to fling it at the back of Luca’s head. “I need a drink,” she grumbled and stormed off.
Marco puffed his cheeks and blew out a slow breath.
“What was that?” I asked, astonished.
“Damned if I know. They’ve acted like that for…” He waved his drink before bringing it to his lips.
I joined him and finished my champagne. “Why?”
“I have no idea, and I have a feeling I don’t want to find out.” He swirled the last vestiges of his whiskey among the melting ice cubes. “You ready for another?”
“After that? Absolutely.”
For the next half hour, Marco introduced me to some of the most wealthy and influential people in Boston, and fortified with bubbles, I said more hellos and shook more hands than I’d probably done in the past ten years. Guests started migrating to the ballroom, but I needed a moment away from all the noise and bodies and attention before another round of socializing.
I squeezed Marco’s forearm and handed him my empty champagne flute. “I’m going to the restroom.”
“Our table is at the front of the ballroom near the stage. I’ll meet you there.” He kissed my forehead, and my stomach danced with butterflies. I could get used to those kisses.
Past the front desk and toward the back patio, I was betting no one would venture that far for a restroom. I veered left but slowed when a woman’s flighty gasp and a man’s deep groan echoed down the short hallway. Deterred by the sounds but motivated by my need to pee, I stopped and peeked around the corner.
Luca’s white tuxedo jacket and his date’s platform heels were instantly recognizable. His large frame crushed her into the wall, and his hands pinned her wrists at her sides. Her head was tilted back and toward me. It rested on the wall and gave Luca access to her neck. His mouth was pressed there, and his throat worked as if he was swallowing.
She released short gasps and mewls, her face relaxed in pure bliss, the rest of her motionless behind the cage of his body.
Luca released one of her wrists and slid his hand up her skirt. She writhed under his touch, tilting her head further to the side like the source of her pleasure wasn’t coming from his hand but whatever he was doing with his mouth.
What was he doing with his mouth?
Adrenaline pumped into my bloodstream and stunned me motionless with irrational panic. I didn’t understand why I was having such a visceral reaction, but I knew what I was witnessing was somehow wrong.
The woman moaned through an orgasm, her erotic vocalizations high and breathy. Luca’s movement at her neck slowed and with it her breathing. He lifted his head, swept his tongue twice over the length of her neck, and licked his lips. He backed away, straightening his suit jacket and bowtie.
The cool disinterest in his handsome face startled me into action, and I rounded the corner with quick, purposeful strides.
“Hi, Luca,” I said with a high-pitched squeak and fake smile. “They’re getting ready for dinner up there, so…” I eyed the restroom door.
He stalked toward me and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. It came away with a deep red smear, which he cleaned off with another swipe of his tongue. He passed me with a smirk, and a long, sharp eyetooth dominated his smile.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and blood rushed in my ears. I pushed open the restroom door and escaped into a stall. I gathered my dress, pulled down my thong, and sunk onto the seat holding my head in my hands. I relieved myself while trying to bring my frantic breath under control.
Red lipstick. That’s all it was. Red lipstick.
She’d been wearing bright red lipstick, right?
No. That was Siobhán.
But Luca’s date had it on, too. Right?
No, Anna. That wasn’t lipstick. That was blood.
I pressed my hands into the cold metal. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t get air into my lungs. I straightened my spine, extended my torso, and tipped my head back, trying to give my lungs enough space to expand. I needed oxygen; I was suffocating.
The restroom door opened, and the click of heels echoed off the tiled floor.
The presence of another person snapped me back into my breath. I sucked in as much air as I could—once, deeper, twice—and tamed my runaway panic.
I righted my dress, gathered my courage, and walked out of the stall. I joined Luca’s date at the sinks and turned on the water, pretending like I hadn’t seen them in the hallway or was having a panic attack.
She angled her neck toward the mirror and brushed her fingertips across an angry, swollen patch of skin surrounding two red welts.
My vision swam before me, and it included a pointed eyetooth. I blinked hard and tried to focus on washing my hands. Maybe I could wash away the memory.
“You’re Marco’s new Source, right?” She’d taken a compact out of her purse and was smoothing concealer over what I decided was a hickey. It had to be a hickey. It couldn’t be anything else.
No idea what she was talking about, I played along, wanting to get out of there as fast as possible. “Yes, I’m here with Marco,” I said to her reflection.
She turned her head back and forth, and satisfied with her cover up job, rummaged through her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. “I’ve never heard of him cozying up to a Source. You must be doing something right.” She pulled off the cap and smoothed the hot pink lipstick over her lips.
Pink. Not red.
Her image in the mirror became fuzzy.
She pressed her lips together and puckered. “You are one lucky girl.” She replaced the cap, tossed the lipstick back in her bag, and started a new search.
I smiled awkwardly.
She pulled out a short fat vial and unscrewed its cap. I turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the counter. The cap came out followed by a flat stick. She dipped the stick back into the vial before holding it to her nose and snorting the white powder at its end with a sharp inhale. I dried my hands while she stretched her nose and sniffed. She held the tiny stick toward me, and I shook my head. She shrugged, dipped the stick back in the vial, and took the bump up her other nostril.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, you know,” she offered between sniffs. She screwed the cap back on her stash and tossed it in her bag.
She turned to me and smiled, a comforting, reassuring expression you’d expect from a best girlfriend. Her pupils were dilated, lips and nose twitchy from the blow, but she clearly wanted to have a moment.
“I saw you blush, but you shouldn’t be embarrassed. If Luca gave me half the attention Marco gives you, I’d be strutting around here like I owned the place. He barely notices me unless he wants to feed. But the way Marco looks at you?” She sighed like a lovestruck fool. “It’s like he’s hungry for more than your blood. He wants you. All of you. Like I said, you are one lucky girl.” She winked and slung the chain-link strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Own it, sister!” She reached out, squeezed my hand, then turned on her platform heels and walked out the door.