Chapter Twenty-Two

I’d never been to a wedding before, so it felt odd that my first experience would be as a wedding crasher. Initially, I worried that two uninvited, non-Brazilian teenagers wouldn’t make it through the doors. Then I realized the doors were a couple of stories high, set behind a set of marble columns, atop a soaring staircase that led to a massive, intricately carved mansion called Parque Lage. It was a cross between a royal palace and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. This was no intimate country club affair. Hundreds of guests strolled about with flutes of champagne, making us easily able to enter due to sheer volume alone.

Now as we moved through the cocktail area, I was worried we’d stand out because of my dress. All the women around me were decked out in floor-length ball gowns with Hollywood-styled hair, while my short cocktail number, which a moment ago felt over-the-top fancy now felt more fitting for an awards ceremony in a high school gym. Now to accept the Physical Fitness Award, Anastasia Phoenix!

I adjusted my strapless bra.

“You look perfect,” Marcus complimented again, as if reading my thoughts.

“It’s fine,” I said with a tight smile, pretending my exposed legs weren’t out of place. “Let’s just find the bartender.”

“Follow me.” Marcus extended his bent elbow to escort me toward the expansive square bar.

We nudged our way to the front, partially obscured by a floral arrangement so massive it should be called a sculpture and located in a botanical garden. An exotic blush sunflower obscured my face as I scanned the bartenders. All the servers were men, none older than twenty-five, and all were so ridiculously good-looking they must have shown professional headshots to get this job mixing drinks for Rio’s elite.

I looked for the chiseled face from Charlotte’s pictures. “I don’t see him,” I whispered.

“Me neither,” Marcus replied. “There must be another bar in the reception area.”

He clasped my elbow once more and maneuvered us through the crowd. Thumping samba music bounced off the marble walls, and I steered toward the beat, feeling fairly certain if there were a dance floor, a bar would be right beside it.

I glanced at Marcus, trying not to lose him in the crowd, and watched him lift a lime green cocktail from a waiter’s tray.

“What’s that?”

“A caipirinha.” He smiled as if it were obvious. “When in Rio…” He took a large swig, and I could already smell the booze. “Want some?”

“No.” I shook my head. The last thing I needed was anything clouding my judgment.

“You sure? It’s very sweet.” He grinned like the devil on my shoulder.

“It also smells very strong, so be careful.”

We glided through an archway, and it instantly felt as if we’d stumbled onto a movie set for a royal wedding. The reception was being held in an open-air courtyard that looked like the Taj Mahal, right down to the pool of rectangular water in the center and the amber strobes uplighting the intricate architecture. There was no roof; instead, dinner was served on white linen tablecloths with tasteful gold chairs that sat directly under the stars and the watchful eyes of Jesus. Christ the Redeemer loomed on a distant mountaintop, arms outstretched, as if greeting the guests.

“Jesus is here.” I pointed to the icon.

“Isn’t he always?” Marcus teased as he polished off his drink in one massive gulp.

I was not going to be the grandma that told him not to drink.

I looked toward the far end of the body of water, where blinking magenta lights swirled like a beacon. “Over there.” I gestured to the bar.

Marcus put down his empty cup and followed me as I tiptoed around the reflecting pool, the architecture mirrored on the water like a photo waiting to be taken. He wrapped his hands around my hips, forming a mini-conga line as he steered me straight toward the checkered dance floor.

“What are you doing?” I asked with a scolding look.

“One dance. Por favor.” His bottom lip protruded, his mouth pouty, but it was his eyes that wouldn’t let me say no.

He pulled me close, breath in my ear as he swayed his hips to the samba beats like he’d done this dance his entire life. His hips pressed against mine, guiding me back and forth, his hands firm as he held me, sliding ever so slowly toward my rear. His stubble skimmed my cheek, and I could smell him from the shampoo in his hair to the scent of his skin.

My chin grazed the tattoo on his neck, and I closed my eyes. His body flowed against me, his grip on my hips firmer, his hands tighter, his lips closer, and the air between us growing hotter. I’d never wanted to kiss anyone more in my life. So when his tongue flicked my ear with the slightest flutter, I didn’t stop him. Nor did I stop him when his mouth moved to my neck, then across my jaw, and then hovered at my mouth, a tickle of his lips against mine. I was lost, my hands clutching his hair to stay upright when he pressed his mouth against me. I could feel him moan. I pulled hard at his hair, and he bit my lower lip.

“I want you,” he whispered into my kiss.

I felt out of my body. Our tongues intertwined, and he pressed hard against me. I forgot where I was. I forgot why we were here. I forgot there was a crowd of strangers around us. I forgot everything…until I cracked open my eyes.

We were in Rio.

There was a kid who could bring down Randolph Urban.

We were here to destroy Department D.

We were still in danger.

“We have to stop,” I whispered, breathless, hating the words.

“Nooo,” he groaned, his fingers clenching my butt. I loved how that felt.

“We have to. We have to find this kid.”

“Not now,” he whined, his mouth reaching for mine once more, cupping my head. I felt so wanted, and it was more intoxicating than any alcohol. Still, I summoned my inner responsible being and scrunched my eyes tight, forcing myself to pull away. We had to do this. It was bigger than us.

I stepped back to the face of a kid whose ice cream had fallen from the cone.

“We have to do this. Then…later.” I raised my brows, hinting at the hotel room.

“Later?” he asked again, head tilted like he wanted a promise.

“Later,” I promised with a seductive smirk.

And I meant it. I was practically ready to dive into the reflecting pool to cool off, so he’d better believe I felt the same way he did.

“Fine,” he grumbled, finally dropping his hands from my body. I already wished he’d put them back. “I will hold you to it.”

“You better,” I teased. “Now let’s find Paolo.”