My heartbeat wavered like a plucked string. Without my heels on, his presence was larger, more intimidating. "You can't go in. It's not . . . proper without my papà home." There wasn't a chance my father had invited this man over while he was away. How did he even get past the community gates? But I already knew Steve did what he wanted regardless of rules, and my papà must have realized that before the marriage contract was signed.
His gaze sparked. "You have a second to move before I do it for you."
"Be my guest. You'll get all wet."
Somehow, I thought that was a great comeback, but it only made us both aware I was half-naked and soaked. The breeze grew hotter, the air denser.
His jaw tightened as he took a step forward. I didn't move. His white shirt almost brushed my white bikini top. My breasts tingled in anticipation and drops of water tickled as they dripped down my midsection. His body heat was a living thing, sinking into my skin and urging me to step closer, to press my body against his.
I couldn't breathe when he leaned in, his voice low against my ear. "You're lucky I have shit to do today." The rough sound ran the length of my neck, goose bumps following. I couldn't help but think: What would he have done if he didn't?
His fingers brushed mine as he slipped the manila envelope into my hand. "Put it on your papà's desk." He took a step back, and my entire body burned in the aftermath. "And don't fucking go through it." I wished I could say his tone doused me with cold water, but it didn't.
My gaze narrowed as I looked up at him.
The sunlight made his amber eyes even more golden. "Your business with my papà is the last thing on earth I would concern myself with."
His voice darkened. "Good."
We stared at each other for another moment. He jingled the keys in his hand and took a slow step back, before turning around and heading to his car. I stood there and watched him, because his back was as nice as his front.
Steve opened his car door, calling out, "By the way, it's Nico. Nobody fucking calls me Steve."
As he backed out of the drive, I reminded myself to keep calling him Steve. I headed into the house, dropped the folder on my papà's desk, but, before I could leave, my gaze was pulled to the small safe in the corner of the room. With a tight throat, I walked toward it and tried the handle even though I already knew the outcome. Locked.
Guilt made me grasp onto the tiniest shards of hope.
I checked each drawer of his large mahogany desk, though, once again, knew I wouldn't find what I searched for. My papà had all of his private bank information in this house locked down, but one of these days he had to trip up.
One of these days this family would pay restitution for the innocent life they'd taken.
I walked out of his office to watch Jennie shuffle Ryan out the front door.
I crossed my arms when I saw her swim- suit top tied awkwardly to the side, her bottoms on inside out. While I was saving her ass, she was having sex? What a little . . . ugh.
When he was gone, she leaned against the door, looking pale and relieved.
I pursed my lips in disappointment, turned around and chimed, "Lemon," as I headed up the staircase.
:Anastasia:
I STOPPED SHORT IN Jennie'S doorway and closed my eyes in disbelief.
"Papà is going to kill you," I told her.
"Good," she muttered, adding a long arc with her paintbrush to the canvas that leaned against the wall. The painting would be a rainbow if it wasn't all black.
My sister had been brooding since Ryan came over. She went to her classes, but otherwise stayed in her room. The week crawled by with her casting a black cloud over the house with her emo paintings and sappy music. I was beginning to feel guilty again, but there wasn't a part of me that wanted to put myself in her place. I'd rather have a husband who wasn't so rude, wasn't such a womanizer as I'd heard, and truthfully less handsome.
Maybe that sounded odd, but to me it made perfect sense.
Laughter filtered up the stairs, and I closed my eyes once more. Jennie's engagement party had started five minutes ago, and she currently sat cross-legged on her floor in overalls, covered in paint.
I could see Papà's temper not far in the distance, and I would feel its heat just because I was such an easy target. Jennie never reacted when our papà raged at her, and it annoyed him, so he turned it on me.
"What on earth could you be thinking right now?" I headed toward her closet, not looking forward to digging through costumes to find the rare dress she could wear.
"That I hate my fiancé. He's rude, and you've seen him, right? Can you even imagine us having sex, Anastasia?"
I paused, gave my head a shake, and continued pushing clothes on hangers aside.
"Um, no. I'm not going to try to imagine that."
She sighed. "A couple of hours ago I realized I would have to have sex with him."
I made a noise of acknowledgment, not surprised it had taken her this long to come to that assumption. The obvious was like the hidden secrets of the world in Jennie's eccentric mind. Surprising, as she'd always aced her schoolwork and had more friends than I could ever hope for.
"And I kept thinking, maybe there's a reason he manspreads so much? His is big. Then I began to worry, so I started looking up pictures—well, videos—of men his size, naked, and that only made me worry more."
"You were watching porn," I said, dead-pan, standing in the closet doorway and watching her paint Mr. Rabbit beneath the black rainbow.
She tilted her head to eye her masterpiece.
"Yeah, I guess that's what it's called."
"Jennie!"
My sister groaned, and I looked toward the door. Mamma wore a red cocktail dress and an angry expression. A slew of Italian flew past her lips as she snatched the dress from my hand and then smacked Jennie on the back of the head. "Shower, now!"
Jennie grumbled and got to her feet.
"And porn!" More Italian. "What were you thinking?"
A laugh escaped me.
Mamma shot me a glare, and I turned it into a cough. She had always shown up at the most inopportune times. We couldn't get away with anything.
"Anastasia, go pacify the Russo. Lord forbid he starts shooting the guests again."
"Me? What am I supposed to do?"
All I received were a few sentences of berating Italian that didn't even address the current topic at hand. When my mamma went off, she'd talk about everything but what she was currently mad about. This time, it was how she broke a favorite porcelain dish earlier, Nonna complained about her lunch again, and the gardener hadn't shown up today. Which was definitely for the best . . .
Guests trickled in the front door as I made my way down the staircase. I wore a pink choker maxi dress, heels with a bow that tied around my ankles, and my hair down, pinned to one side. Even though I didn't approve of this marriage, it didn't mean I wasn't going to take the opportunity to dress up. Frankly, it was the highlight of my week.
"Anastasia!" my cousin Sophia squealed as she came through the front door. "Squealed" was the best way to explain it. She was nineteen with a constant mischievous expression.
"I've missed you!" She threw her arms around me, and I took a step back at the impact.
"I just saw you at church Sunday," I laughed.
"I know." She smacked a "mwah" on each of my cheeks and pulled back. "But so much has happened since then." She hadn't been here for the lunch incident, but I understood my family well enough to know that my three-year-old cousin Caitlin would be able to recite the entire event like she'd been present.
"Where's Sal?" I asked. Her older brother was a male version of her.
"He ran into Benito out front. You know, "man talk'." She rolled her eyes. "All right. I'm going to go find us some alcohol. Then we need to talk about this Nico I've been hearing about."
"Check out the bloodstain on the patio. That's all there is to tell," I told her.
"That's not what I've heard. Mamma said he's hotter than David Beckham."
"I don't know who that is."
Her mouth gaped. "You're living under a rock, Anastasia. Too many books, not enough TV."
"The quote of the century," I mumbled wryly as she saw another cousin, squealed their name, and left me there.
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