For a moment, I stood alone in the foyer.
The windows and patio doors were open, allowing the summer air to flow through the house. It was a beautiful night, and I was praying it didn't end up like the last time we'd had the Russos over. Tony wouldn't be here, so we had a much better chance.
I turned to find Papà, to tell him there was an issue with Jennie's dress and that she was going to be late, and to let him relay that to Steve, but, before I could, the front door opened once again. Bitterness crawled up my throat, but it was now too late to get away.
Steve Russo had the worst reputation of any man I'd met, hands down. Though, somehow, I'd found the courage to be myself around him, not the Sweet Angel everyone used to know and expected me to be forever. But just as it was when someone got sucked into their old habits by the people they hung out with, I was tumbling back into the abyss of fake smiles and fake words, and I didn't know how to get out.
"Anastasia."
Warm air brushed my skin as the front door shut, and I longed to be on the other side. But instead, I smiled politely. "Oscar."
Mid-thirties, with dirty blond hair and expensive suits always worn with a colored tie, Oscar Perez was handsome in a classic and charismatic way. He never lacked female attention, yet he always lavished his on me. He worked for my papà and was often around for parties, but since we'd had nothing going on I hadn't seen him in months, since before the incident. It was one of the biggest reliefs, but unfortunately, all good things have to come to an end.
"Don't you look as beautiful as always," he told me, giving me a kiss on each cheek and lingering too long. "Demasiado hermosa para las palabras."
I didn't know what he'd said, but I assumed it had something to do with my symmetrical face.
I stared at his light blue tie, the color of his eyes.
I hated it.
He was the fairest Colombian I'd ever met, and for some reason I resented his blond, comely appearance. What a lie it was.
"Thank you," I said, trying to take a step back, but his hand went to my lower back and drifted to the top of my ass. My stomach tightened with unease. He was lean but tall, and his presence consumed me like a bad aftertaste.
He'd always been subtly inappropriate—his fingers just grazing things they shouldn't. Close enough to make me uncomfortable, but not too close to get shot by my papa. If he went further, would my father even believe me now?
Oscar pulled back to look me in the eye, but his hand didn't leave me. Something crawled under my skin. I realized at this moment why I couldn't escape the expectations people had for the Sweet Angel with anyone but my sister's fiancé. Steve Russo was safe. He was marrying my sister. There was no chance I'd have to marry him, no chance my actions would alter how he would treat me as a wife. Most men walking through these doors could be a potential husband to me. Why make it worse on myself?
Oscar's fingers tightened on my lower back, and he spoke in my ear, "I hear you've gotten into trouble since the last time I saw you."
My heartbeat drummed. He'd always been inappropriate, but politely inappropriate, if that made any sense at all. He'd never brought up something so personal and invasive.
His saccharine voice took a cruel edge. "I was very disappointed when I found out, Anastasia. You can understand why, can't you?"
There was one thing that could mean—my worst nightmare—but I wouldn't accept it, didn't believe it. I wasn't going to call him a liar, though.
"Of course," I breathed.
I didn't realize how tightly he'd been holding me until he let me go and I fell back a step, my line of vision focused on his ugly tie.
It took a second to realize we were no longer alone, and the heavy presence against my back could only be one person.
Oscar glanced warily behind me, before looking back at me with a fake smile and bitterness dancing in his eyes. "I'll see you at dinner, Anastasia." He kissed the top of my hand, eyeing my cheap ring with a grimace, and then disappeared into my home like a snake on the loose.
I stared at the door, while his insinuation resounded in my mind. Resentment crawled into my chest, creeping to wherever it resided. However, maybe Oscar Perez was what I deserved . . .
Slowly, I turned around, my gaze traveling up a black vest, black tie, to a gaze just as dark.
"If that was the Sweet Angel, can't say I'm impressed."
Where Oscar's presence was a dark, looming shadow, it felt nothing compared to Steve's larger, warmer one. His pulled you in, didn't send you away. It was infinitely more dangerous.
The reminder of my spineless behavior still permeated the air, and I couldn't flip the switch so fast. "Excuse me," I breathed, taking a step around him, but he reached out and grabbed my hand.
I didn't get a chance to even weigh his expression before he was pulling me to the front door. His rough palm practically burned mine, spreading a warm sensation in my lower stomach.
It took a moment to find the voice to speak, and once I did, it sounded more breathless and uncertain than it ever had. "What are you doing?"
He was mad. He had to be to touch me in the middle of the foyer with guests around every corner.
He ignored my question. "Where's my list?"
My brows knitted, and then I remembered I was supposed to write that. "I, uh, forgot about it."
Under the warm glow of the porch light, I heard Benito and Sal laughing near one of the cars in the drive, but it was too dark to see. Steve's grip was soft but strong, and so there was no other choice but to follow him down the stone path toward the side of the house.
I had no idea what we were doing, but it was either go with him, or back inside where Oscar roamed free. It was an easy choice, though surprising considering I'd only seen one of them shoot their family member in the head.
Steve stopped near the corner of the house, released my hand, and leaned against the brick wall of my home. A second later, the orange flame of a lighter cast his face in gold tones as he lit a cigarette between his lips.
"You smoke?" It was a stupid question, as he was now blowing out a breath of smoke and watching me with a lazy expression.
"Sometimes," was all he said, his shoulders tense. He glanced up to look at the security cameras above our heads. He was in a blind spot, leaning against the wall. I was probably front and center on the screen for Dominic to see. What would people think if I was, once again, caught alone with a man I shouldn't be with? A rush of anxiety shot through me, and I stepped to the side and out of the camera's view.
Steve's gaze was heavy, angry even, and I wasn't sure what I'd done to him. I glanced at the star-lit sky. It was beautiful, but I didn't believe he'd brought me out here to enjoy it with him. In fact, it looked like he'd prefer I wasn't here at all.
I sighed. "Why am I out here with you?"
The night was dark, but I still saw a bitter expression cross his face. "Saw that prick push you around, touch your ass. Was wondering if I could get away with the same."
My heart stilled for a split second before I narrowed my eyes. I had my reasons for putting up with Oscar, but I didn't have to deal with this from a brother-in-law. I took a step to leave, but a rough hand grabbed my wrist.
"Stay." It wasn't a suggestion but neither was it demanding. Why did he want me to stay when he was clearly angry with me? He was rude and confusing. And who told him he could hold my hand, pull me around, and make me feel warm all over? I imagined Steve Russo had gotten whatever he'd wanted since he was young, and, being the only child, he didn't even have to share.
I let out a shallow breath and pulled my wrist out of his grip. It was stupid, but I was going to stay. I told myself it was only because I needed to get to know his character for my sister's sake. Not because his mere presence made something hot unravel inside me.
I eyed his cigarette. It looked small and harmless in his hand. I didn't know what it would look like in mine, but I was beginning to wonder.
He must have noticed my expression, because he pulled the cigarette from his lips and handed it out to me. He wanted to share? He watched me with that hooded, looking-into-the-sun expression, not saying a word.
My pulse fluttered.
It'd been six months since I'd even touched a man—that must be why I was having such schoolgirl notions about handholding and cigarette-sharing. Male contact wasn't a normal thing for me, and even before this ring graced my finger, it hadn't been then.
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