He raises his hands, "Uh, sorry, Sir, I was trying to help—"
"Well she doesn’t need your help, so back the fuck off."
"Of course, Sir." He glances toward Victoria and my vision tunnels. I haul him by his collar and—
"Saint."
I raise my fist; she wraps her fingers around my bicep. "Saint, stop."
Her touch sinks in through the fabric of my tailormade suit. Her touch is more precious… The fuck am I thinking? I shake off her hand, release the man’s collar. He lurches back, then squares his shoulders.
"Leave us," I snarl.
He pivots and walks back to the hotel.
I turn on Victoria, "Never stop me again in public, do you understand?"
She stiffens, then draws herself up to her full height, which puts her at eye level with my chest. Shit, she is tinier than the mental image I have of her. Perhaps it is her resilience, her feistiness, the layers of prickliness that cover her like a second skin, that contribute to her larger-than-life image, huh? And the fuck am I thinking, waxing lyrical about this woman, huh?
"Answer me,” I growl.
She opens her mouth, when a voice interrupts us.
"Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love than in being undeceived by them…"
"The fuck?" I angle to the side, spot the owner of the voice, a man sprawled against the wall of the hotel.
He’s dressed in a worn shirt and pants which have seen better days. His matted hair flows to his shoulders. He holds up a sign, that reads,
"And thou art dead, as young and fair..."
"Why didn’t you complete the fucking poem?" I growl.
He appraises my features. The expression on his face is neither happy, nor sad. He’s content. Yeah, fucking imagine that? Bloody blissful motherfucker. This is what not having money can buy you, huh? Peace. I laugh. Then unhook the bloody watch on my wrist. I drop it into his upturned hat.
A sharp inhalation of breath draws my attention. I glance over my shoulder to find Victoria’s gaze fixed on the piece of jewelry I’d dropped.
"Why did you do that?"
"Why not?" I rub the back of my neck. "Why should I be the only one to suffer excesses?"
"That was what, £5000?"
"£30,000."
Her jaw drops open. "You didn’t…"
"I can do anything I want, Victoria."
She wrings her fingers in front her, her gaze roaming over my face, then flicking back to Homeless Guy.
I turn to the man. "Fucking Byron, I hate him."
The man grins, his teeth bright against his lips. Huh? For someone who lives on the streets, he sure has perfect teeth.
"Have a cigarette, mate?" He glances between us.
I glare at him, then pull out the pack of cigarettes in my pocket and hand a cigarette over.
"You smoke?" She scowls. "I didn't know that."
"Lots you don't know about me."
She walks up to stand next to me, grabs the packet from my hand.
"Hey," I protest.
"These things will kill you," she scoffs, then drops the entire pack in Homeless Guy’s lap.
"You worried about me?" I frown
"Of course, not." Her face flushes.
Homeless guy looks between us. "Lighter?" he asks.
"Jesus, fuck. Get your own bloody light."
"Don’t swear," she scolds me.
"I’ll do whatever the bloody fuck I want." I dig out my lighter and hand it over to Homeless Guy, who promptly pulls out a cigarette and lights up.
24
What flowers are kissable?
Answer: Tulips
Victoria
I did. I had said 'yes' to him. Oh, hell.
I stare at my reflection in the mirrored surface of the elevator doors. Saint towers next to me, his frame dwarfing mine, his shoulders taking up too much space, his presence drawing in all of the oxygen in the enclosed space. I take a breath and my nose fills with his scent—dark, edgy, packed with pheromones that find their way unerringly to the source of my emptiness… My empty core. Hell.
"Is that a ‘No’?" he asks.
I should say the word. Tell him it’s all off. That I don’t care what he’s found out, that I don’t give a damn about the Mafia and their hold on me. I should escape from this trap that’s closing in on me, leave everything and everyone behind… Take on a new name, move to another city, another country… But where could I go?
I don’t have a passport. The Mafia took that from me after I reached England. Even the possessions I left behind in his suite belong to this character that I am playing.
If it were only me, I wouldn’t hesitate to leave, but Nina's life is at stake. She is in their clutches. If I do anything wrong, she’ll pay the price. How could I bear that? I can’t let anything happen to her.
I have to find a way out of this… Have to do what is needed without giving away the last bit of my pride.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
I turn to him. "You heard me. The answer is ‘No.’"
He stares at me, then spots of color burn on his face. His jaw tics. A nerve pops at his temple. "Say that again."
I angle my body, plant my feet firmly into the floor and face him. I look him in the eye and repeat, "I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on this earth."
His eyes gleam and he peels back his lips. A dense cloud of anger rolls off of him. It slams me in the chest and I gasp, take a step back.
He lowers his chin. My nerve endings crackle.
Shit, shit, shit. What have I done? I am fighting something inevitable here… I mean, I only meant to show him I’m not a pushover. It’s the only way to hold onto his respect… Not that he has much of that. Not for much of the world, and definitely not for me. The only person he seems to have an ounce of caring for…is the person who calls him at the most inopportune times, the one for whom he seems to drop everything and run. Is it a woman?
What do I care who it is? What matters
