“Oh, it did. Very much.” The last words were spoken with as much feeling as Bree had earlier.
Bree blinked. “Then why did you let them—-”
“Because,” she admitted helplessly, “It’s also what I like to feel.”
Oh. Dylan had explained to her about the unique bond between the two, but Bree had never really thought it was possible until now. She had secretly thought it twisted, but now that she saw how Lane’s eyes were filled with love—-
It was real, and it was right, Bree realized. And it meant that love didn’t have to take the same form for everyone.
When they made it to the VIP section, Lane was dismayed to see that she was seated next to a snobbish-looking couple. The girl had diamonds on just about every part of her body while the guy looked like a walking advertisement for Dior. She took a peek behind her but just as quickly turned around to face the stage again. Everyone else behind her looked rich, too, and knowing that there were so many of them made her want to throw up.
But you need to cope with it.
It was Angelo’s voice, silky and uncompromising, playing in her head.
Cope with it or you’ll find me coping with another woman.
Lane almost winced. Even the mere memory of his threat was still terrifying.
Taking a deep breath, she whispered to Bree, “Do you know the couple beside me?”
The other girl took a peek. “Oh. Elena Nolan and her boyfriend, Edwin Simpson,” she whispered back. “Why?”
Lane shook her head. “Just asking.”
Curious, Bree watched Lane take her phone out and type the woman’s name. A biography showed up, together with the photo, and she saw Lane breathe a sigh of relief. “Just a model,” Bree heard the girl whisper to herself.
Lane typed the man’s name, and Bree heard Lane inhale sharply when it turned out that Edwin Simpson was a CEO. Lane’s fingers moved again, and Bree couldn’t help raising a brow when she read the words. Now, why would Lane want to know Edwin’s net worth?
A figure from Forbes came up.
Lane breathed a sigh of relief again.
This time Bree had to ask. “Why do you want to know how much he’s worth?”
Lane jumped. “B-Bree!”
Oops. “Sorry,” Bree apologized sheepishly.
Her heart still racing at the shock Bree gave her, Lane stammered, “It’s a n-new coping technique. We got the idea from an article in Psychology Today.”
“And the technique is...”
“It’s basically a matter of r-relativity. If I’m not a-afraid of Angelo, why should I be afraid of someone w-whose net worth is lower?”
Bree’s eyes widened.
Then she started to laugh, seeing how it made a twisted kind of sense. “And it’s working?” she asked with a grin.
Lane slowly grinned back. “Yes.”
The concert started then, and they both turned their attention to the YouTube sensation tapped to perform as the Minuit Rouge’s front act. As Bree listened to the girl sing a cappella, she mused silently on how much Lane and Angelo had changed.
Lane was more outgoing now, more...willing to take social risks, if there was such a thing. And maybe it was because she had known Angelo Valencia far longer, the changes that the Italian tycoon had undergone were even more startlingly obvious. In the past, Bree had found him icily intimidating with the way he seemed incapable of any kind of error. While most women found him sexy, Bree had only been able to see him as a perfectly made robot...
Until Lane.
Only when Lane came into his life did Bree see Angelo show genuine emotion. As for the fact that Angelo’s emotions mostly ranged from mocking amusement to cruel pleasure, and always over something he had tormented his girlfriend with—-
Lane caught her friend looking at her. “What is it?”
“You’re really happy with Angelo, right?”
She blinked at the unexpected question but answered honestly, “Yes.”
Bree sighed in relief. “I thought so, and I think that’s all that matters. You agree, right?”
“Right.” Lane wondered what had come over her friend, but there was no time to ask. Minuit Rouge had finally come on stage and everyone in the hall surged to their feet, welcoming their favorite band with deafening cheers.
The concert was amazing, more so since it was Lane’s first time to attend one. But even so, Lane still found herself occasionally wondering where Angelo was, what he was doing, who he was with. She badly wanted to text him but didn’t, knowing that he would mostly likely ignore her.
Her lips curved in a rueful smile at the thought.
A week had passed since the night of the party, and things between them had completely changed. It was not, however, the kind of change one would expect. Both of them knew that they had crossed a line that night, one that made Angelo hers. Even without the words, they both knew that he was hers, irrevocably.