“I just thought… I have a home now. Like, my own place.”
Her lips twitched. “You need to invite me over. I need to see it.”
I shrugged. “I wish I could.”
She curved her arm around my shoulder. “I know, I know. You’re Vasov’s daughter.” She mock-shuddered. “Now you’re Eoghan O’Donnelly’s wife. I’m surprised you’re still speaking to me.”
I knew she was hurting about not being invited to the wedding, but none of my few friends had been there.
It hadn’t been a wedding of love, but of arrangement, and though I hadn’t been able to explain that to Lisandra, it didn’t take a fucking genius to figure out that an eighteen-year-old and a thirty-year-old only got married to tie two dynasties together.
And while the dynasties were illegal, the fronts weren’t.
The Vasovs were renowned industrialists. We had dozens of steel factories along the East Coast.
The O’Donnellys were property magnates.
Ha. All of it was funded on blood money. Nothing was legal or above board, and while some New Yorkers might surmise that, no one outright said it.
“Let me get to know him before I shove you in his face.”
Lisandra pouted. “You make it sound like I’m a bad influence.”
I grinned at her, even as I shook my head. She was a walking Barbie with curly blonde hair that bounced with each step, an ass tighter than a Georgia peach, and a waist that made me envy how tiny she was. Her face was delicate, her features elfin, and she had every boy at school panting after her. Until Myles had come along and ruined shit for her, which meant she was anti-men at the moment.
I loved her because she wasn’t tainted by my world, but she was definitely not a good influence.
Every time I’d been slapped around this year by my father had been because of her—a party she insisted I come to, a double date she insisted I go on with her which, of course, had been before the Myles incident.
Still, it was worth it.
I wasn’t about to let her go to parties or dates without me as a wing woman, not that I could do that anymore.
I wasn’t free—I hadn’t been single for two years, but I could get away with some stuff because Eoghan hadn’t given a shit about me or what I did with my time. He’d made that quite clear over the two years of our engagement. Most of the dates I’d gone on had resulted in a slap or two, but nothing too bad. I was actually concerned about her when she went to college, because fuck, she was dangerous when she was drunk, and she was used to my being sober and DD as well as her lifesaver.
I’d saved her from being date raped twice this year, and the thought of her being hurt terrified me. She had an addictive nature, and I knew she wasn’t going to do well without me. It wasn’t like I could do anything other than worry, either, so I was definitely holding onto the time we had left together before she went to college like it was precious.
As I stared around the furniture shop, peevishness to redesign the entire apartment in stuff I knew he’d hate hit me. Girly, frilly, froufrou shit. But even as I wanted to make him pay for the two lost years where we could at least have become friends, where I wouldn’t have to start married life having just turned into an adult and with a stranger at my side and in my bed, and for the fact that I couldn’t have a normal life and go off to college with my bestie, I knew it would backfire on me.
So, I blew out a breath, and muttered, “We’d best get going.”
“Money to burn, baby, my favorite kind of day.”
I grinned at her, loving that she was more enthusiastic about this than I was.
It felt weird, redecorating Eoghan’s apartment without any input from him. It made me feel like I was nothing more than a decorator, which I guessed wasn’t his intention. He just hadn’t made it feel like this was for my benefit, like it was about me making the apartment my home.
A little pissed at my inability to figure out why this redecorating business irritated me more than it pleased me, especially after my welcome ‘home’ after the wedding day from hell, I shoved it aside. I wasn’t one for dwelling, but I’d been in a mood ever since I’d woken up to an empty apartment.
Tangled in the sheets, my body sore and well used after a busy night, I’d felt like a slut. A cheap whore he’d discarded after a one-night stand.
Just the thought had me biting my lip, even as I grabbed Lisandra’s hand and tugged her into the store.
Of course, my mood wasn’t improved when the assistant looked at me like I was a child, her eyes roving up and down me as she calculated how much my outfit cost—and I knew. It cost forty dollars, because I wasn’t dressed to impress today, neither was Lisandra.
I could almost feel her dismiss me.
Thank God for my bud, though.