Grandma protested…a little. She adores her only son—even though he always does whatever he wants, consequences be damned.
All things considered, Uncle Salazar’s place isn’t terrible. It’s huge, so I never run into him or Aunt Ceinlys. The household staff takes care of everything, and nobody cares what I do.
But on a day like this…
I cringe at the sight of a red Lamborghini as I pull up to the mansion. The last person I want to run into is my oldest—and coldest—cousin, Dane, who can make me feel like I’m encased in a block of ice with a single glance. He probably doesn’t like me much, either… I’ve disappointed Grandma. He doesn’t fawn over her the way Mom does, but he adores her.
He doesn’t live at the ridiculously large mansion, but he might be inside. He probably came by to say hello to his parents. Actually, he probably has some business to discuss with his father. He isn’t the type to call or visit otherwise.
After parking my car next to his Lamborghini, I run out. My high heels click against the stone steps, sounding like mini firecrackers. Still no Dane.
Yes!
I yank the door open and run smack into a hard chest.
“Ack!”
I rebound like a ball, tipping backward. A strong—but not particularly gentle—hand grips my arm and sets me right.
“Watch where you’re going,” comes the unmistakable voice.
I force a smile, as I look up at Dane’s ever-unfriendly face. He’s in a bespoke suit as usual, his dark hair perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. Outwardly, he’s a perfect gentleman—if you don’t look too closely at his icy blue eyes, which make you want to shiver. Others in the family claim he has ice in his veins, but I’ve always thought there’s more than cold water to him.
He has to be a reptile.
His gaze sweeps me up and down. “Wild night out?”
A nervous giggle bubbles up, but I manage to clear my throat instead. “Pretty good. I was out with Marcella.” I don’t mention Vanessa since she doesn’t need crap from her oldest brother.
Disapproval turns his face even more remote.
I stare at his chest, noting the buttons on his shirt are pearly white and semi-translucent. It’s amazing that he can make me squirm faster than Dad. But then, Dad could never manage calm, icy disapproval the way Dane can.
“She’s bad business,” Dane says.
I’m ge
tting tired of people disapproving my choice of friends, but I’m not brave enough to tell Dane off. “Okay,” I mumble.
“And you should dress better in public.”
I look down. Yeah. It’s sort of obvious I’m trying to pass a man’s shirt off as a dress. I clear my throat. Again. “Right.” Mom.
A sudden thought lights up my mind. I should’ve given the shirt back to Dominic. I’m flying to Italy tomorrow evening. Maybe he’ll call me, but I can’t take a taxi to his place or drive my Maserati. What excuse am I going to give him about my car?
Dane starts to walk past me. “Can I borrow a few thousand bucks?” I blurt out.
“Define ‘a few.’”
“Um…” I hesitate for a moment, berating myself for asking Dane, of all people. When I need something, I put it on my credit card. If it’s over the limit, I call one of my parents’ assistants. If I don’t want to bug my parents—and I don’t want to involve them at all—I turn to Mark, who’s a helluva lot sweeter and more fun than Dane. “Eight?”
“For what?”
“Um. A car…?”
Is eight thousand enough to get me a cheap car like college kids drive?
I have no idea. The Maserati was a gift from Dad when I turned sixteen. Not an indulgence, but a gesture to show Mom, who was his Wife Number One, that he’s rich enough to throw that kind of money around and not miss it. Isn’t she sorry she divorced him instead of shrugging off “one minor indiscretion”?