CHAPTER7
Elena
“Are you okay?”Ari’s face twists, contorting into a mask of concern. She tucks light brown hair behind her ears, rubbing her thumbs over each lobe twice, before her hands drop to her sides.
It’s a calming gesture Nonna taught us when we were kids, insisting the ears are the gateway to healing the rest of our bodies.
She’d say the things we allowed ourselves to hear had the potential to poison our minds, and that once the mind was poisoned, it was a slippery slope before the rest of our bodies wilted as well.
Evidently, she didn’t know there were plenty of other ways to poison your mind.
Like allowing lust to cloud your judgment and dry humping a man almost twice your age.
A man not only employed by my father and feared by everyone, but who’s also made it clear he wants very little to do with me.
My hand goes to the hickey he left on my neck yesterday, the flesh tender as I slather foundation over it. The makeup barely hides the purple constellation, and his teeth indentation feels permanent.
It makes my core throb, little sparks of desire igniting low in my abdomen, but I ignore it as a wave of nausea nearly knocks me into the sink.
I’ve already covered as much of my black eye as I could with several layers of a thick concealer, after sitting with a bag of frozen peas on it half the night.
Ari hasn’t mentioned anything about it, which tells me I’ve done a decent job of erasing the evidence of Mateo’s temper.
He’d been angry that I left yesterday, and frankly, it was stupid of me not to think there’d be consequences.
Mateo’s been proving our whole lives that he’ll stop at nothing to have me, and that he’ll obliterate anyone who tries to stand in his way.
And while I know I don’t deserve the treatment, don’t deserve him putting his hands on me, there’s very little I can do.
Papà’s on edge all the time, and he needs this wedding to work to try to bridge the gap between all of Boston and Ricci Inc.’s reputation.
Unfortunately, in this world we live in, our loyalty lies in our blood bonds, and I refuse to be responsible for my father’s downfall or be killed in the face of my defiance.
Besides, it’s not like Mateo left our brunch date without a limp. A black eye in exchange for making the asshole impotent is about as fair as it can get, I think.
“E?” Ari frowns, poking my stomach with one manicured finger. “Hello? Are you even listening to me?”
Blinking myself from my runaway train of thought, I offer her a soft smile and close the tube of foundation, inspecting my shoulder to make sure the mark’s hidden well enough. “Yes, and I’m fine. Just… a little distracted, with everything going on.”
She tilts her head, watching me with doe eyes. “You don’t seem like yourself. You haven’t mentioned the fact that it’s your birthday even once.”
“Honestly, the novelty starts to wear off once you’ve had two decades of birthdays.”
Her face screws up, and she smacks her pink, glossy lips. “Uh, if you say so. I’m gonna bask in them ‘til Papà stops buying me Cartier handbags.”
I laugh softly, shoving her with my shoulder. She pulls away from the white marble countertop in my bathroom, adjusting her cleavage in the light blue crushed velvet dress she has on. “You know everyone coming tonight is either related to us or off-limits, right?”
“What’s your point?”
Cocking an eyebrow, I wave my hand in her direction. “Isn’t allthisoverkill?”
“I’m not gonna dress homely just to make our family comfortable. You know what Nonna always says.”
“Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” I roll my eyes at the snippet of stolen—and, frankly, coming from a woman who’s never worked a day in her life, tone-deaf—wisdom, and point at her stiletto heels. “So, when did you decide you wanted to be a hooker?”
“What, you think I won’t pull out all the stops to get Kal Anderson’s attention?”
My stomach drops, my heart lurching into my throat as she smooths her hands over her stomach, checking out her ass in the mirror.