“Sit down and shut up.” She shoves me toward the chair standing by my dressing table. “Tonight, I choose what you wear on your face, head, and ass.”
She’s talented, and often, I resemble a piece of art by the time she’s done, but her frivolous taste leaves a lot to be desired. Instead of protesting against the dark eyeshadow or the blood-red lipstick, I bite my tongue. Maybe a diametrical change in appearance will suffocate the growing part of me that obsesses over a particular enemy?
“Will you tell me something about the guy you’ve set me up with? His name, for example.”
“Aaron Jones.” She grips the backrest, dipping her head to meet my eyes in the mirror. “He’s tall, muscular perfection. You’lldiewhen you see him! Like, honestly, he’s absolutely gorgeous! If I wasn’t in love with Adam, I’d so go for Aaron.” She flips the hairdryer on, cutting the chat short for a moment.
Then, she goes on, telling me the scarce information she has about Aaron while working with my hair. An hour later, she’s done curling my locks into tight, spiral curls and sprays my face with a heavenly-smelling mist, sealing my fashion-model-worthy make-up.
I don’t feel myself with a dark smoky eye, but I do my best to share Allie’s enthusiasm.
“You’re going somewhere?” Frank cocks an eyebrow when I enter the kitchen, all dolled up, wearing a black fitted dress that covers a whole inch more than just my ass.
Allie said she’d never speak to me again if I chose to wear anything other than the hooker-styled dress. Expensive and glamorous but still hooker-styled.
“We’ve got a date, Frank,” she chirps, batting her eyelashes at my father, lips curved in an ear-to-ear grin. “It’s right about time we find this beauty a man, don’t you think? What a lovely coincidence that I just happened to meet the perfect guy don’t you think?”
Frank bobs his head, utterly disinterested. He only cares about keeping me in line. “Is Adam going with you?”
“Yes.” I straighten my spine, lifting my chin to artificially boost my confidence. “Can you give Burly a night off?”
It’d be awkward to have him there, breathing down my neck all evening. Dante hasn’t been in touch with me since the dance studio two weeks ago, and I hope Daddy will start loosening the strict security regime. I almost hear his brain cells working before he bobs his head once.
“Have fun.”
Have fun?Have I fallen through the looking glass?
“Thanks, Frank. We sure will.” Allie grips my hand, dragging me outside, where Adam waits behind the wheel of his car. “We told Aaron we’ll meet him at the restaurant,” Allie explains when I cock an eyebrow, surprised that he’s not there. She rubs her hands together, babbling about the guy for the duration of our journey.
Adam keeps turning up the volume on the radio, but Allie turns it down every time. And so, we listen to graphic descriptions of Aaron’s sculpted biceps, triceps, and other ceps.
Twenty minutes later, we enter a restaurant not far from the invisible border that separates Dante and Frank’s territories. Not far from Delta, which is only a few blocks away. Dante’s probably there...
I dismiss the relentless thoughts, glancing around the space, navy walls, light-wood floor, and black tables surrounded by cream leather chairs. The place fits Allie’s taste—luxurious. Large crystal chandeliers hang low over the plains, and floor-length curtains cover arched windows. Peonies decorate the windowsills, filling the air with their sweet scent.
Allie points at a table in the middle of the room, where a brawny, elegant man sits, nervously rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. An enormous, black and white mural of an owl painted on the wall behind his back steals my attention.
“Oh my God! I know, right?!” Allie elbows my ribs, mistaking my admiration of the art for the approval of Aaron, when she digs her long nails into my arm. “He’s likesupergorgeous!”
Not what I’d say, but she does have a point. Surprisingly, she didn’t exaggerate when describing Aaron. He looks about twenty-four and wears a baby-blue shirt that struggles to contain the muscles Allie so graciously described earlier. An undercut top knot and a well-groomed beard make him appear rough, despite his delicate features. The evening looks up until we approach the table because I notice his eyes. They’regreen. In a flash, Dante regains control of my mind, wreaking havoc.
“I’m Aaron. You must be Layla.” He kisses the back of my hand and, with similar old-fashion manners, pulls out a chair for me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Moji—” I start but change my mind before the word fully rolls off my tongue. “No, white wine. Medium dry.”
I love mojitos, but now it’s something I share with one particular person... looks like this will be a long evening.
After checking Adam and Allie’s orders, Aaron nods, leaving for the bar. I’d expect a waiter would take care of the drinks, but Aaron’s already halfway across the room; his step eager, as if waiting on me will earn him a few extra brownie points.
“And? He’s nice, right?” Allie whispers, leaning over the table. “He wasspeechlesswhen I showed him your picture.”
“How do you know each other?” I ask, ignoring the question. Many more will come throughout the meal.
“I met him at the gym. He’s my personal trainer.”
That explains his ideal physique. I stop thinking about the man with the most striking green eyes, but when Aaron returns, I can’t focus on anything other than Dante again. Before the food arrives forty minutes later, Aaron tells a brief life story—he moved here from California with his girlfriend, who dumped him for someone else a month later.
“Why don’t you go back to California?” I ask, interested, for the first time since I walked through the door.