Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“When I have proof—when I can end this without starting a war—I’m going to make him regret what he did,” I growl.
“Soon,” she whispers, “but you have to let me take the lead.”
“When you said to take the lead,” I tell her later, as I hold her hand and guide her to the dance floor, “I assume you didn’t mean here?”
All around us, couples dance. The men wear expensive suits, and the women wear designer outfits. A random observer, at least at this early point in the night, wouldn’t guess that this is a mob party. Everybody is behaving in a civilized way.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers, a note of panic in her voice.
“Relax. Frank and Owen aren’t here yet…”
“I can’t dance, Killian,” she says, as the song changes to something slower. “I know you’ve probably been to hundreds of parties like this. You have probably been dancing since you were a kid. But I don’t dance. Ever.”
“Let me help you,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Just follow me, a stór. You don’t need to be afraid, not with me, never.”
“Why do all the women look like they hate me?” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around me.
She’s not wrong. The single society women are throwing her vicious looks, sneers of pure disapproval.
“Just ignore them,” I say, achingly aware of my woman’s body pressed against mine, moving her side to side to the flow of the music.
“But why?” she persists.
“People have been trying to court the mafia prince for years. But I’ve wanted none of them. I’ve wanted no one before you…”
She clutches onto my sides, laying her cheek against my chest as I embrace her. I know she’s right. It’s important that we proceed cautiously. I don’t want to make her a target… But I hate the idea of these women judging her, daring to look down on her, when she’s better than the whole damn lot of them.
We dance slowly. When the song ends, she tells me she needs some air.
“Lucy…”
I follow her outside, trying not to walk too quickly, trying not to seem too keen. She walks to the front of the building, sucking in the cold Boston air, her breath fogging as she exhales. “I feel like a different species to them.”
I touch her hand. “You are,” I say. “And that’s a good thing. You’re kind, non-judgmental, and independent. You’re everything they’re not, and that’s why I want you so damn badly. All the time. Every second of every day since we reconnected.”
I pull her toward me for a kiss, but then she takes a step back, nodding to a limo that’s just pulled up. But a group of people step out who I don’t recognize, not Frank or Owen. Nearby, an older woman is smoking a cigarette, jewels gleaming on her neck.
“If you don’t kiss him, I will!” she cries.
Lucy laughs, turning to her. “I’m sorry?”
“No, I’m sorry for being such a blatant eavesdropper. I heard his speech. It was the most romantic thing I ever heard.”
“I’ve never been accused of being romantic before,” I say, laughing.
“This wonderful lady must bring it out of you,” the lady replies. “Oh, you remind me of me and my husband in our youth. How you look at each other… it’s simply sublime. How did you meet if you don’t mind me asking?”
I loop my arm around Lucy’s waist. She looks up at me, a smile on her face. She seems to enjoy it when we present as a couple… as long as it’s to the right person, without the risk of what the mob will bring.
“It’s actually a pretty crazy story,” Lucy says.
The woman grins. “My favorite kind…”
I watch Lucy as she talks about getting lost as a kid, thinking she would be out there forever, and then finding me. My heart swells when she talks about taking shelter in the cave with the storm lashing. “When the storm stopped, he called me his lucky charm. I still have the ring he gave me… and after my mom passed, I thought about that time a lot. I wore it around my neck. Then, by chance, by luck, he walked into my bakery one day.”
By the end of the story, the woman’s eyes are glimmering. “Oh, how wonderful,” she says. “Thank you for sharing that—”
“Killian?”
The sound of Uncle Frank’s slurred voice shatters the mood. I turn. Lucy steps away from me, disentangling herself from my embrace. Frank’s eyes are glimmering, just like the old woman’s, but not with emotion. Behind him, Owen leans on his walking stick.
“Are you going to introduce me to your date?” he says.
Owen watches with a calculating expression. But that’s nothing new for him. That’s how he always looks. Still, it piques my suspicion. If he’s behind everything, then he already knows who Lucy is.