by Roxie Rivera
Chapter Seven
“After the ceremony, you’ll make your way to the reception. There will be a cocktail hour, probably some champagne and light canapes,” Alina explained while pouring tea in the opulent solarium of her grand home. “Milk?”
Ben nodded and waited to take the cup from her. “Are there rules about how much to eat or drink?”
“I usually have two or three canapés and one cocktail or flute of champagne.” She dropped a single cube of sugar in her cup. “You’ll likely be very busy meeting people and shaking hands. Keep that in mind.”
“Right.” He plucked two sugar cubes from the jar and plopped them into his cup. The dainty spoon felt ridiculous in his hands, but he remembered not to clank it against the sides of the cup as he stirred gently. “And after the cocktail hour?”
“You’ll find your seating cards and make your way into the dining area. Make sure to pull out Aston’s chair,” she said pointedly. “You’re a gentleman. Remember that.”
“I will,” he promised. Having grown up inside Alina’s manor, he had learned most of the rules of etiquette at an early age. He might have been raised in an infamous and exclusive whore house, but he has been taught to be respectable and decent.
“I had Joachim set the table for you. When you’re done with tea, we’ll sit in the dining room and refresh your memory.” Sitting back in her plush chair, she crossed her legs and sipped her tea. Like a queen holding court, she smiled indulgently at him. “Now, tell me how things are going with Aston.”
“Good.” He snatched one of the annoyingly small sandwiches from the tiered tray. It was delicious, but he felt like a clumsy giant trying to eat it.
“Just good?” Her mischievous expression warned him that she would needle him until she got the information she wanted. “I’ve heard that you’ve been spending most nights with her.”
Aggravated, he said, “Besian gossips more than an old woman.”
“I didn’t hear it from him.”
Reaching for another of the salmon sandwiches, Ben narrowed his eyes. “Are you having me followed?”
“Now, why would I do that?”
“Because you promised my mother you would look after me,” he replied before drinking his tea.
“I’m not having you followed.” She set aside her cup and saucer. “I have a client who lives next door to Aston. He hears your motorcycle. He’s worried Aston is bringing a criminal element into the neighborhood.”
Ben chortled. “He complains about the criminal element while being entertained by a million-dollar madam?”
“You know how those federal judges can be.”
“Hypocritical?”
“Something like that.” Her coy smile faded as her expression turned serious. “Ben, are you going to ask me?”
“Ask you what?”
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “About Aston’s father.”
Ben grimaced as the question he had been steadfastly ignoring was thrust in front of him. “I’m not sure I want to ask that.”
“Because you’ll have to tell Aston?”
“Because I’ll have to hide it from her,” Ben countered. “She doesn’t need to know about her father’s habits, and he deserves to keep his secrets, even if he’s dead.”
“It wasn’t like that with him, Ben. He wasn’t here to sate any sort of strange appetites. He was just lonely. He was a rich, lonely man who wanted someone to love him without the work of romance or the risk of heartbreak.”
He was glad to hear that Aston’s father hadn’t come to Alina seeking one of the girls who catered to bizarre fetishes. He didn’t care what people did behind closed doors, but it would have been a difficult secret to keep.
“Did you know when you met her?”
“Know what?” he asked, confused.
“That you had seen her father here,” she clarified.
He shook his head. “I didn’t recognize him until I saw a picture of him at her house. He had seemed familiar to me, but I had assumed I had seen him at a poker game or one of the casinos. It was the tattoo,” he explained, gesturing toward his chest. “That shield with the fish and two books.”
“Dolphin,” Alina corrected. “It’s a dolphin between the books.”
“If you say so,” he replied. “In the picture, Aston and her dad were on a yacht, and he didn’t have a shirt. I saw the tattoo and remembered seeing him in the hallway that night that fat old fuck from L.A. had a heart attack with Brianna.”
Alina pursed her lips at the mention of that night. “Yes, that was quite a commotion.”
“Once I realized why he looked familiar, I decided it wasn’t any of my business.”
“You’re right. It’s not, but better that she should hear it from you than someone else who might want to hurt her with a nasty story.”
He hadn’t thought of it that way. “Shit.”
“Just consider telling her,” Alina suggested. “You know her best. You know what she can handle and what she can’t. And it’s Wharton,” she added as an afterthought.
Thrown by her comment, Ben asked, “The fat fuck from L.A.? Was that his name?”
She rolled her eyes and laughed. “No, Ben. The tattoo. It’s the Wharton shield. It’s a very prestigious business school.”
“Of course, it is,” he grumbled. Wanting to change the subject, he asked, “How have you been? Any trouble I need to sort out?”
“Business is steady. Clients are well-behaved.” She dismissively waved her hand. “I’m more worried about you. What was that mess at Phan’s?”
“Bullshit,” he said, reaching for the teapot to refill his cup. It wasn’t the correct way of doing things, and Alina arched an eyebrow but didn’t stop him. “The same jackass that robbed us decided to rob a stash house for cash and product. There was a chase and a shootout. The driver managed to survive and escape.”
“And the bosses?”
“Had a long meeting last night,” he said, pouring milk into his cup. “I had to hear all about it this morning.”
“And?”
He shrugged and stirred his tea until the sugar cubes dissolved. “Lots of talking. No action.”
“Well, they can’t hit back blindly,” she reasoned.
Skipping the scones, he chose one of the chocolate pastries. “I don’t think it’s any of the usual suspects. It feels like a lucky amateur.”
“Any leads on the truck or driver?”
“The truck was reported stolen last year. The driver is in the wind. None of the guys at the stash house recognized him.”
“And the second person in the truck? The one who died at the scene?”
“He was a nobody.” Ben took another pastry from the tray. “Kostya passed around his face and name this morning. No one recognized him. He ran a small import shop.”
“That’s all very odd,” she remarked and leaned forward to select a cucumber sandwich. Sitting back, she nibbled on it a bit. “Do you think it’s someone who owes money to one of the bosses? A gambling debt? A drug debt?”
“Maybe.”
“Hopefully, it will end with the mess at Phan’s.”
“Hopefully.”
After they finished their tea, Alina led him into the formal dining room. She gave him a quick tutorial on how to select the correct glass and when to use each fork. “If you get confused, just wait for Aston or someone else at the table to make a move. As long as you are kind and friendly, no one is going to care if you grab the wrong spoon.”
“Friendly isn’t really my thing,” he groused, thinking of how ridiculous all of this was.
“I’m sure Aston would disagree.” She fluffed the shaggy ends of his hair and smiled warmly. “She must care very deeply for you.”
“She does,” he agreed, feeling a tight squeeze in his chest. She loved him, even with his faults and criminal connections. The least he could do was make her proud tonight. Reaching up to touch his hair, he said, “I’m getting it cut after I leave here.”
“Okay, Mom,” he replied sarcastically.
She narrowed her eyes and thumped him on the neck. “Brat.”
They were both laughing when Big John, her daytime bouncer-slash-butler came into the dining room. “Madam Alina, your lawyer is here.”
Ben frowned. “On a Saturday? Christ, what’s the hourly rate for that!”
“Exorbitant,” she replied with a wan smile. Turning to Big John, she said, “Send him into my office, please.”
After Big John left, Ben asked, “Is it serious? What kind of charges?”
She shook her head. “It’s not anything criminal. It’s real estate.”
“Real estate?”
Alina sighed. “I’m having some issues with an intermediary. It will all sort itself out in the end.”
“If you need any help…”
“I’ll let you know.” She patted his chest. “Go get your haircut. Don’t worry about tonight. You’ll be fine.”
He leaned in and pecked her cheek. “Thank you for tea.”
“Next time, bring Aston.”
Wondering how awkward that would be, he nodded. “Sure.”
Out in the warm afternoon sun, he pulled on his helmet and kicked his bike to life. He roared down the beautifully manicured streets of the outrageously expensive old neighborhood. The ride to the barbershop was nice and gave him time to think about work, both legal and illegal. Business was good. He might even hit the goals for his five-year plan twelve to eighteen months early. That made all of the long hours and backbreaking labor worth it.
But the other business—the illegal shit—seemed to only get riskier and more dangerous. For a long time, he had enjoyed the thrill of illicit activities. There was something invigorating about breaking the law and getting away with it. It was wrong, but it felt good.
Until Aston.
Now, he had a clear vision of a future that didn’t include boosting and chopping cars or running security for high stakes poker games and gambling dens. He could see the possibilities a life with Aston promised, and the thought of risking those possibilities made his stomach hurt. He just didn’t know how to get out.
The thought plagued him as he sat for his haircut. The visit with Alina had spurred memories of his mother. Would she have been proud of him? She would have been proud of the business he had built, but she would have been heartbroken to learn he had chosen his father’s family and the mafia over a simple, quiet life as an upstanding citizen. She had wanted so much more for him. She had wanted him to have a good job, a nice girl and a family. That was all she wanted for him.
By the time he left the barbershop, his mood had shifted to one that was darker. He tried not to indulge the self-loathing that came with the thoughts of disappointing his mother, but it was hard to ignore them. When he finally reached Aston’s house, he felt jumpy and irritated and desperately needed to burn off some energy. Remembering the lawn mower he had promised to fix, he walked out to the landscaping shed and worked to diagnose and fix the issue. It didn’t take long to repair the trimmer either.
Still feeling antsy, he searched for a new project. Spotting Baby, the vintage car that had brought Aston into his life, he knew what to do. A few hours later, he was buffing the final coat of wax onto the sleek curves of the car when Aston’s garage door opened. She pulled into her usual spot, killing the engine on her old but well-maintained Jeep, and got out with a smile on her face. With black flats dangling from one hand, she closed the distance between them in a pair of disposable flip-flops. He frowned at the sight of them on her pampered little feet. As if reading his mind, she said, “I drove really carefully.”
“Those things are dangerous as fuck, baby.” He dropped the microfiber towel he had been using on the hood of the car and reached for her, dragging her into a lingering embrace. “You’re going to get those caught on the accelerator one of these days.”
Although he had expected her to argue, she kissed his cheek and said, “You’ll just have to start taking me for my pedicures.”
His lips twitched. “Hell, maybe I’ll book one with you.”
She laughed and pressed her lips to his in a playful kiss. “You might like being pampered.”
“I might,” he conceded and let her go.
“How is Alina?”
“She’s good. I promised her I would bring you over for tea one afternoon.”
“Really?” Her eyes damn near sparkled with interest. “I get to go back?”
“Only you would find a visit to a brothel that exciting.”
“Because it is exciting,” she insisted. “It’s kind of naughty, you know? How often do I get to do naughty things?”
“You want to do something naughty right now?” He eyed the hood of the car, and she blushed prettily.
“Ben,” she said his name in that disapproving way that always made him smile. Reaching out, she touched his hair. “I like this.”
“Yeah?” He hadn’t been so sure about the short length and fade, but if she was happy, he was, too. Picking up the towel, he decided to check for any dull spots. “How’s Marley?”
“Lovesick.”
“For the basketball player?” he asked, hoping that wasn’t the case for Besian’s sake.
“Nope.” Aston smiled mischievously. “For your boss.”
He straightened up from the spot he had been inspecting. “Are you serious?”
She nodded. “She thinks he’s not interested.”
Ben scoffed. “I caught him in a bookstore yesterday buying a stack of books about feminism.”
“No!” Aston’s jaw dropped.
“Yes. I even helped him pick one out,” he admitted.
She looked even more amused now. “Which one?”
“The one about the room.”
“Virginia Woolf? I’m impressed, Arben Beciraj.”
Tucking the microfiber cloth into his back pocket, he reached for her again and dragged her close. He nuzzled her neck. “I’ve got something else that will impress you.”
“Ben,” she whispered heatedly. “We have to get ready for the wedding.”
“I’ll make it quick,” he promised and captured her mouth in a rough, demanding kiss.
*
With a frustrated growl, Ben ripped the bow tie from his neck. He scowled at the damn thing in the reflection of the long mirror in the corner of Aston’s room. Even after watching a YouTube video and reading a step-by-step tutorial, he couldn’t figure it out.
“Need some help?” Aston walked into the bedroom while threading earrings through her pierced lobes. “I could hear you growling across the hall in Dad’s room.”
He waved the black strip of fabric. “Do I have to wear this?”
“Yes.”
His gaze drifted to the slow swing of her hips as she crossed the room. Fuck. She looked amazing in her dark blue dress. It hugged her waist and skimmed her ass in a way that made him want to peel it off her as slowly as possible. After quickly bending her over the hood of the freshly waxed car, he now wanted to unwrap her like a gift and spend the whole night making her tremble and pant and beg for his cock.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she scolded as she placed something on the nearby ottoman.
“Like what?” He put his hands on her hips and drew her in closer.
“Like you want to use this to tie me to the headboard,” she said, taking the tie from him.
“Not a bad idea,” he murmured as he peppered kisses down the side of her neck.
“Later,” she said and kissed his cheek. “I could barely get this damn thing zipped. I’m not going through that again. Now—straighten up.”
He did as she instructed but kept his hands on her hips. She smelled so good. It was a different scent than she normally wore, darker and spicier. Her lips were redder than usual, and her eye makeup sexier and bolder. He wanted to kiss her. Hard.
“It’s smudge
-proof,” she said as if reading his mind.
“You want to test it out?”
“Let me finish this first.” Her hands moved skillfully, looping and tugging and tightening. She took a little step back to examine her work and then stepped forward again to adjust the knot. “Okay. What do you think?”
Reluctant to let go of her, he turned to study his reflection. “It looks great.”
“You look great,” she praised as he turned back to face her. She brushed her hands over his shoulders, and the light glinted off the diamonds in her gold bracelet and cocktail ring. The look on her face softened. “My dad taught me how to do that. He said someday I might have a husband or sons who would need my help.”
Seeing the flash of grief in her eyes, he cupped her face and kissed her tenderly. “I’m sorry your father isn’t here tonight.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered, sliding into his embrace. “I have you.”
Careful not to disturb her hair, he rubbed her back and kissed her cheek. “Do you think he would have liked me?”
“After seeing the way you hand washed and detailed Baby for tonight?” She leaned back and smiled up at him. “He would have given me the talk about not letting you go.”
“My mother would have loved you,” Ben asserted. “When I was getting my hair cut earlier, I kept thinking about how my mom would have been so happy to us together like this. She would have been thrilled to see me in a suit with my hair cut and my shoes shined.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
“So do I,” he murmured, allowing himself a moment of wistful pain.
“I have something I want you to wear tonight.” She picked up something shiny from the ottoman. “I gave these to my dad on his fiftieth birthday. I think they’re perfect for you.”
“Aston, I can’t take your dad’s cufflinks,” he protested as she opened her palm to show him. “Those were special to him.”
“They were, and they’re special to me. I want you to wear them tonight.”