“Hello, Ray,” she said, keeping her voice cool. “How are you? I wondered whether you might
show.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said.
He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and Dylan was overwhelmed with a masculine, earthy scent
that was disturbingly erotic. She wondered if that was his signature cologne. If it was, it had to be leaping off the shelves.
“Cindy was one of the first to arrive,” Dylan said, pulling back.
Her response to him was unsettling. She didn’t even like him much, so why did she have this visceral, almost animal reaction to his proximity? It wasn’t as strong, but it certainly had glimmers of the same reaction she had to her husband, and that bothered her. It bothered her a great deal. While the attraction she felt for him was just embers compared to the inferno of her feeling for Mark, embers had the potential to create an impressive blaze if you let them.
“Mark’s around here somewhere,” she said breezily. “Have you seen him yet?” “Nope,” Ray said, his eyes fixed on hers. “But I think I’ll survive.”
“Well, Cindy . . .”
“Saw her,” Ray cut her off. “We’re not exactly on the best terms right now, so I think steering clear of each other is probably what’s best for both of us tonight.”
Dylan licked her lips, feeling uncomfortable about his revelation, but also because she was the hostess after all, and couldn’t just walk away from him. And she didn’t want to walk away from him; it would be more accurate to say that she wanted to run. After Pedro Lima’s party when she’d suspected that he’d been flirting with her just to upset Mark, Dylan felt sure that she was inoculated against his charms, but apparently not. When he wasn’t talking about his considerable accomplishments, Ray Hernandez was still very attractive. Disturbingly so.
“Dance with me,” he said. “This music reminds me of when I was a kid.”
“Maybe a little later?” Dylan said. “I really have to go check on everything in the kitchen. They’ve been a little slow getting food out,” she lied.
“I hadn’t noticed that. I’d say everything’s run like a well-oiled machine since I’ve been here,” Ray observed. He pulled in his lower lip and looked straight at her in a way that made her want to blush for some inexplicable reason. “My wife will be green with envy at the success of this party.”
“Actually not,” Dylan snapped, surprised at her instinct to defend Cindy. “She was the first person to say how impressed she was with how well everything turned out.”
“I praise my opponents all the time,” Ray Hernandez shrugged. “And then I go out on the field and try to take their heads off with the baseball.”
Dylan opened her mouth to reply when she felt a hand slip about her waist. She turned and looked at Mark, her face warm, as though she had been caught doing something wrong.
“Ray,” Mark said, nodding, his voice cool. “Glad you could make it.”
“Me too,” Ray Hernandez said. “Quite a place. Quite a party.” He looked at Dylan and smiled.
“Thank you. My wife worked very hard on both,” Mark said, with slight emphasis on the words, ‘my wife.’ “But I have to steal her for a minute.”
Mark, who hadn’t seen the need to spend much more than a moment with her since he’d come downstairs, had to “steal her for a minute”? Dylan rolled her eyes, knowing full well what his true motive was.
“He has a habit of getting real fucking close when he talks to you,” Mark said between his teeth as he steered her in the direction of the living room.
“It’s probably because he’s so tall,” Dylan suggested. “He has to lean in.”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” Mark snapped. “And don’t spend any more time with him tonight either.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said, keeping her tone light.
Mark stopped and pulled her close, pressing her pelvis against him and leaning in to speak directly in her ear. “I’m entitled to be ridiculous when other men are after my wife.”
“Other men are not after your wife,” Dylan said, amused. “But seriously? You were like a ninja. I was talking to him for literally three minutes and you just crept up out of nowhere.”
Mark looked down at her, his face expressionless, clearly not seeing the humor. “Ray Hernandez can entertain himself some other way tonight,” he said. “Not by flirting with you. Stay away from him, Dylan. Don’t defy me on this.”
Dylan blinked. Defy?
She would have loved to chalk his choice of words up to a language barrier or something, but she knew all too well it was intentional. He didn’t often flex his muscles this way, but when he did, it was crystal clear that he wore the pants in their relationship and that she would do well to remember it.
“Okay,” she said, putting a hand to his chest. “If it makes you uncomfortable, of course.”
“It does,” he said firmly. “So we understand each other?”
She nodded.
“Okay,” he said, satisfied. “I’m going to go check on my parents.”
As a general rule, Mark wasn’t unreasonably possessive. Where Ray Hernandez was concerned though, he seemed particularly wary and protective even though on the face of it, there was nothing about Ray’s behavior toward her that should have raised any red flags. Was there something about her behavior toward Ray that had Mark agitated? Dylan had to admit, there was a forbidden fruit element about Ray. That and the almost freakish good looks . . .
“Wonderful party, lady.”
Dylan turned and smiled at Stephanie Alfieri. She looked more than a little tipsy, and her long, curtain of jet-black hair was a little disheveled, as though she’d run her hands through it one time too many.
“Thank you. I was so nervous about it but everyone seems to be having a great time.”
“We are!” Stephanie said brightly. “But can I trouble you for one thing?”
“Sure,” Dylan said. “Anything.”
“I need a bathroom someplace quiet without people hammering on the door every five seconds. I look like shit and Tim is starting to get that look, like I’m embarrassing him or something.”
“Okay, sure. Come with me. You can use the master,” Dylan offered.
She led Stephanie upstairs to her and Mark’s bedroom and showed her the master bath, sitting on the bed waiting for her.
“Thank you,” Stephanie called from inside. “I just need something to . . .” the unmistakable sound of Stephanie sniffing came from behind the closed door, “dull the edges a little.” Another loud sniff.
Dylan’s eyes widened. Was Stephanie Alfieri doing drugs in her bathroom? She remembered now Mark’s warning that Stephanie was “notorious.” But of all the wives, with the exception of Cindy, Stephanie had always been the nicest to her. It was tough to judge her, when she’d been such a friend.
Then the door was opening and Stephanie was coming out, her eyes strangely bright, her hair still awry.
“Stephanie,” Dylan said. “Let me get you a brush. I’m not sure you look as pulled together as you were hoping.”
Stephanie sighed as though she’d heard that line before.
“I know. I look a hot mess. I’ve been told. By the father of my children, no less.”
“I’m sorry, Stephanie. Look, let me help you . . .”
Dylan went into the bathroom and grabbed one of her brushes, bringing it back out to the bedroom. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Stephanie had a little silver ampule in one hand and had emptied a line of powder on the back of the other. For a moment it was like something out of a bad movie.
“Stephanie . . .”
“Relax, Dylan. In this quantity, it’s like a glass of strong liquor, no more harmful than that. You should try it.”
Dylan shook her head. “No thanks. Look, Stephanie . . .” she held the brush aloft, wondering if it made sense to try to brush her hair at this point. She was clearly wasted out of her mind.
“What
the . . ?”
Ava was standing at the door of the bedroom and took in the scene in front of her, eyes wide. Dylan dropped the brush and Stephanie raised her hand to her nose, quickly snorting in the line of white powder.
“It’s about time for me and Tim to go home anyway,” she said. “Thanks for the hospitality, Dylan.”
She flounced out of the room past Ava who stood like stone in the doorway and did not move, even after Stephanie was gone. Her eyes were fixed on Dylan’s face, silently questioning.
Dylan retrieved the dropped the brush and cleared her throat, feeling accused by Ava’s stare.
“You were going to try it,” Ava said quietly.
“No I wasn’t,” Dylan said shaking her head.
“You were. I saw that look on your face. You were curious.”
“Everyone is curious about getting high. As you of all people well know.”
“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you,” Ava said, still not moving from her place at the door. “You’ve never wanted to be outside of yourself. Not like I did.”
“Stop accusing me!” Dylan snapped.
“Dylan,” Ava shook her head. “Who are you trying to be here? I don’t even . . .”
“You don’t even what?” Dylan demanded.
“Recognize you lately. I mean, look at you. You’re like a size zero, your hair looks like someone pulled it out of a box and put it on your head, you dress like the very same women we were making fun of not three months ago. And you’re spending your husband’s money like it’s going out of style.”
Dylan’s head snapped up. “Are you kidding me?”
“No,” Ava said quietly. “I’m not. You’re changing, Dylan.”
“You want me to stay the same because I look after you,” Dylan said, shaking her head. “As long as I’m together, you get to be a mess. You get to date men who treat you like shit, and I get to pick up the pieces. You get to go out and get high, and I get to hold your hair while you puke into the toilet. And now I look at a line of cocaine and you have the nerve to lecture me?”
“Okay, you say you weren’t going to do it, so I guess I have to believe you,” Ava said. “But the fact that I wasn’t sure, Dylan? What does that say about how much you’ve changed? About how uncertain I am of who you are now. Because I know for damn sure you’re not the Dylan that . . .”
“Shut up, Ava! You have no idea what you’re talking . . .”
“Does Mark even know that you have no plans to go to law school in the fall? That you didn’t bother sending your paperwork in?”
“I . . . he doesn’t . . .”
“I thought so,” Ava said, turning to leave.
“Are you going to say anything to him?” Dylan asked her back.
Ava turned to look at her once again. “You think I would do that?”
“Would you?” Dylan demanded.
“I’m hoping you’ll tell him. Soon.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Dylan, what are you talking about?” Ava said. “I’m your friend. Why would I threaten you? I want you to tell him because he cares about honesty. And because he thinks you walk on fucking water. And because you used to care about honesty too.”
Dylan blinked. That hurt.
“Ava, I do care about honesty.”
“Then be honest with yourself about what you’re doing here,” she said waving her hand vaguely. “And then be honest with your husband.”
Dylan swallowed.
“I’m driving back to the city. I feel . . . over-stimulated here.”
She turned and left Dylan standing alone in the middle of her enormous bedroom.
13
Dealing with Ava’s departure was more than Dylan felt like taking on with hundreds of people downstairs so she simply fixed her hair, tried to put the fight out of her mind and went back to the party. Walking over to the bar, she got a glass of champagne and decided to go in search of her sisterin-law. Miri was the antidote to gloom; the kind of person you couldn’t help but love more and more each time you saw them. She had a deep confidence and joy that could only come from having known your entire life that you were loved deeply and profoundly by everyone around you. Dylan didn’t think she’d ever had that. Except for now, she had to keep reminding herself. She had that now.
As she walked across the backyard, drink in hand, she spotted Mark, talking to two women. One of them was Patricia, who was wearing an emerald green pantsuit that hugged her figure and was very flattering. Dylan considered for a moment approaching the group. After all, if Mark was allowed to come and remove her from Ray Hernandez’ company, then demand that she stay away from him, she should have the same privilege where his ex-fiancée was concerned. She had never been involved with Ray Hernandez in any way and this was a woman he’d once made love to, whom he once proposed to. Dylan stood there seething for a moment until she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“There you are!”
It was Lauren Morales, the blonde she’d met at Pedro Lima’s house, who had warned her that the Dominican wives didn’t like women who weren’t Dominican taking their eligible men. Lauren looked spectacularly blonde this evening as though she’d gotten her hair recently highlighted. It fell about her shoulders in gently undulating waves.
“I’ve been looking for you all night,” she said. “To congratulate you on a great party.” “Thank you,” Dylan said, glancing over at Mark again.
The woman who’d been with him and Patricia had left and so he was for all intents and purposes
alone with Patricia. Lauren followed her gaze.
“How was he about the party?” Lauren asked. “They’re so uncooperative about things like this,
aren’t they?”
“Mark was pretty good, actually,” Dylan said. “Except he wouldn’t let me pick out what I wanted
him to wear.”
Lauren laughed. “Well, could you stand it if he did? You want a man, honey, not a poodle.” Dylan tore her eyes away from Mark and looked at Lauren, smiling. She’d forgotten how funny
she was. “You’re right about that. Mark is definitely no poodle.”
“If you’re not Latin, it takes some getting used to,” Lauren said, shrugging. “All that raw
machismo. None of that politically correct BS with most of these guys, I can tell you that.” “So I’m beginning to see.”
“When I married Manny, I spent the first year and a half shell-shocked,” Lauren continued. Dylan smiled politely.
“I did some stupid things to assert my so-called independence,” Lauren said, a dark look crossing
her face for just a moment before it brightened once again. “Anyway . . . I saw you guys made your
poolhouse into a gym. Smart move. Keeps them at home.”
Dylan spent a little while with Lauren and managed to forget that Mark was with Patricia, so that
by the time she remembered to check again, they were both gone. As the party began to wind down,
she headed for the foyer to thank people for coming as they departed and after a few minutes Mark
joined her to do the same. Together they stood at the front door like the perfect team, exchanging
pleasantries with their guests until everyone was gone.
Finally, they were able to head into their enormous chef’s kitchen and pick through the food that
they’d largely ignored all night. Mark’s parents had long retired for the evening, his brothers were in
his den and Miri was someplace else in the huge house. Apart from the caterers putting away food
and the party planner’s crew beginning to clean up, they were alone.
“So how’d I do?” Mark asked, grabbing a chicken drumstick and some roast beef, heaping it onto
a plate.
“You were perfect,” Dylan said. “Except for one tiny thing.”
“What’s that?” Mark took a bite of chicken, looking at her, mildly curious but clearly not
particularly concerned about what she might say.
“Patricia,” Dylan said coolly, finding a plate and beginning to put together a plate for herself. “I
didn’t like how much time you spent with her.”
Mark looked at her, his eyes weary. “What is this, payback because I came to get you when you
were talking to Ray?”
“You’re uncomfortable with me spending time with Ray, so I won’t. I’m uncomfortable with you
spending time with Patricia, so you shouldn’t.”
“What does ‘spending time’ mean?” Mark took a bite of chicken and chewed slowly. “Spending time means anything beyond ‘hello’ and a pleasant five-minute catch-up,” Dylan said. “For a woman I’ve known since I was six years old?”
“I don’t care how long you’ve known her,” Dylan said looking him in the eye.
Mark paused. He had the drumstick in his mouth, between his teeth and let it remain there while
he contemplated. Dylan watched him, her eyes never leaving his. Finally, he took the drumstick out of
his mouth and chewed, eventually swallowing.
“Okay,” he said finally.
Dylan struggled not to voice her surprise. Instead she nodded impassively.
“Good,” she said.
“I’m going to hang out with my brothers for a little while,” Mark said. “I’ll be up to bed soon.”
Then he kissed her on the forehead and taking his plate of food walked out of the kitchen. Dylan stood there for awhile, stunned and more than a little ashamed of herself. She wasn’t even
sure she minded him talking to Patricia as much as she’d pretended. It made her somewhat
uncomfortable, sure, but she never would have had an honest expectation that he draw the boundary
she’d just demanded. It was inherently unreasonable—especially given how long Mark had known her
family—that Dylan anticipated at least some resistance. But he hadn’t put up much of it. He may even
have concluded that even if it was unreasonable, if it was what she wanted, he would do it. After all,
that was their rule: they would never give each other reason to doubt.
Being so suddenly in a relationship with an actual adult made her wonder whether she was being
The Seduction of Dylan Acosta Page 20