by Luma Rose
“Okay…” I hold my breath, waiting.
“Your father has to start radiation treatment next week,” my mom says.
No, no, no.
“I thought the doctor said that he got most of the cancer with the surgery and that chemotherapy would take care of the rest.”
“Princesa, there’s a reason they call it practicing medicine.” He smiles and holds his hand out for me.
I grab ahold of my dad’s hand and sit on the edge of the bed, not caring whether I wrinkle my dress. “You cannot joke about this.”
“What would you have me do? Sit in this bed miserable all day, thinking of all the things I don’t have when the Lord has seen fit to give me so much?” He looks from me to my mom, the love still evident in his eyes even though they’re dull and lifeless since his chemotherapy began.
“We have to stay positive,” my mom says to me with imploring eyes.
I inhale a deep breath and will away the tears that are building in my eyes. The last thing my dad needs to see is me lose my composure.
“Okay, you’re right.” I force a smile. “I should cancel tonight.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” my mother says.
“You’re a young woman, tesoro. Go and have a fun evening. I’ll be right here when you return.” He smiles and my mom wraps her arm around his shoulders, saying that she’ll be with him, all is well.
“My reason for coming back was to spend time with you, and now look at me.” I glance down to my evening gown and shoes. My makeup is all done and my hair flawless. What am I doing? Going to a foolish gala with Garrin Stone.
“I will not have my daughter hovering and crying over me when she should be enjoying life. Absolutely not.” My dad uses his more authoritative voice, the one that used to scare me into doing whatever he wished.
“But, Papi—”
“Don’t push me on this, Isla.”
He used my given name, which means there’s no use fighting anymore.
“Fine, but I want to come with you to your first treatment next week.”
“What about your job?” he asks.
“You let me worry about that.”
A knock sounds on the door I left partially open, and we all look in its direction. It’s our housekeeper, Greta.
“Miss Flores, Garrin Stone is here for you.”
“Thank you, Greta.” I kiss my dad’s cheek, trying not to think about how the antiseptic hospital smell has overtaken my father’s scent.
My dad grips my hand tightly. “Have a wonderful evening, my girl.”
“I will, Papi.”
My mom gives me a hug. “It will be okay,” she whispers before pulling away. “Now go knock that handsome man off his feet.”
I give them both a wan smile and glance back a couple times before leaving the room. Once I’m in the hall, I lean back against the wall and a rush of air leaves my lungs.
What if my dad isn’t okay?
I can’t think like that. The doctors said to be positive. This is just a setback, that’s all. Every cancer patient probably has them, and lots of people survive. Modern medicine has come a long way.
I dab at the tears in my eyes that have yet to fall and stand up straight, steeling myself for the night ahead. I just need to compartmentalize, that’s all.
With my chin up and my shoulders back, I make my way through the large house to finally have the date I’ve waited a decade for.
16
Chapter Sixteen
Garrin
Once again, I’m led to the library to wait for Isla. I’ve tried to tell myself all day that I’m not looking forward to this, that it’s just something I’m doing to keep my father at bay, but it’s growing harder to deny that I want to spend time with Isla.
What I can’t figure out is whether it’s leftover scraps of feelings from how I felt as a teenager, or whether I’m excited for something new to transpire. Jesus, what the hell am I thinking? Get a grip, Stone.
I face the back wall with my hands in my pockets, reading the spines on a section of books, when I hear the door open. Her heels give her away, clacking against the wood floor as she approaches.
I turn to greet her, but as soon as I see her, I can’t push any words out of my mouth. I made up that bullshit about her being the most stunning woman in the world when I texted her, but it turns out I wasn’t lying.
She’s wearing a long blue dress that dips low in the front and exposes her shoulders. Until this moment, I didn’t even know that shoulders could be a sexy part of the body. Now I might be jerking off to the memory of her shoulders when I get back to my place tonight.
“Hi,” she says in a soft voice, like she’s shy and unsure if she can pull off the look.
I step toward her, unable to shift my gaze from the vision in front of me. “Isla, you look… wow. Stunning doesn’t even do you justice.”
Color creeps into her cheeks and her eyes stray to the floor for a second. I reach forward and tilt her chin up with my index finger before I can tell myself not to.
“Don’t do that. Don’t be embarrassed about the praise you’ll be receiving tonight. It’s well deserved.”
She presses her plump lips together and nods. “You look very handsome.”
I smooth my hands down my tuxedoed chest. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of having you on my arm, but I’m too selfish of a bastard to care.”
We leave the library, and I help her with her coat. When I hold my elbow out, she loops her arm through mine and I lead her out of her house. With the dark night sky, the dimness of the lights along her house and the stars above us, it sounds cheesy as hell to say, but it feels magical. Langley opens the door to my Rolls-Royce Cullinan and I help her unhook her arm as she slides into my car. As she disappears, this caveman claim wraps around me at the thought that I finally have her alone.
She’s not making it easy for me to continue hating her, and I’m pretty sure I should keep that hatred growing and burning, but every time I see her, it’s a struggle. She’s so soft and vulnerable, the complete opposite of me. A part of me wants to covet her and protect her, holding her gently in my palms so no other bastard can hurt her. The other part of me wants to corrupt her and cause her pain until she’s hollowed out on the inside like me. It’s a war I’ve yet to figure out who will win.
The fullness of her dress fills up most of the space in the back. Which is just as well because otherwise, I’d be tempted to sit closer to her. The slit of her dress exposes one long, toned leg, and it’s an effort of Herculean proportions not to stare. I’ll definitely be beating off to my hand running the length of that leg, disappearing under the fabric.
She’s quiet when Langley pulls away from the curb.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, though I shouldn’t care. It’s none of my business.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m just distracted. I promise I won’t be like this all night.” The words sound nice, but her tone doesn’t suggest she’s telling the truth.
I frown. Rather than enjoying the idea of her being distressed, I’m bothered and want to remedy her situation.
“I’ll just have to make it my mission to see that you have a good time this evening.”
She turns her head and gives me a smile full of gratitude, and I can see that she needs this—to forget whatever it is that’s on her mind.
“That sounds like a good plan.” She shifts as much as she can in her dress to face me. “Do you go to this event every year?” she asks.
I lift a shoulder. “You know how it is around here. The same rich assholes run the same charity circuit every year. It’s expected. Are your parents coming tonight?”
A sadness falls over her face for a second, but it’s gone in a flash. “No, they weren’t able to attend tonight.”
I mentally file that away in the back of my head; I’ll have to see if that has anything to do with why my father wants me to play nice with her.
We both gaze out the window while the vast, dark landscape tha
t surrounds all the estates we’re coming from turns into lower buildings before we’re finally surrounded by high-rises.
“I remember going to this museum all the time when I was little,” Isla says with a note of nostalgia. “My dad used to take me. We could never finish the whole thing in one day because he’d always explain every piece we came upon.”
It pisses me off—the familiar pang of envy is like someone twisting my insides.
“Huh, my father didn’t do anything with me when I was a child unless it was to berate me for not being tough enough, smart enough, successful enough.”
I’m pissed at myself right after the words leave my mouth. The last thing I should be doing is giving this woman any kind of look into the inner workings of my mind.
Her hand covers mine where it rests on my knee and she squeezes. Any other woman, I’d push her comfort away. Then again, any other woman wouldn’t have heard my animosity about my childhood. Isla’s always been different, though. That’s the exact reason my dad’s request to get closer to her is legit like playing with fire and I might be the one who gets burned to a crisp. So my eyes zero in on her small delicate hand over my larger one.
“That’s terrible. I take it you’re not close to your father?” At least she doesn’t have that pitying look in her eyes.
“That would be putting it mildly. I do all I can not to have to deal with the man.”
A crease forms between her eyebrows. “How does that work at Stone Energy? Isn’t your dad the CEO?”
“Unfortunately. I do what I need to do there and try my best to leave him out of it. It works some of the time.”
It’s only when she squeezes my hand again that I realize she’s still holding it. “That doesn’t seem like a healthy work environment. Do you enjoy what you do?”
I debate her question. I’ve never really considered whether I do or don’t like it. Since I can remember, I knew I’d eventually take over the business as long as there was no objection from the board.
Do I like it?
I do. I would like the company to diversify into more environmentally sustainable energy sources, something my father has been dead set against. I’ve yet to figure out if I want it because he’s so against it or if it’s truly a passion of mine.
“I do enjoy my work. There’s room for improvement, like anything, but overall, yes, I do.”
“That’s something, I guess.” Her plump lips, painted some shade of cranberry, tip down.
“You don’t need to feel bad for me, Isla. I’m in my twenties, heir to a billionaire, and VP of a multinational corporation. And may I add pretty damn good looking.” I motion to my face with my hand.
Isla chuckles and it’s the first time I’ve seen any of the sparkle that’s normally in her eyes alive tonight. And damn if I don’t want to puff my chest out because I’m the one who put it there.
“That’s true. You could probably fall back on your good looks if the whole billionaire thing doesn’t work out.” She smiles and removes her hand from mine.
I stop myself from reaching out and forcing her to keep the warmth of her hand there.
“As in?”
She giggles. “Modeling, getting a sugar momma. You’d definitely be someone’s bitch in prison.”
I tilt my head and my expression spurs another fit of laughter.
“Those are good things,” she says, arguing her case.
“Let’s get one thing straight. If I ever went to prison, someone would be my bitch.”
“Oh, so you’re implying—”
I shake my head. “Next topic, please,” I say before I do talk myself into a corner. “Back to you. So, I take it from your story you’re a daddy’s girl?”
A pained look crosses her eyes, and instantly I know I said something wrong. The investigative side of me says, “That look is the reason your dad is interested in her.” Something is going on with her family.” When my dad smells weakness, he draws blood.
“I’m definitely a daddy’s girl.”
The vehicle comes to a stop, and when I look out the window, I see that we’re parked in front of the museum. The front of the large stone structure was recently refurbished thanks to last year’s fundraising gala, the dark columns rising high into the air and flanking the row of heavy solid wood doors that have designs intricately carved into them.
Langley makes his way to the curbside and opens the car door. I nod at him as I exit and turn to offer my assistance to Isla. She shuffles over on the seat and takes my hand as she steps from the car, holding eye contact with me.
I don’t move once she’s standing so I have her pinned between me and the car. The scent of her perfume reaches me, and I lean closer to her neck and inhale. She smells like a combination of rosewood and something woodsier and muskier, but it’s unexpectedly sultry and has a direct line to my dick.
“You smell delicious,” I whisper.
She sucks in a breath, and rather than pull back to see the expression on her face I turn on my heel and step up onto the curb.
“I’ll call you when we’re ready, Langley.”
He nods and returns to the driver’s side.
“Does he ever speak?” Isla jokes as she accepts my outstretched hand to lead her inside.
“Only when necessary.”
We make our way out of the cold and I help Isla remove her jacket.
“Give me one minute. I’m going to check these.”
“Okay.”
I leave her and check our coats, tipping the attendant generously. When I return to the foyer, Isla stands by herself, waiting. The woman who arrived on Ford’s arm weeks ago isn’t there. This version of Isla is nervous and fidgety.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask.
“I’m just realizing that I may run into some society people I haven’t seen since I returned.” She plays with her earring. And just like that I’m back in science class, watching her fiddle with her earring during an exam.
“And you’re worried they’re going to judge you or bring up the past?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Pretty much.”
“First, the only thing people are going to be thinking when they look at you is how was a lucky bastard like me able to convince you to join me this evening? Second, I guarantee you these hypocrites have more secrets than you or I would know what to do with in their closets. Lastly, you’re with the king of not giving a fuck what other people think. I can show you how it’s done.”
She blinks at me. “Do you?”
My forehead creases. “Do I what?”
“Have secrets?”
I hold her gaze for a moment. “We all have secrets. Come on, let’s go make people jealous.”
She loops her arm through mine and we head through the foyer to the event space. If she only knew the secrets that weigh so heavily on me.
17
Chapter Seventeen
Isla
Garrin is right. He is the king of not giving a fuck. When people come up to talk to him or even kiss his ass, if he doesn’t like them, he doesn’t bother with the pleasantries polite society dictates. No, he gives them the full weight of his stare and disdain until they retreat.
You could say a lot of things about Garrin, but he is unapologetically himself.
There’s something comforting about spending time with someone who is so honest and upfront about who he is. Even when it reflects poorly on him. What you see is what you get, and after years of worrying whether men had ulterior motives or were being honest with me, it’s refreshing.
“Would you care to dance?” Garrin asks.
We’ve spent the past hour talking to people and bidding on some of the silent auction items. No one has said or done anything untoward with regards to me being here, but I’ve spotted a few curious glances from afar. Not sure if it has more to do with Garrin and me being here together than my past, though.
“This won’t be a repeat of our last dance, will it?”
He cringes. Yeah, he sa
id some pretty shitty things to me, and he deserves to know I’m not going to just sweep it under the rug so quick.
“This one will make up for the last one.” He holds his hand out between us.
“Okay, then, but I should mention my heels have quite the spike.” I lift my leg out from my full skirt and show him how high and pointy my heel is.
“Noted,” he says, a smile tipping his lips.
I accept his outstretched hand and let him lead me onto the dance floor.
The gala is held in a giant ballroom in one of the museum wings. The glass roof was done in the 1920s and reminds me of the underside of a Tiffany lamp. The golden lights of the chandelier and the wall sconces cast an almost candle-like glow around the room, creating an intimate ambience. A small orchestra plays from the front of the room on a temporary stage.
Once we reach the middle of the dance floor, I step into Garrin’s welcoming arms and my body calms. There’s a peace that comes with being surrounded and protected under his large frame. He takes my hand and presses his other into my lower back, bringing me closer to him, and I feel his legs push against the fullness of my skirt.
He smells like he did the other night and the scent draws me closer to him, my lips to his neck. Smelling him only reminds me of him smelling my perfume outside. I tried to keep my cool, but it was the most erotic moment of my life and he didn’t even lay a finger on me.
Garrett the boy was charming, but Garrett the man is damn near irresistible.
He leads much like the first time we danced, but this time he seems more relaxed. I enjoy the heat of his body so close to mine, the feel of our palms pressed together, the way his breath tickles the hairs on my head. So smooth, so trained—at any moment, my feet could lift off the dance floor and I’d fly in his arms.
“Did you attend a lot of events like this back in Washington?” Garrett asks.
I chuckle quietly. “No. I kept as far from the society circuit as possible.”