by JB Salsbury
A surge of unholy rage floods my insides. “Don’t talk about her scar.”
He narrows his eyes. “Since when did you become her protector? Did you leave your body while she was in here? She’s plenty capable of protecting herself.”
A pin bursts my lungs, and I release my held breath. I blink away the red fog and try to act chill.
“You’re acting like Alex.”
“Shut up.”
“What is up with you? You hardly spoke to her, didn’t flirt, barely looked her in the eye. Are you sure you didn’t fuck this girl?”
My molars grind together.
He holds his hands up. “No judgment. She’s got a hot little body—hey, where are you going?”
I slam the office door and head to the elevators. I’m taking the rest of the day off.
Five
Gabriella
“You’re going out on a date with him?” Annette says while she takes Mrs. Lawrence’s vitals.
I run my thumb along the paper-thin skin of her hand, noting how soft it is. She was brought in two weeks ago, in the final stages of heart disease, and we’re keeping her comfortable. She sleeps most of the day, only waking when her ninety-eight-year-old husband visits once a day.
“I am. But it’s not a real date. He’s gay,” I whisper, not that Mrs. Lawrence is alert enough to care.
Annette nods knowingly. “The pretty ones always are.” She moves the stethoscope around Mrs. Lawrence’s chest.
“He’s not out to his family. They’re wealthy. His last name is etched into glass on the biggest building in the city.”
“So, what? He’s trying to keep up appearances to his folks?” She readjusts Mrs. Lawrence’s blankets.
“That’s the feeling I got, yeah.”
“A date with a beautiful man where you two get to pretend to be crazy about each other, but there’s absolutely zero pressure for sex?”
“Sounds nice, right? I can wear sensible underwear and not worry about overeating—”
“Or overdrinking.”
“Exactly!”
She frowns. “I’m jealous.”
Annette has a head of gorgeous natural curls and a face with smooth skin and freckles, both a source of envy for me. She never has a problem finding a date. Or a bed partner.
I haven’t been in a relationship since before the accident. God, it’s been three years. I’ve settled for flirtatious friendships that never lead to more. I have yet to find a man who sees beyond my scarred face. Not that I’ve been out there looking.
“Where is the party?” Annette asks once we’re in the hallway.
“It’s at that new French restaurant in Greenwich Village.”
“The Cellar? It’s impossible to get in there.”
“Not when you’re loaded.”
“You’re so lucky. Take pictures. Text me from the bathroom. Oh! Take pictures of the bathroom!”
Evan joins us in the hallway. “I wasn’t going to ask, but I gotta know. What bathroom?”
Annette smirks at him. “Gabriella has a date with that super-hot guy she saved from the alley.”
He frowns. “The drunk bum?”
“He was drunk. I wouldn’t say one night of overindulgence earns him the title.”
“You know him well enough to say that?”
I cross my arms at my chest. “I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt.”
He huffs out a frustrated breath. “Suit yourself.”
Annette and I watch him walk away until he’s out of sight. “Someone’s jealous,” she says.
“No way.” I rearrange a stack of old magazines on a table in the hallway.
“He’s so into you.”
“We’ve worked together for two years, and he’s never done more than a little harmless flirting. Honestly, I’ve had underwear make bigger moves.”
She rocks into my side. “Men don’t always see that what they want is standing right in front of them.”
I bat my eyes dreamily. “To think I’ve been sitting in front of my dream man for years just waiting for him to be desperate enough to notice me. Is there anything more romantic?” I sigh, then roll my eyes.
Truth is, she’s not wrong. I won’t ever be the woman who sweeps a man off his feet at first sight. The best I can hope for is to be the friend that developed into more. The occasional drunken mistake. The funny girl with the great personality.
And now, added to that, the beard.
Kingston
“Nervous for your date?”
I shoot Hayes a glare. “Fuck off.”
He chuckles from his leaned position on the bar at The Cellar and sips his vodka rocks. His date, Ellie, a call girl he calls on frequently, sits at his side quietly sipping a glass of merlot.
“It’s just,” he lowers his voice, “you’ve been eyeing the door since you got here.”
Yeah, I have. I don’t tell Hayes I’ve been eyeing it a lot longer from outside.
I don’t know what happened. I slept in late this morning, hit the gym for two hours, and took my time getting ready for tonight’s dreaded family party, and I still arrived forty-five minutes early.
I sip my scotch and find my gaze drawn to the door again. “This is your fault. You invited her to a slaughter.”
“I invited her as entertainment.” He scowls into his drink. “You should thank me.”
A hot pit of fire opens up in my gut. “You’re a real asshole.”
He stares at me without a single flicker of regret. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I lean across him to Ellie. “You’re a saint to spend even a second with this prick.”
She smiles, kindness in her eyes. “He pays well.”
“Fuck,” Hayes mutters and shakes his head.
“He better. You’re earning every dollar.” I decide it’s better to wait for Gabriella outside, or I may end up throat punching my brother and causing a scene.
I slam back the rest of my drink and place my glass on the bar. When I walk away, I purposefully slam his shoulder with my own. “Dick.”
The air outside is warm and muggy, and either the weather or my nerves make my shirt cling to my skin. I find a place to wait against a red brick wall and shuffle my suede Corthay boots. The valet is busy while black executive cars and luxury SUVs mixed with the occasional sports coupe drop off those lucky enough to get a reservation.
When a Honda Accord with a missing hubcap pulls up, my stomach sinks. This has to be her Uber.
The back door opens, and one pale, toned leg emerges, tipped with a black stiletto heel with a thin ankle strap—sexy, classy, timeless. She unfolds from the vehicle wearing an A-line LBD that is whimsical, contemporary, and ultra-feminine. I recognize the signature hemline, puff sleeves, and romantic silhouette as designers Nicky and Simone Zimmerman’s work. Gabriella’s auburn hair is gathered at her ear, the side-swept locks doing what they can to cover up the three silvery white scars that slash from her temple to her neck.
She’s stunning, classy, and dressed to perfection.
“Kingston, hey,” she calls to me while her long, pale legs eat up the distance between us. “I hope I’m not late.”
Goddamn, she looks good enough to eat. “No.” My hands fist tightly from their position deep inside my pockets. “You’re fine.” And I mean that in every sense of the word. She looks incredible.
Her big blue eyes captivate me, pull me deep, and—see, this is why she should not be here tonight! This is why Hayes totally fucked me with his impromptu asshole-invite. This is why I am so screwed.
“All right,” she says soothingly and slips her hand into the crook of my elbow. “I have your back.”
Her words cause a small spasm in my chest, but the feeling doesn’t settle because I’m too focused on what the fuck she’s talking about.
She has my back? I’m leading her into the lion’s den, and she thinks I’m the one who needs protection?
Before I can ask, she’s tugging me gently toward the fr
ont door of the restaurant and inside. Hayes and Ellie spot us immediately, so I steer her away from them and to the hostess stand.
“Mr. North.” The pretty brunette’s eyes light up. “Your party is waiting.”
We follow behind her through the crowded restaurant, and Gabriella tugs on my arm. “They know you by name here?” she says softly. “How many times have you been here?”
“A few.”
She mouths the word wow and seems genuinely surprised.
“There he is!” My brother Hudson’s voice calls out from inside the private dining room, and I feel Gabriella tense at my side.
She’s not the only one.
My shoulders hurt, and my neck aches. This is going to be the longest night of my life.
I internally cringe.
I take that back. Second longest.
Six
Gabriella
The private dining room is decorated with dark wood, aged wine barrels, and candlelight. I hold on a little tighter to Kingston’s arm when I spot his brother making his way toward us.
He stops a foot away, his smile aimed at me. His gaze darts to my scars, but he doesn’t stare like he did when I met him the first time. “And who do we have here?” He offers me his hand.
Kingston shifts on his feet in a way that brings him closer to me. “Don’t worry,” he says. “He’s the nice twin.”
Twin. I look back to the man with the offered hand and see him through the new information. “Gabriella,” I shake his hand, and he seems genuinely nice, not a hint of the serpent smile of his identical brother. “Nice to meet you.”
His smile falls a little. “Let me guess, you met Hayes first. You have no idea how hard it is to have to follow up that asshole.” He winks.
“I can imagine.” The tension leaves my muscles, and I settle back into my own skin. “It’s nice to meet you…”
“Hudson.” He motions for us to come inside the space.
Kingston introduces me to a sweet woman named Jordan with kind gray eyes and her husband Alexander, who is big and terrifying but didn’t once look at my scars.
A man with salt and pepper hair that I’m assuming is Kingston’s dad strolls toward us with a rocks glass a quarter full of amber liquid. “Princess! You made it!”
I recoil at his inappropriate nickname for his son and wonder just how much he knows of Kingston’s sexuality.
On the one hand, Kingston doesn’t hide his flamboyant side. His clothes are loud and colorful. Like tonight, he’s wearing pale-blue skinny slacks and a white button-up shirt with colorful birds printed on it. And to top it off, he’s wearing black eyeliner that makes the light yellow in his hazel eyes stand out. He’s breathtakingly beautiful. He’s going to make some man very happy.
“Be nice, August,” Hudson mumbles.
I figure out that the older man is August, and he’s glaring hard at my face.
Kingston stiffens at my side, and a nervous tension bleeds into the air.
“Gabriella,” I say and hold out my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
August blinks, looks at Kingston, then back at me before taking my offered hand. “You’re new.” He releases my hand and smirks at his son. “Hope you got a discount on this one.” He chuckles and eyes my scar.
“Jesus,” Alexander growls.
“Such an asshole,” Jordan says loudly.
Kingston surges forward, but I dig my heels in and hold him back. “She’s not a fucking hooker,” he hisses.
August frowns. “Then why is she here with you?”
Even Hudson looks like he’s about to tear into his dad.
I roll my eyes because, come on, like I haven’t heard the shit that pours from an asshole’s mouth before? “I can see where your son gets his glowing personality.”
The older gentleman looks down his nose at me, confused.
“Oh, I’m referring to Hayes.” I continue through the stifled and snorted laughter of Kingston’s brothers. “You share the same wit and stellar people skills.”
His lips twist in disgust, but a blonde woman interrupts him before he has a chance to respond.
“Everyone is here. We can sit down now,” she says with a slight slur, like she’s had one too many chardonnays. Her eyes lazily fix on me, and she smiles. “Honey, what on earth happened to your face?”
“We’re done here.” Kingston grips my arm tightly to lead me away, but I resist, which is hard considering the foot of height he has on me and the fifty-plus pounds of muscle.
“This?” I point to a tiny freckle on my cheek. “Angel kiss.”
The woman points. “No. That scar.”
“Scar? Oh… this?” I turn to give them a full view, letting them ogle their impolite hearts out. “I got shanked in prison.” The older woman gasps. “Big lady, she was in for murder and B and E. She mutilated a wealthy woman so that she could steal her Louboutins.”
Hudson snorts, and Alexander rolls his lips between his teeth and stares at the floor. Jordan’s smile is wide, ear to ear, and she’s not doing a thing to conceal it.
“You were in prison?” The woman rears back with a snarl.
“No. I was volunteering. Foot rubs. Some people are so weird about their feet.”
Her horrified expression brings me joy, and I can feel Kingston laugh silently at my side.
“That is fascinating,” Jordan says, still smiling.
“Leslie, dear,” August says with an evil grin. “Why don’t you give her your plastic surgeon’s number? He’ll fix her up in no time.” He swings eyes that match the color of his son’s to me. “Give you a face to be proud of.”
Kingston’s muscles jump. “Fuck off, old man—”
I squeeze his arm hard enough to get his attention. “That’s a kind offer, Mr. North, but…” I make a show of checking out his wife’s face, boobs, and body, then grimace. “I’ll pass.”
Jordan snorts loudly then covers her mouth.
“Gabriella, um….” Hudson looks like he’s trying not to giggle. “How did you guys meet?”
“We met at my work, actually.” I don’t give any more information because I’m not sure how much of the story Kingston is comfortable telling.
“Really.” Jordan looks between us. Her husband follows her gaze but doesn’t seem super invested in the conversation as much as he is in her. “Where do you work?”
“City Hospice.” I make it a point to look at Kingston’s parents when I say it because there are two things wealthy people hate most in the world—aging and dying.
Sure enough, they both cringe.
“We should grab a drink,” Kingston says, and this time when he pulls me away, I let him.
“Thank you,” I say quietly when we’re out of earshot.
He lifts his chin to a server who comes ready to take our order. “If you want to leave, I understand.” He looks to the eager man in the black bow tie. “I’ll have a scotch on the rocks, anything over twenty years. She’ll have a dirty Kettle One martini with two olives.”
I startle and stare up at him. “How’d you know what I drink?”
He moves slowly but eventually looks down at me. “Lucky guess.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Figured you’d need something strong to get through the night.”
He’s not wrong.
I’m grateful to have that martini in my hand when Kingston’s brother Hayes walks in with a pretty brunette on his arm. I wonder what’s wrong with her that she chooses to be with a man who is constantly scowling and only speaks in barked single syllables.
We take our seats at a long table, and I breathe a sigh of relief when Jordan takes the seat at my left.
She puts her drink to her lips and says softly, “I don’t know if Kingston just fell in love with you for the way you handled August and Leslie, but I just did.”
“Their type is so predictable.” I place my napkin on my lap and notice how Kingston is listening to me and Jordan talk even though he’s pretending not to.
The mood at the ta
ble is tense, and the only person talking is August, who doesn’t seem bothered that no one is listening.
“So,” I say and rock into Kingston’s arm, hoping to play up the whole we’re a straight couple thing. “What’s good here?”
“Listen, you don’t have to stay. Just say the word, and you can go.”
“Are you kidding? I’ll never get another chance to eat here.” I smile, and that seems to relax him a little. “Besides, I have your back, remember?” Feeling his family’s eyes on us, I reach up and gently push back a lock of hair that had fallen against his forehead.
He freezes. I think he even holds his breath as I let my fingertips run along his temple before putting my hand in my lap. His skin is like velvet, so soft and smooth.
“Why don’t you order for me. I only get one chance to eat here. I don’t want to mess it up by ordering the wrong thing.”
“The—”
A waiter interrupts him. “Are you ready to order, Mademoiselle?” he says in a heavy French accent.
Kingston tilts his head to the man but doesn’t take his eyes off my lips. “Nous aurons tous les deux l’agneau et une bouteille de Château Calon-Segur, s’il te plait.”
“Très bien, merci.”
As the waiter moves on to the next order, I try to pick my jaw off the floor. “You speak French flawlessly,” I say, stupidly stating the obvious.
“I lived in France until I was sixteen.”
As if he could get any hotter.
Or any more out of my league.
In every possible way.
Kingston
“Growing up on Hunts Point taught me a lot about survival.” Gabriella takes a bite of her lamb, leaving August and Leslie to stare at her as if she’d grown a third eyeball. “You don’t know hunger until you’ve gone a week without food.”
“A week?” Leslie’s glazed-over eyes widen. “What did you people do for work?”
Gabriella shrugs. “My dad dealt meth. Mom sold BJs to the wealthy.” She points her fork at the couple. “You’d be surprised how many millionaires hit the slums for a little sucky-sucky.”