“Miss isn’t the right word.” We passed through the foyer and down a long hallway toward what I assumed was the ballroom. Dante’s voice was devoid of emotion. “He raised me and taught me everything I know about business and the world. I respected him, but we’d never been close. Not the way grandfathers and grandsons are supposed to be close.”
“What about your parents?” I didn’t know much about Giovanni and Janis Russo other than Giovanni had passed on running the company.
“They’re doing what they always do,” Dante said cryptically. “You’ll see.”
Right.We were spending Thanksgiving with them in Bali.
We passed through another security check near the ballroom before the doors opened and instantly transported me into a world of glittering 1920s decadence.
An Art Deco bar spanned the full length of the eastern wall, its black lacquer and gold accents shining with as much luster as the bottles of top-shelf liquor behind it. For those who didn’t want to wait at the bar, impeccably dressed servers circulated with gin and tonics, martini carts, and champagne trolleys brimming with bubbly.
Lively music from the jazz band danced over the soft clink of glasses and elegant laughter, and intimate spaces scattered throughout the room like oases of rich velvets and plush seating. In one corner, dealers lorded over half a dozen poker tables; in another, a silent film played via an old-school projector reel.
The ballroom itself soared four stories toward a glass dome, where a breathtaking projection of the night sky painted it with constellations so vivid I almost believed I could see Orion and Cassiopeia from Manhattan.
“Live up to your expectations?” Dante’s hand lingered on my lower back.
I nodded, too distracted by the surrounding opulence and hint of possessiveness in his touch to come up with a witty answer.
Dante and I spent the first hour mingling with other club members. Unlike at our engagement party, we were perfectly in sync, stepping in when the other didn’t answer and excusing ourselves when the conversation had run its course.
Toward the end of the hour, Dominic Davenport, whom I remembered from our party, pulled him away to discuss business. I took the opportunity for a quick bathroom break with Dominic’s wife Alessandra.
“I love your dress,” she said as we retouched our makeup. “Is it Lilah Amiri?”
“Yes,” I said, impressed. Lilah was a talented but an up-and-coming designer; not many people recognized her work on sight. “I saw it at New York Fashion Week and thought it would be perfect for tonight.”
“You were right. Dante can’t take his eyes off you.” Alessandra smiled, a trace of sadness crossing her face. “You’re very lucky to have such an attentive partner.”
With her thick, caramel brown hair and blue-gray eyes, she was extraordinarily beautiful, but she also seemed deeply unhappy. Our exchange about the dress had been the most animated I’d seen her all night.
“It’s not all sunshine and roses. Dante and I have our differences. Trust me.”
“Differences are better than nothing,” she murmured. We exited the bathroom, but she stopped at the entrance to the ballroom. “I’m sorry, I’ve come down with a terrible headache. Can you please tell Dominic I’ve gone home?”
A frown touched my brow. “Of course, but wouldn’t you rather tell him yourself? I’m sure he’ll want to know if you’re not feeling well.”
“No. Once he gets into business mode, it’s impossible to pry him away.” A tiny, bitter smile flashed across Alessandra’s face. “I’ll leave him to his work. It was nice meeting you, Vivian.”
“You too. I hope you feel better soon.”
I waited until she disappeared around the corner before I approached Dominic and Dante.
Dominic’s gaze flicked to the empty space next to me.
“Alessandra said to tell you she has a headache and had to go home,” I explained.
Unidentifiable emotion flashed through his eyes before it vanished beneath pools of inscrutable blue. “Thank you for letting me know.”
I paused, waiting for more of a reaction. None came.
Men. They were clueless half the time and callous the other half.
Dante and Dominic weren’t done talking shop, so I excused myself again and wound my way to the bar. Discussing the ups and downs of the S&P 500 was not my idea of a fun Friday night.
A smile broke out on my face when I spotted a familiar glint of purple-black hair behind the counter.
“What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?” I quipped, taking the stool closest to her.
Isabella looked up from the drink she was making. “Finally, the VIP deigns to drop by.” She garnished the glass with a wedge of lime and slid it toward me. “Gin and tonic, just the way you like it.”
“Perfect timing.” I took a sip. “Have I mentioned how amazing you are?”
“Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again.” Her eyes sparkled. “I saw you coming from a mile away. I guess people aren’t interested in seeking out drinks when they can have the drinks brought to them.” The bar was empty save for a couple sitting at the far end, but the themed alcohol carts were a huge hit.
“I get paid the full amount no matter how many drinks I serve, so it’s no skin off my back.” Isabella patted her pocket. “I do, however, have a gift for you. Say the word, and it’s yours.”
I sighed, already knowing where the conversation was headed. Once she latched onto an idea, she was relentless. “Save your breath. I’m not having sex with him.”
“Why? He’s hot, you’re hot, the sex is guaranteed to be hot,” she argued. “Come on, Viv. Let me live vicariously through you. My life is so boring these days.”
Despite her naturally flirtatious personality and propensity for writing about sex and murder, Isabella hadn’t dated anyone in over a year. I didn’t blame her after what happened. If I were her, I’d swear off guys for the foreseeable future too.
“You can live vicariously through books, too. Stick to those because sex with Dante tonight? Not happening.”
No matter how good he looked or how my body responded to the idea.
Isabella’s lips pursed in disappointment. “Fine, but if you change your mind, I have strawberry-flavored condoms. Magnum size, ribbed for your—”
A light cough interrupted her.
Isabella’s smile dropped like a concrete kite, and I turned to see Kai watching us with bemusement.
“Apologies for interrupting, but I’d like to order another drink.” He set his empty glass on the counter. “I can’t get through another conversation about the latest society scandal without more alcohol, I’m afraid.”
Wryness touched his last sentence.
“Of course.” Isabella regained her composure with admirable speed. “What can I get for you?”
“Gin and tonic. Strawberry flavored.”