Page 42

He exits my room as quickly as he came, shutting the door behind him and leaving me with more questions than answers.

Thirty minutes later, I'm downstairs with dry and curled hair, wearing a black dress and matching heels, thanks to Ana's insistence that I would need one. The clothes feel foreign on my body, the dress too short and the heels too high.

Sam comes out of his office a moment later, with his associate, who he's never introduced me to, and another man on his heels. All three pause when they see me.

My skin heats as Sam's eyes trace over my body, taking in the little dress and matching heels. He steps toward me, coming closer.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs.

The compliment catches me off guard, simmering under my skin. Ever since I agreed to let him help me by fixing up the bar, things have shifted between us. He's…sweet.And attentive in a way I've never experienced. Rhett's nice gestures and compliments always came with strings. He needed me to attend an event and make him look good, or he simply just wanted sex.

But Sam seems different… Or maybe I'm naive thinking that, and at any moment, the other shoe is going to drop.

"You told me to wear black," I say, as if explaining why I look nice. Orbeautiful,as he said. I don't feel beautiful, though. More like a child playing dress up, pretending to be a sophisticated woman when, really, inside, I'm barely surviving. I desperately want to be back in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt that hides my body.

One of his hands reaches out, his fingers brushing against my cheek as he moves a piece of hair. Our skin touches as he tucks the strand behind my ear, sending sparks through me as our eyes meet, a clash of blue and brown. For a moment, I think he's going to lean in and press his lips to mine. It's the second time since I've met him that I think he's going to kiss me.

And for some reason, I think I want it.

My gaze drops to his mouth, lingering there as my heart hammers against my ribs. His lips are full, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, and I imagine how they might taste.

The thought has a shiver rippling down my spine, unexpected and thrilling. I've spent so long building walls, protecting myself from men like Sam Costello, men who represent everything my father was and my mother hated. Yet here I stand, captivated by the possibility of his touch.

Would kissing Sam feel like falling or flying? Like danger or salvation? The line between the two seems blurrier every moment I spend in his presence.

"I did." Sam drops his hand and takes a step back, breaking the tension instantly.

Fucking hormones.

I have to shake away all these thoughts plaguing my mind. Luckily, Sam redirects my attention to the two men who were in his office with him.

"Olivia, this is my cousin, John, and my lawyer, Adrian."

I don't trust my voice to work, so I give them a polite wave, and they return with similar greetings.

"Let's go," Sam pulls open the front door. His driver is waiting outside, along with two matching black Escalades. Sam leads me into the first one, and John and Adrian take the second.

"Where are we going?" I ask once his driver pulls out of the semi-circle driveway and onto the road.

Sam is tapping away on his phone again, so he doesn't look up when he answers. "A funeral."

"What?"

A funeral?Why the fuck is he taking me to a funeral? I hate funerals, always have. The last one I went to was my father’s. My mom didn't come with me, couldn't stand to see my father again, even in death. Rhett and I were already broken up, so I went alone.

There was barely anyone there. A few regulars from the bar, but that was it. The only family my father had left was me and my grandfather.

The funeral Sam takes me to doesn't seem to have many more people. We pull up to Lafayette Cemetery, and Sam leads me through the front gate and down the rows of tombs. The cemeteries in New Orleans have always freaked me out. The idea of these cement tombs housing your body for the rest of time seems even worse than being buried six feet underground.

I make a mental note to make sure someone knows I want to be cremated. The thought makes me shiver, and Sam reaches out, wrapping his arm around me in a warming gesture that takes me by surprise.

When we stop in front of the tomb that has the fellow mourners, I spot a blown-up picture of the deceased on an easel. My heart stalls, and my knees go weak. I'd fall on my ass if it wasn't for Sam, who tightens his grip, keeping me standing.

I recognize the picture immediately.

It matches the one I saw on the news just last week.

Sam's uncle. Damien Romano.