Page 14 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

“Exactly,” I muttered, walking past her with a loose black top cut off at the midriff and a matching high-waisted skirt I’d made from an old Nirvana t-shirt. With thigh-high boots, it would be perfect.

I set the outfit on the bed and headed to the bathroom.

Magdalena followed after me. “I knew she wasn’t a good friend for you from the beginning. Something in her eyes. You can always tell by the eyes. I told you, but you did not listen.”

I fought an eyeroll. Magdalena loved Sydney and always told me I should act more like her, that my husband might love me if I did. My housekeeper was a habitual liar, a little crazy, and still the most normal person in the house.

I wished she actually had warned me. Maybe then, it wouldn’t hurt so badly.

My throat tightened, and betrayal burned the backs of my eyes.

I grasped the edge of the sink, yellow-painted fingernails stark against the mess strewn across the counter. Dollar bills, the glint of a 9mm, pink blush, a baggie, and a dusting of white powder.

I stared blankly at my reflection in the mirror.

Ashy-blond hair straight from a bottle dripped water down olive skin. I met my reflection’s gaze, my soul staring back.

You can always tell by the eyes.

Magdalena turned the shower on. “You stink of depression, querida. Wash it away, and then I will do your hair.”

I stepped in the shower.

And I washed it away.

Boots clicking on the marble floor, I waded through floating silver trays carrying champagne flutes that glinted beneath romantic lights. A mini orchestra played in the corner of the ballroom, a low, easy beat allowing monotonous conversation to be heard above it.

I was numb in the heart, but trepidation flickered to life in the center. I’d ignored Antonio’s order to meet him at the club so we could arrive at the benefit together, and, instead, had come alone.

I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to feel.

And those two always came together.

I had almost reached the donation table when my plan to get in and out before my husband arrived went down the toilet.

“Gianna, you are as beautiful as always.”

My eyes shut for a second. I turned around, a coy smile tugging at my lips.

“Aw, you’re cute, too, Vincent.”

The twenty-nine-year-old and owner of this fine hotel laughed. “Cute, what I’ve always aspired for.”

In acquiescence to not getting out of here soon, I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Well, you pull it off magnificently,” I replied, my gaze taking in a group of Vincent’s acquaintances who congregated behind him.

He ran a hand down his tie, eyes crinkling with amusement. “There’s a reason we’ve just ambushed you, and it wasn’t to talk about how cute I am.”

My expression pouted in mock confusion. “Trying out new conversation, are you?”

Vincent and his group chuckled. I took a sip of champagne.

Awareness tickled in the back of my mind, and my gaze drifted to the ballroom’s double doors. My glass halted at my lips.

Broad shoulders. Black suit. Smooth lines.

Blue.

Something in my chest crackled and sparked, like a firecracker on hot pavement.