Page 8 of Always Mine
With my makeup done, I dress in my carefully chosen outfit and stand in front of the ornate full-length mirror, head cocked toone side. I smooth my hands down the outfit my best friend Evie helped style for tonight’s party. A draped, black long-sleeved YSL micro-mini with padded, boxy shoulders and a plunging neckline, teamed with ultra-sheer tights, sleek patent black high-heeled mules and oversized silver-tone earrings linked with half spheres inlaid with baguette-cut diamonds. It’s the perfect mix of sophisticated and sexy minx—and nothing like the saccharine demure pink dresses strategically situated front and center in my walk-in closet. My mother’s not-so-subtle way of telling me what I should wear for tonight’s festivities. Fuck that. No matter how much of my life has been dictated, I will never let anyone tell me what I wear. Expressing myself through style was my only way to stand in any sort of power growing up with three brothers and an overbearing dad.
“Hey, Kitten, don’t think too hard; you might break that big brain of yours.”
Marco’s husky voice breaks through the melancholic beats playing in the background. I spot him in the reflection, and I almost melt on the spot.
He looks like he just stepped off a fashion runway. The soft black cashmere sweater hugs his well-toned boxer’s body, showing off the definition in his chest and biceps, while the black tailored pants frame his narrow waist and lean hips and fall to the perfect spot on his ankle, right above his expensive designer shoes.
There’s also no mistaking the way his package fills out the front of those trousers. I’m not ashamed to admit that in this moment, I am jealous in the most unhinged way of a pair trousers. He leans with one shoulder against the door frame, legs crossed at the ankles and one hand in his pocket while the other toys with the medallion on the gold necklace he never takes off but usually has tucked away under his shirt. Interesting…is he nervous because he knows he royally fucked up?
“Like what you see, Kitten?” he says, flashing me a sexy smirk when our eyes meet.
I haven’t seen him in person since the party at Bella Donna, and hot damn, he looks even better than I remember.
His piercing green eyes stand out against his naturally tanned skin. His longish dark hair is pushed off his face, highlighting his perfect facial structure—high cheekbones, straight nose, a strong jawline and full lips. Lips I have spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about, especially after that one taste months ago. All I’m saying is thank God my vibrator comes with an unwritten guarantee to uphold a code of silence.
A song he’d sent me to listen to recently plays in the background. Damn it, I hope he doesn’t notice.
“You liked this one, huh?”
Shit!Of course he would notice; being observant is literally what he does for a living.
“I think we need to have our own Spotify playlist.” He taps away on his phone and mine pings from where it rests on my makeup vanity. I walk the few steps to retrieve it and see a notification.Marco has invited you to collaborate.I notice the name of the playlist and burst out laughing.
“Songs to convince Sophia to forgive me. This playlist already looks comprehensive.” I hum as I make a show of scrolling the list. “You must have fucked up royally if it’s going to take this many songs to get this Sophia girl to forgive you.”
Crossing the room, he comes to a stop in front of me. “What can I say. I was young and dumb.” He’s close enough that I can smell his clean woodsy cologne and see the sincerity shining in his eyes. “So, here’s one I prepared earlier, because six years is a decent amount of time to put together a fucking epic song list. One that I hope Sophia might love enough to like me again.”
“Well, if my memory serves me correctly, thinking with your big head was not your strong suit.”
“Touché,” he chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Lucky I’m all grown up now. Both heads screwed on right. For bonus points, they even know how to work together. You know, multi-task and shit like you girls always bang on about.”
“Touché,” I repeat back, unable to stop the smile forming. There are so many unspoken words hanging between us, but somehow his simple acknowledgment of the shitty way we left things before I moved away to college loosens the bolts that batten down my heart. In less than ten minutes I can already feel my resolve to keep my walls up around him starting to weaken. Why am I like this? Didn’t I learn anything the last two times I let myself believe there was more to his easy playboy persona? That we could be something more than this—whatever the hellthisis.
I’ve known Marco my entire life. He’s just four years older than me, the same age as my brother Sebastian. They’ve been inseparable since birth, so unfortunately for me, given I already had three older brothers, Marco took the role of “brother by default” very seriously. I didn’t care much either way when I was a little girl prancing along behind them trying to keep up as they climbed trees and challenged me to video games.
“You know what you remind me of?” he said one day as I moved faster than my little legs could take me so I wouldn’t be left out of their game. “A cute little kitten. Prancing and bumbling along. That’s going to be my secret nickname for you.” I think I was about seven or eight at the time, but the nickname stuck—well, for Marco at least.
By the time my hormones kicked in, Marco was the star of all my teenage fantasies. He altered my brain chemistry any time he was around and given he and Sebastian were joined at the hip, that was a lot. Whenever his glacial green eyes zoned in on me, it was like an electric shock, pulsing through my body head to toe and stoking something deep in my core. Steering us back to safer ground until we have the time and space to talk about what this is, I ask, “But seriously, what are you doing here? Don’t you have the big New Year’s Eve event at Bella Donna tonight? You know how Sebastian gets when he’s down his ‘most eligible bachelor’ wingman.”
Rolling his eyes at my dig, he volleys right back. “Moody as fuck! But he’ll get over it. Besides, he can have all the girls. I’m the luckybastard who gets to ring in the New Year with the Belle Of The Ball.”
His laugh is husky and sexy. It makes quick work of wrapping itself around me, loosening yet another bolt holding the boards together around my heart.
Chapter six
The Devil Is In The Details
Marco
Sophia’sright.Ihadto deliver an Academy Award-winning performance to ensure Seb believed the story I had spun so I could attend the Princis’ New Year’s Eve event—the one I wasn’t invited to—instead of the club I co-own for the biggest calendar event of the year. It involved me promising to be there in time for my highly anticipated DJ set, a very expensive bottle of scotch, and a few little white lies, because I haven’t quite found the right way to say to my best friend, “Hey! You know your ‘annoying’ little sister we used to get a kick out of teasing endlessly. Yeah. Not so little anymore. Not annoying. Very much back to stay. Very much mine—even if she doesn’t know it yet.”
“What can I say, what type of mama’s boy would I be if I wasn’t here to support and congratulate Elena for organizing one of the biggest events on the social calendar.” I tell Sophia now. “Sophia Rose Princi’s debut to the law society.”
“Oh, fuck off! You know this is the last place I want to be. But it’s not like I have a choice.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. We all have choices,” I clap back. Pushing Sophia’s buttons has alwaysbeen one of my favorite pastimes. Quite the problem seeing as I dream about all the other ways I want to push them.
She pins me with a glare that speaks volumes.Yeah, like the time I wanted you to tell me to stay, but you told me to go.