Page 17 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

ten

CASSIA

Showered, dressed, and wearing a game face that I hope reads, you may have tasted my cum, but I’ll never love you , I make my way down for dinner.

Chef strikes me as the type of woman who would take a skipped dinner as a personal affront, so while part of me wants to hide from Mace after our little encounter, the other knows that it’s best to keep the woman with the knife happy.

Besides, I can handle sitting at a dinner table with Mace.

Nothing has to change.

I’m halfway down the stairs when two girls barge through Mace’s front door.

The first has loose blonde hair and blue eyes the same color as Mace’s that zip straight to me.

The other’s brunette locks are wrapped in a perfect bun.

Her irises lean more gray than blue, but they definitely look like Astors.

My chest tightens with apprehension. I’m not an extrovert.

I generally don’t like people, and sometimes the rich ones are assholes .

The blonde girl takes a step toward the stairs. “So it’s true.”

“Melody,” the brunette says, a plea of sorts I don’t quite understand.

Melody glances at the other girl. “You’re just as curious as I am.”

The brunette ignores her and walks to the base of the stairs. “Hi, I’m Adalie. This is Melody. We’re Mace’s sisters.”

I figured as much. “I’m Cassia.” My grip on the railing tightens as they unabashedly check me out, their gazes taking in every inch of me, from the department store yoga pants to the loose shirt with a knot near my belly button. I brace for some type of judgment.

“Doesn’t anyone knock anymore?” Mace asks, cutting through the living room to the foyer and saving me. He’s changed as well. The low-slung dark-wash jeans and dark green T-shirt mold to his body.

He must snort protein or something.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I figured since you didn’t give us the courtesy of inviting us to your wedding that we were ignoring manners.” Melody crosses her arms and glares at her brother.

At least I’m not the only one annoyed by him.

He arches an eyebrow. “We haven’t had the wedding yet.”

She huffs. “Shut up, you know what I mean. I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.” She glances at me and frowns. “Wait, is this because of Dad?”

I pinch my eyebrows together. What does Darius have to do with this?

Mace shakes his head. “No.”

That response was a little too quick .

Adalie tips her head. “I thought he wanted you to marry Bethany?”

Bethany , Bethany? Ew.

“No, I thought he wanted Mace to marry Ellen,” Melody says.

Ellen? Bethany? How many options did he have before choosing me? But the better question is: why did he choose me when he could have his pick of the litter? Discomfort gnaws at me.

Flicking his gaze to me, he ignores them and takes me in, his eyes shimmering with approval. “They don’t bite.”

Yeah, but you do , I want to say, and from the way his lips quirk, he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

It’s annoying that he finds me so easy to read.

I’ll have to work on being mysterious, but for now, I make my way down the rest of the stairs.

Cool marble greets my bare feet. I regret not wearing socks when his sisters both look down before glancing at one another.

“What? Is it a crime to walk around barefoot?” I’m not defensive, you’re defensive .

Melody grins at me. “Oh, I like you.”

“Cute toenails,” Adalie says with a nod. “Are you being held against your will? Blink twice if you need help.”

She’s joking, but it’s a little too close to reality that I’m not sure how to respond.

Mace clears his throat. “Chef is getting ready to serve dinner.”

The two girls immediately straighten at that.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Melody growls. “Come on, Adalie.”

The two of them rush toward the dining room. Mace rubs the back of his neck, watching them go, then shooting a worried look in my direction. Oh, does he not want his sisters to know that this is, in fact, a hostage-type situation?

“Don’t worry,” I whisper, irritation pricking along my spine. “I won’t tell them about the mafia, or the murder, or the forced marriage.”

His eyes narrow, like I’m the one being unreasonable, the warning glare beating down every praise he poured over me earlier.

“Whatever,” I mutter, brushing past him to follow his sisters, but he catches my arm and spins me around, shock electrifying my heart. My palm lands against his chest, and I push, trying to break his hold. Only, he’s too strong.

Fingers tangling into my hair, he tips my head back until our lips are inches apart. “Don’t get an attitude now, baby.”

“Fuck you,” I snarl.

He smirks, dimples appearing, and his eyes drop to my lips. “I love it when you flirt with me.”

Oxygen grows dense in my lungs. He doesn’t get to throw me off my game and get away with it. Going on my toes, I rub my nose against his and whisper, “Don’t make me knee you in the nuts again.”

Suddenly, he’s a foot away from me, blue irises hot with the promise of retribution. The threat is so blatant, I begin to regret ever letting him lay his hands on me.

Dropping to my heels, I hold his stare for two beats, narrowing my eyes and making it clear I find none of this amusing, then turn away and march to have dinner with my future sisters-in-law.

Sitting at a dining table with crystal wineglasses is a new experience for me. The gleaming silver forks—yeah, this family uses silver for their nightly dinners—the crystal vase of fresh flowers as the centerpiece, and the way the girls eat, it all screams money.

They take delicate little bites of their steak, dipping the very edge into the sauce smeared across the plate like we’re in a five-star restaurant. Mace does the same. They even hold their forks pointed up while they take a bite, and that’s how I know I’m really out of place.

Did they all take the same etiquette lessons or something? How to Be a Pompous Asshole 101. That’s unfair to his sisters, though. They’re nice. Mace is the problem.

Melody eyes me as I mimic them and take a tiny bite. “So, Cassia, what do you like about my brother?”

I arch an eyebrow and swallow. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

She chuckles. “Mmm. Yeah, you’re going to fit right in. Do you like tennis?”

Thank you, Dad, for sending me to private school. At least I can pretend to be high class. “It’s not my favorite, but I play a good game.”

“We should meet up at the club sometime!” She glances at Mace. “He sucks.”

“I don’t suck, you suck. You can’t even get the ball over the net half the time.”

Adalie shakes her head at me as they bicker. “Mace really is terrible. Melody is great, though.” She lowers her voice and leans toward me. “She could have gone to the Olympics.”

“Could have?”

Adalie nods, mouth tipping down. “You’ll soon find no one gets what they want in this family.”

Is that a warning? Searching her face, I try to determine her intentions, but whatever severity lined her face quickly fades, and in its place is a serene, indifferent mask. The same type Rose wore when she was too afraid to be herself.

“What—”

“What are you two whispering about?” Mace interrupts.

My eyes jump to his. “Nothing.”

He slides his gaze to his sister, then gives me a pointed look. I bristle. It’s not like I could tell her the whole sordid tale in sixty seconds.

“Where did you two meet again?” Adalie watches me with big, innocent eyes. She looks so...naive, it takes me a moment to respond. There’s more to her than she lets on.

“Through a friend. Mace basically proposed to me on the spot.” I take a bite and glance at Mace, leaving it to him to finish because lying reminds me of the secrets my dad kept, and they ended up being the reason he had a heart attack. He can make up the rest of the story .

“Can you blame me?” he asks with an easy laugh. “She’s probably the hottest woman I’ve ever met, and then I realized she’s smarter than me, and I was a goner.”

Was that . . . a compliment?

Melody gives him a funny look. “Riiiight. And when is the wedding again?”

“We’re discussing that,” Mace says. “But soon.”

We don’t exactly have a choice on that.

Adalie turns a stony expression on her brother. “Mom’s upset you didn’t tell her you were dating.”

Flinching, he averts his gaze. “I’ll go talk to her.”

She grips her fork, knuckles turning white. Mace notices, his gaze moving between her grasp and face. Melody tips her head and frowns. My own forehead wrinkles. What’s going on?

“Dad’s already home,” Adalie says.

Melody purses her lips.

“Tomorrow, then,” Mace says with a nod.

Adalie exhales and loosens her grip, taking a bite and humming in approval like nothing happened, but something did happen. Do Mace and Darius not get along? Outside of this dinner, I don’t know much of anything about the Astors or anything about their family dynamic. Obviously, it’s not good.

I try to catch Mace’s attention, but he’s brooding into his glass. A tornado of unease tears through me. What, exactly, am I getting myself into?