Page 73 of The Bronze Garza

When we’re off the property and on the go, because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Why did you cheat on Lexi?”

From my peripheral vision, I watch for a reaction from him. But there’s none. He’s relaxed. Indifferent. One hand on the steering wheel, the other rested on his thigh.

“Are you surprised that I did?” he responds after several beats. “Doesn’t that fit perfectly in the ‘despicable’ image you have of me?”

“I suppose.” I snap and unsnap the latch on my clutch. “Does it bother you that ‘the one that got away’ is engaged to your brother?”

“The one that got away,” he muses under his breath. “That’s a new one.”

“Isn’t she?”

“She’s the love of my brother’s life and my sister-in-law.”

“But you loved her, didn’t you?”

“I still do, just in a different way.” He throws me a quick glance. “What’s your obsession with Lexi?”

“I’m not obsessed,” I defend with apfft. I totally am. “I’m just amazed that you’re actually capable of loving.”

“Barely.”

~

Half an hourlater, we arrive at our destination. A grandiose residence in Beverly Hills.

There’s valet service, a complaisant youth in an oversized jacket taking the keys to the jeep.

The front of the residence is quiet, but as Torin guides me through the house—his fingers splayed at my back, sending shivers up my spine—sounds of music, chatter, and clinking glasses can be heard.

“How long will we be here for?” I ask Torin. “These things have never really been my favorite. So many posers and pompous asshats.”

“About an hour,” he replies. “Just need to show my face and shake a few hands.”

As we draw closer to the back of the house, people, tea-lights, shiny outfits, glitzy jewels, and the glinting blue of a pool come into view.

We’re not even two steps out the terrace doors when a man intercepts us, arms out wide. “Torin Garza. The man, the myth, the legend.”

“Howard,” Torin greets, voice flat and dry as always. “Thanks for the invite.”

“I’ve invited you tomany, Torin. This is just the first one you showed up to,” the man replies with a chuckle. “I’ve got people for you to meet. I’ve been singing your praises. Without your service...man, I don’t even know...” He trails off and his attention jerks to me, as if he’s only just realized I’m there. “And who isthisstunning beauty?”

“This is my date. Lyra,” Torin says. “Lyra, Howard Bailey.”

“Nice to meet you, Howard.” I hold my hand out for a shake, but he takes it and lifts it to his lips instead, brushing a kiss across my knuckles.

“No, no. It’s a pleasure to meetyou.” As inoffensively as I can, I pull my hand back. “Torin, I’m jealous. Your date is hotter than mine.”

At that, I look up at Torin with an expression I hope conveys, ‘See? I’m hot.’

Torin’s hand shifts from my lower back to around my waist, gently pulling me closer to him. It’s a possessive pull, a statement, and I like it. Something tells me he didn’t like Howard kissing my hand.

A spirited, eager Howard all but whisks us off into the crowd, submerging us into an arching wave of introductions. He’s quite fond of Torin, it seems. So fond it borderlines on creepy.

As lights glisten off the surface of the pool, and music pulses lightly around rhythmless chatter, one minute bleeds into the next, and the next, and the next. Business cards are exchanged and family members are asked about with inflections that relay simulated interest.

Torin clings to me the entire time, as though I’m his raft in this sea of sharks. He’s not a people person. Intensely assessing everyone who crosses his path. His handshakes are firm, his exchanges apathetic, his smiles nonexistent. He intimidates. He impresses. He piques interests.

An hour in the life of Torin Garza.