8
She hurried home and changed, letting her hair down and adding a few waves to it. She put on her little black dress and strappy bright green shoes and applied a little more makeup before heading out to the club. She felt a stab of guilt for going, but told herself that it wasn’t a date, only a work thing. Her stomach was full of fighting soldiers the whole way there, and when she entered the club, she was relieved to find Barsetti was not there right by the front door to torment her.
It still held the unpleasant smell of too much and too many different types of cologne, of sweat and the stinging aroma of liquor. She was surprised at how busy the place was. She couldn’t walk two feet without having to go around someone. She had seen it like this on the weekends, but never during the week. Then again, she had never been there on a Thursday that she could recall. She tried to block that all out. Her eyes fell on the group of eight guards and then the captain of the guard at the back of the club. Carlo was there, too. All the comfort that brought vanished as the captain openly stared at her. She knew she was blushing furiously and looked away, only to find his eyes tracking her the entire time it took her to get to their couple of tables.
The captain stood and so did the rest of the men, five from yesterday plus two others and Carlo, when she reached the table.
“You came,” Yale said. “I’ll never second guess you again.” She hoped they could see she was changing. It looked like they were changing, too.
Carlo offered her his seat and went to get another one from a nearby table. The same surly, but pretty waitress brought her a drink right away. She wondered who had ordered it. Once she admitted to herself that she had come solely to spend time with Christian, she shook off the awkwardness. She found it was easier this time to laugh and joke with them, which surprised her. It had only been a few days since the fiasco at the club.
After about an hour, several of the guys stood up to leave. Carlo leaned over to her. “Hey, you’re doing great. Mind if I go? An opportunity may have come up.” He jutted his chin toward a pretty woman across the bar, who was openly staring at him.
“I see how it is, Carlo,” she teased.
“You know I wouldn’t abandon you, but you really don’t seem to need me. You’re doing great.”
Marisa thought he was selling it a little hard, but she had to admit things were going pretty well tonight. “Fine, you’re off the hook. But I don’t want any details later.”
He grinned and sauntered off toward the woman at the bar. That left four at the table, and they all shuffled to maximize the space between each person.
As if a bell had rung announcing that everyone must dance, the table emptied. Only Marisa and the captain were left. He got up and moved to the seat adjacent hers, pulling it closer to him, a beer glass in his hand. “I’m glad you came. A little shocked, but glad.”
She laughed nervously. “Turns out I’m not as predictable as most think I am.”
“I like your predictability.” One corner of his mouth twitched up.
A rare slow song came on, and he stood and asked her to dance.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I haven’t danced much in my life, and if you love unbruised feet, you may not want me to join you.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “I’ve seen you gracefully sneak up on an opponent. I’m sure you will amaze me.”
He held out his hand. She took it, concentrating hard not to allow it to shake. It turned out she needed no skill whatsoever. He held her close, closer than she would have thought he would dance with a subordinate, and they turned in slow small circles, talking and laughing. It felt good. She wouldn’t need to be light on her feet after all.
“I love your hair down,” the captain said, taking several strands into his hands and running his fingers through the wave.
“Thanks,” she said, forcing herself not to lean into his touch.
“And you smell amazing. Is that vanilla?”
She nodded, a tremble of sheer pleasure rose in her heart. Comfort filled her, a rightness casting a soft light on the two of them dancing. As the song neared its end, he pulled her even closer, her head snuggled into the crook of his neck. He smelled like cinnamon and sugar with a touch of cayenne. He liked her. He had to. At one point, she looked at him and he looked right back, his face getting closer and closer to hers. She was sure he was going to kiss her. She trembled in anticipation, but a dancing couple bumped into them and the moment ended.
Christian took a step back, gesturing toward their table. “Why don’t we take a little break?” His face was so hard to read. Did he feel any of the disappointment that was settling over her? It was crazy how much she had wanted that kiss. She swallowed and nodded, moving toward the table.
On their way, they passed Carlo, now making out with the woman he’d so coyly called an “opportunity.” Marisa smiled wryly. At least someone was getting what they came for. Tara wasn’t the only one with the idea of lurking around Murazzis’s, getting guardsmen to lavish money and attention on her. She remembered Tara’s words—“You want something from a guy, you have to give him a little something.”
Her gaze flipped back to Christian, who was walking confidently to their table. He turned to smile at her, and there was something almost seductive about the way he looked at her. Her heart clenched. This is what Tara had been talking about. Tara had seen him do this to other women—seducing them to get what he wanted.
He must be trying to manipulate her. A sliver of hurt rushed through her. Could it be that he was being so kind, acting like he liked her simply because he wanted to give her no reason to tell his secret? She thought back on his treatment of her. If he had feelings for her, he would have been helping her, making it easier for her to get the promotion she wanted. He had done the opposite, thwarting her at every turn. No, he never treated her as anything special.
Never, until she warned him about the photo.
He sat and pulled out a chair for her. She sank down into it, numb. A nagging, persistent ache settled in her gut. She had fallen for his ploy. She was such an idiot. Shame washed over her. She had to stop this. She pulled back, and he spoke before she could, “Listen, Marisa, I have to tell you—”
“Stop,” she said, quickly before he could finish his lie. The look on his face was so transparent—he was pretending so hard, he looked like a lovestruck teenager. It sickened her. “I can’t do this.” She pushed away from the table, disappointment, shame, and anger warring in her chest. She had to get out of there.
Christian reached out and grabbed her hand. “Wait, Marisa, please—”
She turned and looked him in the eye. She spoke quickly, before her raging emotions could make her do anything embarrassing. Like cry. “Listen, Christian. You don’t have to be nice to me to keep me from talking. Even if you never put me in the personal guard or if you yelled at me every day, I would never give up your secret. Never, so you can stop pretending. Your secret is safe.”
He was shaking his head violently. “No. No. Wait.” The two guys came tromping back with full glasses again. “No. I need to tell you…” but she wasn’t listening.
“No!” she said as she stood and made to leave, tripping over a leg of the table as she did. “No.” She could feel Vadik and Yale’s stares, but didn’t care. She had to get out of there and quick.
“Marisa, wait,” Christian called after her, but she ran through the crowds and out before he could stop her.