Faux fortune-teller or not, this was a fucking heads-up that he should’ve told Mia the truth by now. She deserved to be told. Oh, by the way, I’m the hit man hired to kill you, but I’ve changed my mind. Yeah. That would go over well.
“And this one?” Mia pointed to the next card while Cruz admired the way the lights gleamed on her hair and highlighted the curve of her cheek. It also gleamed on the long red scar on her upper arm. A harsh reminder that if it wasn’t him who did the job, they’d send someone else.
Time was short.
Tonight. He’d tell her tonight when they got home.
The woman flipped the middle card. “This is your present.”
“Well, that’s cheerful,” he murmured, and Mia shushed him. A skull, its empty eye sockets staring back from beneath a metal war helmet, didn’t need much explanation in Cruz’s opinion.
“This is the Death card.”
Mia shivered. Fake psychic or not, this was a bad idea under the circumstances. “I’m starving, let’s make tracks. We have a reserva—”
“Do not fear it.” The woman grasped Mia’s hand, her rings winking in the candlelight. “While it can mean literal death on occasion, more often it is the death of things, situations, and people you have outgrown. A cutting of ties. Those who have lied to you or hurt you being tossed out of your life. A sudden transition into something better.”
Cruz disagreed. Death meant death in his book. Plain. Simple. Final.
Mia flipped over the last card herself. “Tell me about my future.”
“The Ten of Cups. Happiness in your domestic life. People who have experienced trials and tribulations together finding a successful moment of peace.” The woman glanced up at him. “It’s also the card of weddings.”
Okay, for a moment, just a moment, Cruz thought she had something possibly going for her card reading. Two out of two wasn’t bad. But she was so wrong on the third card, he couldn’t maintain his willing suspension of disbelief any longer, not even for Mia’s benefit. Weddings? Happy domestic bliss? Not. A. Fucking. Chance.
Then he had a revelation that sobered him instantly. Yeah. Mia could have that. But the man couldn’t be him. Wasn’t that a fucking kick in the balls? She’d get her happily ever after, her long life. But he wouldn’t have any part in it.
No point spilling his guts, he acknowledged. He’d do his thing and walk away. Same as he always did. It was a relief, really. He wasn’t into confessions or declaration. Clean, sharp. Done.
Mia stood, thanked the woman, then wrapped her arm around his and nestled her head against his shoulder as they continued their stroll up Royal Street. “You know, she wasn’t that far off.”
Cruz made a noncommittal grunt.
“Right now, the only person I trust one hundred percent is you.”
Mia couldn’t have executed a cleaner shot straight to his gut. Guilt hit with the precise hot aim of a bullet.
He steered her into a restaurant and hoped like hell the bar was well stocked.
• • •
“This is nice.” Mia smiled as she rejoined him at the table and slid into the banquet seat. Mr. B’s restaurant was crowded on a Thursday night. She had no idea how Cruz had managed to get them a corner booth almost right away. People spilled out onto the street, cups in hand, having a party of their own on the crowded sidewalk as they waited for tables.
She’d reapplied Ready To Go red lipstick and a spritz of Blush’s Aphrodite before leaving the restroom, then ruffled her fingers through her hair to give it a sexy tousled look. “Almost like a date.”
He didn’t return her smile, but Mia superimposed the smile he’d given her earlier over his serious features. He was so guarded, he was hard to read, and he hoarded his smiles like a miser his gold. “Whatever that perfume is you’re wearing must make your company a fortune. I watched men’s heads turn as you walked by—poor bastards were salivating.”
Holding his gaze, she scooted a bit closer. “I only want one man to salivate.”
“Then you’ve achieved your goal. That stuff is an aphrodisiac.”
Taking his hand, which lay on the table, she weaved her fingers through his. “Thank you for everything you’re doing for Daisy and Charlie,” she said quietly.
Their corner was slightly quieter than the rest of the restaurant, but she leaned against his arm, enjoying the tensile strength and the heat of his skin. “I was so freaked out at the time, that it didn’t occur to me to hire security to keep her safe.”
“You covered her medical bills.”
Mia played with his fingers. He had nice hands, with broad palms, long fingers, and nicely shaped nails. She stroked a finger along the ridge of calluses at the base of his fingers. “She doesn’t have family. And I want her as far away from here as possible. They won’t release her for several weeks, by which time I’ll be home, and can do what needs to be done. It depends on how long they keep dickface in jail.”