“I gotta ask you boss,” Vince said, “about your sister.”
“Louisa?”
“Natalie.”
“She’s my stepsister.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. She’s your wife, too.”
“Where’s this going?”
“I just want to know what you’re doing with her. That’s all.”
I eyed him. “Seems like it isn’t your business.”
“It is and it isn’t, boss. If you’re actually into this girl, fine, great. But if you’re just messing around, maybe it’s not the best time to be putting your dick into something dangerous?”
I had to take a deep breath to steady myself.
I knew that Vince had my best interests in mind. I knew that he didn’t mean anything by the way he was speaking. We always talked about women that way. It was all bravado and fun. But for some reason, I despised it when he talked about Natalie that way.
She was different. I knew it from the moment I saw her in the club and decided to make her my wife. I knew it when she moved in, and in every moment I was around her.
“Don’t ask me about this again,” I said to him.
He shrugged. “Okay. Your call.”
We walked back toward the house in silence. Vince waved and peeled off toward the west wing, probably to get started on researching Franklin, and I walked back toward the house alone.
My mind was abuzz with Natalie. Just the mention of her name set my veins on fire. I wanted her again, needed her. The thought of her drove me wild with desire.
But she was pissed. I hadn’t heard from her since the night before when she threw me out of her room for talking shit about her mother. In the cold light of day, I understood that I had crossed a line in calling her mother a whore, even if she was acting like one. I wouldn’t accept that sort of talk about my family, and I couldn’t expect any less of Natalie.
But I wasn’t about to apologize. That just wasn’t my style. I wasn’t going to go groveling at her feet like a pathetic loser, especially not after she had kicked me out.
Still, I wanted to make it right. I wanted to taste her again, and that wasn’t happening unless I owned up to my errors.
I grumbled to myself as I walked into the house, trying to figure out how I could win her back over without actually saying sorry.
Because I wasn’t really sorry. Her dumbass whore of a mother was threatening to fuck everything up already. I had known it was only a matter of time before Camille blew up, but I had hoped that was at least a few months away. Back when I didn’t know Camille or Natalie, I almost was rooting for her to fuck up, if only to rub my father’s stupid mistake in his face.
But suddenly I found myself caring. Natalie did that to me.
And so I had an idea. Simple, but hopefully effective. I headed toward the kitchen to make it happen.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Natalie
I was ready to call it a night. I’d spent the day wandering around the grounds, and I was prepared to simply admit to myself that I was going to be doing absolutely nothing all day.
I had my hand on my room’s door when I got the text. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw Lucas’s name and his short message. Come to room 34-C. I have something for you. That was it, no context.
I bit my lip, unsure. I was still annoyed with him, but in the long run it really wasn’t something worth hating him over forever. And besides, I still felt so drawn to him, even through the danger.
Louisa’s words rang through my ears as well. I needed to take what I wanted.
Making up my mind, I turned and headed back down the hall.
It took me longer than I’d like to admit to actually find the room. It was a small door tucked into a back corner of a random hallway on the third floor. It looked totally normal, pretty much like everything else in the house, and I wondered why Lucas was calling me there.
Maybe his father would be waiting on the other side. He’d force me to tell Arturo the truth about my mother, and then they’d both throw us out.
Or maybe he just wanted to be an asshole some more and figured a neutral place was the best way to go about it.
I didn’t know why my brain instantly went to worst-case scenarios. I’d been out of it all day, and my paranoia wasn’t helping.
Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door with my card and pushed it open.
What I saw took my breath away.
The room had paintings on every inch of the walls. Beautiful paintings, gorgeous, expensive art. It was a lot like the stuff hung in the halls, but I recognized some of them for once, stuff by Picasso and Renoir. Expensive, serious art.
But that wasn’t what caught my attention. The room was lit by hundreds of white candles, each set on every single surface of the room. Then, in the very center was a small table set as if it were some expensive, fancy restaurant.