Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Damiano, or Dom as we tend to call him, is attractive. Abnormally so. He’s the kind of man you’d picture when making a list of all the predictably preferred physical attributes: tall, taut, and tempting, with broad shoulders and a square jaw.
There’s an allure he possesses, an invisible pull between him and those around him, painting him in the prettiest of lights. People look at Dom and see poise and influence. It’s a strong ambience, a coveted one with a potential price tag for desired use in our world, and as we’ve found, time and time again, a useful one.
He’s also oddly … basic, as pretty boys with power will be.
Does the vote of an overassertive cougar need to be swayed? Send in the picturesque Prince Charming with an air of arrogance to capture her attention.
How about sending a warning to a man who thinks he’s bigger and badder than he’s earned the right to claim, who has a pretty princess of a daughter? Send the ideal suitor in to dirty her up and spit her out.
Damiano scans my face, breaking through my thoughts when he speaks. “Your day was tough.”
He’s right. It was, but his attempt at a therapy session is unnecessary, and the argument with my father he walked in on this morning is not something I want to discuss with him. He knows this.
I tip my head. “Use your big-boy voice, Dom. What is it you would like to say?”
His glare is small, but he nods. “You had an unexpected delay this evening. Your father expected you here at six thirty and started asking at exactly six thirty-one. I’ve spent the last hour trying and failing to distract him. I can’t cover for you if you don’t tell me when I need to and where you are.”
“In the event I need you to cover for me, you’ll be the first to know, and as for where I was, that’s what these are for.” I flick the golden cuff latched along his wrist beneath his suit jacket.
“We agreed, no unnecessary tracking.”
“Exactly. If you had cause for concern, you would have checked. You know me. I needed a minute.”
His eyes soften and I hate it, so when he says my name, I cut him off.
“Let my father know I’ll be down shortly.” I’ll smile and say all the right things and pretend he’s not making a mistake bound to bite him in the ass, but when it does, I’ll happily say I told you so.
I don’t tell Dom this, though.
Damiano doesn’t respond, but after a moment’s pause, he reaches up, his thumb gliding across my cheekbone. He’s always been good about doing what I’ve asked and never pushes too hard.
He knows better than that.
It’s no secret he wants me to accept his offer for more, and while I know he cares about me as a person, I also know it’s nothing more than a power play.
I know because we spoke of it in direct terms. I’m aware of what he wants, and he’s aware of what I do not.
He wants a wife at the tender age of twenty-two, and I want to make my father proud, to claim what’s mine as the strongest Revenaw heir, the head seat my father holds within the Greyson Union, an alliance between four families created to keep us on top, without the whispers of a man in my ear. Dom says he wouldn’t dare, and I know he’s telling the truth.
But today’s truth often becomes tomorrow’s lie, almost always by accident.
I couldn’t fault him for his failure to keep his word, and I’d hate for him to have to die because of it.
Lie rhymes with die for a reason, or so my father swears.
Why Dom’s in such a rush, I don’t know. We’re still stuck on the education train required of us, even though our IQs might surpass every professor on the payroll at Greyson Elite Academy. We both have a place in this world when all is said and done, but no one knows what that place is.
It has to be earned, as anything worth having always does.
Damiano dips his head, softly pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth, and then he’s out the door seconds after he releases me.
I trail him to the door, slapping my palm onto the large square on the left side of the wall, not bothering to watch as the steel pins jut out from both sides, piecing together and locking everyone else on the other side—not even my girls could get in now, without me allowing it.
Flicking my eyes to the crown molding above, I return to the bar in the left corner, pursing my lips at the topped-off decanter full of Louis Remy Martin.
Only in my world is it normal for a suite designed for and dedicated to three eighteen-year-old girls to be stocked with liquor worthy of a king.