Chapter 8
EIGHT
marlowe
I look like a bride.
Ballerina-style.
And holy hell. My head’s spinning, body throbbing, and heart clenching and seething because of a stolen orgasm from that intense…whatever the hell it was with Declan.
But somehow, after it all, I look fresh and innocent and romantic.
I left my hair up and washed off the makeup.
Because I’m expected to mingle with everyone else, I just stripped off the costume and reached for the dress he left me.
Inside the box are the prettiest, laciest blush pieces of lingerie. Tiny rosebuds and green leaves are somehow appliquéd into the lace and silk.
Sexy and romantic and swoon-worthy.
The dress, though…oh, the dress.
I’d never have picked it. A paler blush of pink, so pale it’s almost white, but the color gives it a lift and instead of clashing with my hair, it compliments.
Whoever picked it has taste.
I look at myself in the dressing room mirror.
The simple silk bodice skims my skin, and the skirt’s silk and tulle.
It should be too much, but it isn’t.
The dress is dreamy with an asymmetrical hemline to give it a touch of timelessness. I pull it on and pair it with the delicate Mary Janes that accompanied it because I don’t ever do sandals right after a dance.
There’s a note, too.
The handwriting’s strong and messy, and it makes my heart flutter.
Molly,
They’re flats in your size. Don’t worry, asked your mam. The dress is from me. Wear everything in the box. I’d tell you to look pretty, but that’s you.
Dec.
Carefully I fold it and tuck it in my dance bag, bracing myself for the action.
And even as I do, I’m fluttering and spinning inside.
Dec.
I like that.
Dec.
It’s intimate and like I know him. But I need to keep him as Declan, which is a name I fell for when he told me who he was in that Irish accent.
If he calls himself Dec, I’ll call him Declan.
Or lying cheater who’s somehow shoehorned himself into my life to spy on me for my mother.
“If he finds Daddy, then…” I murmur to myself. “It’s worth it to put up with him.”
Someone knocks on my door, and before I can answer, it opens.
For a moment I don’t move.
Dark curly hair buzzed on the back and left side with three earrings glittering in his ear.
But that’s not why I don’t move.
I stare at Leon.
He’s in a black suit, complete with a black shirt, no tie, and black boots on his feet. And there’s a big smile on his face as moves forward to hug me.
My limbs decide to move again and I hug him back, a nagging feeling plaguing me. He hasn’t tried to call me back since the night I ignored his call. Something didn’t sit right then and I’m not sure it does now. “Leon, where have you been?”
“I’m sorry, Marlowe, my uncle needed me and I got delayed getting to the truckyard that night. Family shit.” His voice drops. “The contact we were going to meet? He was a cop, and now he’s missing.”
Dead. Not missing. Dead, the cop’s dead.
“But don’t worry. I’ll find a way to help find your dad, okay?”
I suck in air, the hairs on the back of my neck springing to attention. “But I saw you outside the truckyard with the others who were shooting—”
“Yeah. At the Murphy mafia. They’ve been trying to get in on our turf. I saw you with one of them. Just don’t get involved with those Irish assholes, okay? They’re bad news.”
I stare at Leon, my brain latching onto his words. “I don’t think that’s going to work out.” My heart thumps like a wild beast and I need to get my thoughts in order. “The Murphy family, at least one of them, will be around a lot more, so we need to be careful talking about my dad.”
“Why?” he asks, suspicion in his narrowed gaze.
“Don’t worry about that. Let’s just focus on my dad.”
He stares at me for a long minute then nods. “Have you heard anything, from anyone who might be able to give us some clues?”
“No, nothing.” I wring my hands together. “And Mom hasn’t said a word. I’d really hoped you could come up with some lead we can follow.”
“Just keep your eyes and ears peeled for anything.” His smile is thin and brittle and I don’t know why, but something in his voice makes my pulse hitch. “You know these things take time.”
“What things?” says a voice behind us and we both jump.
My body is shooting off sparks as I set my gaze onto Declan.
Leon starts to angle himself in front of me, and as he turns, I catch a glimpse of a silver-handled gun in his jacket.
Declan wears his easy smile that never reaches his eyes, and I think he might be way deadlier than even I’ve seen. Because beneath that facade of charm is cold and steel.
I push in front of Leon. And before I even know what I’m going to say, the door opens wider, and another Murphy appears, blue eyes, hard like granite. “Problem, Dec?”
“Not sure, Cal.”
The older Murphy nods his chin at us. “And you are?”
“This is my friend, Leon. He wanted to congratulate me on the performance.” I shove the words out in a heap.
The brothers look Leon up and down. But while Declan sends poisoned arrows his way, Cal sets his gaze on me, and I almost stumble back with the unspoken warning.
“Leon who?” Cal asks, eyes on me still.
“Garcia,” I say. “We met at a ballet event awhile back.”
“You’re Callahan Murphy,” Leon says.
“I am.” Then Callahan turns to Declan. “We need to get you to the party.” He slants Leon a look. With the sweep of Callahan’s arm, it clearly an order for Leon to leave, pure, viscous, simple.
With his mouth twisted into a grimace, Leon slides his eyes at me but I don’t react. He heads out the door with the older brother, the leader of the Murphy family, if that was anything to go by.
“Your brother’s scary,” I say.
But now the charm’s gone, and I can see the sharp teeth of Declan. “So am I. When I choose to be. Don’t make me choose to be scary, Molly. Okay?”
I shiver and nod, but it seems he’s not done, because he steps right up and brushes his lips to mine. Soft for a man who’s giving off cold tundra and murder vibes. They linger a moment.
“And this Leon?” he murmurs. “I don’t like him.”
I follow him into the fundraiser party when we arrive. No one would ever splash the word “money” around in the small get together, but that’s what tonight is about. Behind the scenes, checks are handed over to keep the ballet company afloat.
It’s a weird experience tonight, the well-heeled and the Murphy family.
And Leon.
He’s still here. And because I’m so attuned to Declan, I can’t help but notice the silent staring competition between them, and it’s not until Topher approaches that I realize why.
Is Leon jealous? Declan doesn’t like him, but for him, this is all about his plans, his job of spying on me for Mom.
“Two suitors, Mar.” Topher grins, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “Glad I bowed out when I did because they look like they fight nasty.” Then his gaze moves from Declan then back to me. “Also heard a rumor about you officially being named the principal of the company.”
My cheeks burn. “I don’t think so. Harper’s so much better.”
“It’s also about hard work. And Mommy’s pockets.”
I glare at him, but there’s no bite to his words. He’s someone whose parents were famous dancers, so his place here was always assured. Topher could go anywhere if he chose to.
His latest girlfriend, a model, sashays up to him and I slide away, heart thumping.
What if…what if it was Declan who was jealous?
But I’m suddenly tangled in a lot of different conversations that stop me following that train of thought. And all through it, Declan watches me.
I try to find Leon, and though I catch glimpses, Declan gets in the way. He eats at my senses, my attention, even when I hear whispers from other dancers about how I don’t deserve this role.
They’re right. I don’t live to dance. I did, I guess, once, but not like this. Not trapped in the world of classical ballet. I don’t breathe that life, not like every other performer here. And to the rest of the company, it obviously shows.
My blood turns cold as I spot Mom handing the owner of the company an envelope. I know what’s coming. The whispers spread like wildfire even as he announces the year’s top lineup. Those who’ll never have to audition for a lead.
Topher, two others, and me.
This wildfire’s poison, and all I want to do is leave the party. I start to slink back and hit someone warm and smelling like whiskey, leather, and smoke.
“Going somewhere?”
“I want to leave,” I say to Declan as my mother talks into a mic at the front of the room. I ignore her and turn, getting trapped in those gorgeous ocean green eyes.
He smiles and I’m bound to him, unable and unwilling to step back. The dimple flirts with me and his stubble appeals. I want nothing more than to run a finger the wrong way up his chin, to then touch the thick softness of his dark hair. Maybe sample his lips and dip inside with my tongue.
I frown.
Was that my name?
His smile doesn’t slip, but he says in a low voice, “Just go with it and we’re out of here.”
Then he takes my hand, puts the bouquet in the other one, and people start whispering and applauding as he leads the way to the front of the room where another one of his brothers stands.
He draws me up against him. “Go with the flow, Molly girl, it’s showtime. If you nod and say yes, we’re out of here, I promise.”
“Yes?” I say, nodding, and he kisses me theatrically.
A bouquet is thrust into my hands, and I’m dragged up to the front of the room with him. I can see Mom’s friend Milo, whom I’ve met once and looks at me like future property and a piggy bank, even though he’s already rich. Mom would never befriend someone without a certain bankroll.
“She said yes, which, of course, she would,” Declan announces to a suddenly silent room. “And since Marlowe isn’t a girl who likes a fuss, the wedding will be short and sweet. Happening right now, with all of you.” The crowd oohs and ahhs at his revelation.
His brother takes over. “Welcome all. The bride doesn’t want gifts, so please, donate to the ballet company or your favorite charity.”