Forty-Eight
“I wanted to forget him for a night, but even when someone else touched me, it was his fury I felt burning through my skin.”–Aria Boschett.
Istand at the penthouse windows, the wedding invitation trembling in my hands.
Boston city lights flicker below, barely registering while the envelope goes soft at the edges from how long I’ve been gripping it.
Dragging my thumb along the seal like I can rub the truth into something kinder.
If I hold it long enough, Aunt Cathy will change her mind.
It’s the third time she’s returned my wedding invitation unopened.
Sighing, I walk into the living area and drop onto the couch my focus on the invitation.
“I thought you were taking a nap,” Tasha says, biting into a green apple.
I flinch. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither can I.” She takes another bite of her apple, sitting next to me, and her eyes flick to the invitation. “Are you sure about this?”
I exhale. “You’re the one who insisted on a bachelorette party. That’s why we’re in Boston.”
“I’m not talking about the party.” She points at the unopened invitation. “I’m talking about your marriage. Is Cyan it for you?”
My grip tightens. “Tasha…”
“Because if he is, Ari...This is what you’re signing up for.”
“Being shunned,” I whisper.
“Yeah.” Her gaze stays on mine as she chomps away. “Ari… are you sure you can live with that?”
“Yes.” Her question lands harder than I expect. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “I have to make sure, Ari. I need to hear you say it when you’re not high off getting your brain screwed to oblivion… I’ve known you forever, and Cyan, well,” she points. “You, Aria Boschett, don’t pick men like Cyan.”
I snort. “Have you been talking to Aunt Cathy?” Tasha looks away, my chest goes tight. “You have.”
“Only after she sent your last RSVP back unopened,” Tasha admits, frustration flashing. “I wanted to help. I can see this is eating you alive.”
“What did she say?”
“She begged me to talk sense into you.” Tasha tosses the half-eaten apple onto the table. “And Ari… I hate it, but I kind of get where she’s coming from.”
I cut her off fast. “Maybe what I thought I wanted isn’t what I needed.” I flick the invite onto the table. “Cyan is who I’m with. He’s mine.” I hold her gaze. “So can we drop it?”
Tasha studies me. Picks back up her apple then she leans back, with a wry little smile tugging at her mouth. “Well, damn. That’s the surest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She bumps my shoulder. “Good for you, putting me in my damn place and claiming your man.”
Relief loosens something in my chest. A lazy smile slips out. “I know, right! The man is perfection.”
“Okay, gross,” she grins.
I stand. “Now, let’s talk about something more fun. Where are we going for this bachelorette party you insisted I needed?”
“To a hot Caribbean club called Culture. Your man sent his private jet to pick up Gracie and Saaha for the weekend,” she arches her brow.
“How did you convince Gracie to come to Boston?”
Tasha grins. “I’m an attorney, negotiated, of course.
Told Gracie Thomas would be with the guys, and it’d just be the four of us.
Ari, I can’t wait to see their faces when you try to teach them how to Dutty wine.
” Of course, Lucilla isn’t coming. Tasha doesn’t miss things like that. I don’t comment, but I notice.
“And I can’t wait to see them do it,” I grin. “It’s going to be very good, or we’ll be so drunk we’ll think it’s good. Either way, I’ll be laughing my ass off.”
Tasha folds her arms. “True that.” Then her expression shifts, curiosity lighting her eyes. “So… what’s the deal with Cyan’s brother, Collin?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your man is a ruthless bastard, but his brother?” She lowers her voice. “He’s got the aura of a leashed demon.”
I snort. “You got all that from a few interactions?”
Tasha tugs at one of her recently dyed blonde dreadlocks ends, twisting the end around her finger.
“From our first interaction… I’m serious, Ari.
He does and says everything right, but his eyes.
There’s no warmth there. His laughter never reaches them.
I’ve got this feeling that if Cyan weren’t around to keep him anchored, Boston would drown in blood. ”
I shake my head. “You saw those things, and you still hit him with Trevor.”
She shrugs. “Ari, you know one of my mottos. Fake it till you make it, and, girl, you only live once.” Tasha’s tone is a little too casual.
Thinking back to every time those two are in the same room. The way Collin’s gaze tracks her studying, testing, pushing her buttons–like he’s mapping her limits. I wonder if Tasha notices. Or maybe she does, and that’s exactly why she keeps provoking him. Or maybe I’m overthinking it.
Later that evening, we’re both dressed and ready when the elevator dings. The doors slide open, and my eyes widen. The transformation is… startling.
Saaha or Doc, as we now call her, steps out first, looking like the Indian version of Daisy Duke.
In a pair of cut-up daisy dukes denim. A plaid shirt knotted above her belly button, showing off a belly-button ring.
Cowboy boots. A hat. Her long, sleek black hair spills down her back.
It takes me a second to correlate this version of her with the one in the beautiful saris.
“Hey, girls, you look amazing!” Tasha exclaims. “Guys are going to go wild for you tonight.”
I glance at Gracie and nearly do a double take. She’s stunning in a jumpsuit stitched together from various shades of denim, paired with sleek white pumps. But the real shock? Her hair is now dyed a bold mint green.
“Tasha, you look fantastic,” Gracie says. “I wish I had your long legs to pull off a skirt like that.”
Tasha does a confident twirl, showing off her oversized shirt, unbuttoned just enough to show off her Kelly-green leather mini skirt, and strappy heels. Her smooth brown skin glows beneath the dim penthouse lighting.
“Aria, you look amazing,” Gracie adds. “That outfit is fierce. I’m glad you’ve embraced your curves.”
I spin around once, laughing. “Thanks to your putting me in that wedding dress, Tasha insisted I wear white tonight since I’m the bride.”
“You are killing it, Ari!” Tasha shouts. “If you were a snack, you’d be the whole damn charcuterie board. Can you believe she wanted to wear black? Hell no. Tonight, she stands out.”
I felt amazing. The white blazer and shorts hug my curves, stopping just beneath my ass. The gold corset beneath the blazer glitters against my skin.
“I agree with Tash,” Saaha says. “That color is a killer on you.”
The girls’ confidence and praise only amplify the buzz already building in my chest. “Alright, ladies,” I clap my hands once. “Let’s hit the club. I want to dance.”
We’re pulling up to Culture, the club already pulsing with life.
A long line snakes down the block and thank goodness we don’t have to wait.
Tasha knows the bouncer Ian, and even if she didn’t…
Cyan’s army of security, including Johnny, would’ve made sure of it.
As we step out of the car, I feel eyes on us.
A low murmur ripples through the crowd as we approach the velvet rope.
“Who the hell are they?” someone mutters behind us.
“Gotta be somebody’s sugar babies to get in that fast,” another guy scoffs.
Tasha doesn’t even flinch. She strides up to the bouncer like she owns the place, ID already in hand. “Ms. Diamond, I reserved the booth for tonight.”
Ian barely glances at the list before unclipping the rope. “Enjoy your night, ladies.”
The moment we step inside, the club’s energy swallows us... Bass thunders through my chest, Soca’s rhythm infectious. A sea of bodies moves as one, hips swaying, hands in the air. Tasha grabs my arm, already pulling me toward the dimly lit staircase leading to the VIP level.
“Welcome to Culture, Ms. Diamond. You’re in private room 213,” the bouncer says, gesturing toward a roped-off section overlooking the dance floor. “You’re also welcome to use the VIP area on the main floor if you’d like to be closer to the action.”
“Thanks,” Tasha replies easily, guiding us past the velvet barrier. We climb the stairs and step into a glass-enclosed VIP room. The second the door shuts, the music drops to a low hum, so you don’t have to shout to be heard.
“Hey there, I’m Mary. I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” the waitress greets us. “That’s Chris, your bartender,” she says, pointing behind the bar.
Chris flashes a thousand-watt smile. “Welcome to Culture. What can I get you, ladies? I make a killer Tequila Sunrise.”
“Chris,” Gracie says, surprising all of us, “we’ll take four… but first, four shots of tequila. Then we’re hitting the dance floor.”
We blink at her. “What?” she shrugs her shoulders. “You think just ’cause I’m Japanese I ain’t got rhythm?” Her Boston accent comes out thick and unapologetic.
Tasha snorts. “No, honey, I think your demure bridal shop accent just clocked out.” Gracie’s smile falters for half a second. Tasha catches it in an instant. “Hey… your real accent? I like that one better. That’s who you are with us.”
Gracie’s lips curve into a genuine smile. “Deal, as long as you all do the same with me.”
Saaha raises a brow. “That means y’all gotta accept me in all my Texas glory.” Laughter erupts as Mary returns with our shots.
“To my girl, Aria!” Tasha cheers, lifting her glass.
“To Aria!” the others echo.
“Thank you, gorgeous souls,” I say, grinning. “Let’s kick this off properly.” Our glasses clink in celebration and toss our shots down. The tequila burns warm and delicious.
Gracie hiccups, grimaces, then bursts into giggles. “This night is just the beginning.”
By the time our cocktails arrive, and a few more tequila shots disappear, I’m buzzing. We spill out of the VIP room and onto the VIP dance floor closer to the action. I close my eyes, letting the music carry me.