Chapter Three #3
“I’ve got this handled,” the older woman said. “You should get back to the party. My nephews can help with the rest of the setup and service.”
“Carlos, Diego,” the younger woman called out, “do not leave tonight without giving me your Venmo information. Make sure your brothers do, too.”
“You don’t have to—.”
“Mariana, it’s not up for discussion,” the younger woman cut in forcefully. “You’ve given enough. I’m not letting her take more from your family.”
Luka decided it was now or never and stepped through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Immediately, every eye in the room turned to him.
An older Latina woman manned the island countertop, a spatula in hand as she directed two high school aged boys in upscale waiter gear.
Black pants. White shirts. Black vests. Crisp black aprons. They were busy plating first courses.
A dark-haired woman with her back to him bent down to retrieve something from the double ovens.
He should have looked away, but he couldn’t help himself.
Like a fucking lech, he stared at the outline of her big ass and thick thighs against the taut fabric of the black dress.
It was the kind of ass that made a man weak in the knees.
The sort that made his gut roll with heat and his hands itch to spank and caress.
When she straightened, he realized she was tall.
She was all curves and softness, and when she turned toward him with that steaming hot pan in front of her breasts, he was startled by the gray-green shade of her eyes.
They spurred a memory, one long since buried, and suddenly, he was a teenager giving an order of exile and splitting up a family.
A family with a furious little girl with those same haunting eyes.
But she wasn’t a little girl anymore.
“Mr. Beciraj!” She frantically looked for a place to set the tray. As soon as it was safely out of the way, she tugged off the oven mitts and smoothed a nervous hand down the front of her stained apron. Switching to Albanian, she asked, “Are you...? Did you get lost?”
“No.” He couldn’t remember her name. Artan’s ugly voice came to mind, calling her the fat one. He brushed that nasty remark aside. What was her name? Ana, Aleksander, Dafina and...?
“Did you need something?” She wrung her hands together, and he wondered why he made her so nervous.
Probably because you ordered Kristo to kill her father, tore her family apart and sent her to live thousands of miles away from the only home she had ever known.
“Actually, yes.” He offered a friendly smile to set her at ease. “Something for stomach cramps?”
“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped, and she seemed relieved by his request. “Yes. Um. Let me see what I have in my purse.” She glanced back at him as she walked across the kitchen to the small breakfast table where a leather handbag sat.
“My stomach doesn’t like traveling either, especially long overseas flights. ”
“Yes. It seems mine is the same.” A lie, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. He ignored the stares of the other people in the kitchen as he walked toward her. This close, he caught the scent of her perfume, something bright with a hint of coconuts and sunshine.
“I have some antacids and some Bonine.” She was speaking English now.
She turned and bumped into his arm with her elbow.
She blanched and stepped back, almost as if she feared he would strike her.
The movement chilled him to the core, and he hated that he inspired such terror. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—.”
“It’s fine.” From the way she reacted, he could tell he wouldn’t be winning her over anytime soon. Not that he needed to have her approval. She would be his sister-in-law, and that was that.
So stop looking at her tits, you fucking asshole!
But it was hard not to notice them. Not that they were in his face exactly.
She wore a very modest dress, black fabric covered with black lace, and the neckline was a demure V shape that barely hinted at the real curves hidden beneath the fabric.
That was the problem. He wanted to see more of that silky skin.
“Like I said,” she recovered with a too-wide smile, “I have antacids and anti-nausea meds.”
He took the Bonine from her hand and hated how badly he wanted to touch her fingers. She clearly wanted him to hurry up and move away from her as quickly as possible. He shook the sleeve of sealed tablets from the Bonine box and tore one dose free.
She walked to a cabinet, grabbed a glass and filled it with water. “Here.”
He followed the anti-nausea medication with two of the chewable antacids. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Her gaze flitted to the door on the opposite side of the kitchen where a young man appeared with an empty tray in one hand and another with dirty champagne flutes balancing on the other.
“We’re running low on champagne and mixers. We need more canapes—and a fucking prayer that Dafina slows down on the booze before she ends up—.” The young man stopped as soon as he saw Luka. His eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean—.”
“Yes, thank you, Nestor.” She cut him off before he could dig his hole any deeper. “I’ll go back with you to get a handle on the situation.”
“Does she do this often? Your sister? Run off and show up late to important events?” Luka didn’t like sounding accusatory, but he needed to know. “Drink too much?”
“No! Of course not!” A lie? A pink flush crept across her face. “I’m sure she got stuck in traffic.”
“There wasn’t much traffic on the way here.”
“Well, you were probably coming from different directions.” She snatched the medications and placed them back in her purse. “I’m sure your family is missing you, and I know Dafina is excited to see you.”
“Yes,” he agreed, certain Marley was getting tired of playing referee between Besian and Artan by now. “I didn’t get your name.”
“Elona.”
“Elona,” he repeated. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“We’ve met.” This time she dared to meet his gaze. Defiance sparked in her eyes, and God help him. He liked the flare of ire reflected in her strange irises. She switched back to Albanian and said, “You probably don’t remember because you were busy washing the blood from your hands.”
There it was. The knife he had been expecting since setting foot inside this house.
“Careful,” Luka warned, also in Albanian to keep their conversation private from the onlookers. “We’re about to be family. It’s better we don’t start comparing who has more blood on their hands.”
“Are you afraid you’ll come up short because you make others do your dirty work and my father always handled his personally?
” She seemed just as shocked as he was that those biting words came out of that pouty mouth.
She kept her chin high, but she gulped nervously, chin quavering as she realized what she had said and to whom.
“Your father was a treacherous coward.”
“And yours was any better?”
“You don’t know the first thing about my father. He was a great man—.”
“Yes,” she said with a bitter laugh. “A great man who killed my pregnant aunt when—.”
“That was an accident,” he interrupted brusquely. “She shouldn’t have even been there.”
“Oh, so it’s her fault that she was getting into her husband’s car in front of her own house to drive to a doctor’s appointment?”
“Your uncle knew better. He should have kept her home where she belonged—.”
“She should have lived like a prisoner because the men in our families were being stupid and reckless?”
“It was a war your family started!”
“According to your side.”
“According to all sides!” He hated that he was raising his voice and losing his temper, and she was calm and responding in measured tones. “Your father killed mine.”
“And your father murdered a pregnant woman and a baby that never had a chance to be born,” Elona cruelly reminded him. “Whatever my father’s faults—and I’m sure he had many—he never broke the rules. He abided by the code—and your father trampled it. Your father was a murderous pig.”
How dare she act like her father was some fucking saint! She had no fucking clue, and he burned with the urge to put her in her place.
“A pig?” He raked his gaze over her from head to toe, all while scowling with contempt at her high-handed haughtiness. “I suppose you would know best.”
She reared back as if he had slapped her across the face. Maybe he should have. He suspected the pain would have been more fleeting.
As soon as he made that fucked up dig at her weight, he hated himself. His chest tightened, and he felt like the biggest, meanest piece of shit on the planet. He had no right to say that. None. He had crossed the line in the cruelest way possible.
And why? Because she got under his skin? Because she was brave enough to tell him the truth? Because she had a point?
She had wounded his pride, so he had slashed at hers, cutting through to the vulnerable marrow and leaving her exposed and injured.
“Yes,” she said calmly in English. “I suppose I would.”
His heart hammered against his chest, and the apology he owed her remained on the tip of his tongue. He just had to open his mouth and say the words.
But he couldn’t do it.
He pivoted toward the door and left the tense, silent kitchen. He barely had a chance to compose himself before he stepped into the reception. Instantly, his gaze settled on the bombshell beauty standing between Artan and Nikolai. Dafina. In the flesh.
This sister favored the mother. Silky, shiny blonde hair.
Gorgeous face with perfectly applied makeup.
Glittering jewelry. Artfully manicured nails.
A pale pink dress that bared one shoulder and a teasing triangle of skin along the right side of her ribcage.
She looked effortlessly sexy and was exactly the sort of woman he would have chosen as his future wife.
Except, when she smiled at him, he felt nothing. Not excitement. Not hope. Not even distaste.
“Luka.” Dafina strode toward him with a welcoming grin. She grasped both his hands, and her floral perfume swirled around him, leaving him a bit dizzy. “I’m so glad you’re finally here!”
“I’m glad to be here.” Why was it so easy to lie to her? Why was it so easy for her to lie to him? Was this what his future would be? Fake smiles and lies?
“So far so good with our families all in the same room again.” Dafina kept hold of his hand.
“Yes.” He mustered a smile and hoped it was convincing.
She gave his hands an encouraging squeeze. She leaned in close, as if to kiss his cheek, and whispered, “I have plans for us after dinner.”
“Oh?” He recognized that sultry tone and the flutter of her bedroom eyes.
She wasn’t the first woman to come onto him so strongly.
In a way, he was glad she was making the first move.
This whole arranged marriage thing was awkward as fuck, and he suspected things would be much simpler and smoother if they just had sex and cleared that hurdle.
“I’m not wearing any underwear,” she whispered hotly against his ear. “If you’re interested in a little amouse-bouche before dinner.”
He appreciated the play on words, and any other night, he would have been intensely curious about sampling what she had to offer.
Tonight, all he could think about was the sister back in the kitchen who he had insulted so cruelly. The sister who was overseeing the meal they were about to eat.
Dafina’s lips brushed across his cheek, and the kiss was like a warning scald. Maybe Besian was right about having Poison Control on speed dial, after all.