13. Best Man Wins
13
BEST MAN WINS
Dahlia
The Present
T here’s a party tonight at The Empress, and I refuse to sit at home alone sulking. I’m assuming Rian’s in a meeting with Damiano and Li because I haven’t seen any of them since I got here. When it comes to Rian’s business affairs, I know better than to pry.
Lesson. Learned.
I spend an hour at the bar drinking my sorrows away and wondering where I went wrong with my life. Alejandro’s words run on a loop inside my head and no matter how much it hurts to relive all the cruel things he said to me, I can’t help but wonder if there’s any truth to it. Was I sabotaging my relationships with Diego and Lettie on purpose or was it a side effect of my heartbreak? Things between Lettie and I fizzled out slowly and painfully. Phone calls became strained, text messages became short and vague, stretched over periods of time that became longer and longer. At least Diego and I still speak but not about anything of importance. Our conversations usually have to do with my finances.
Diego and Lettie were the closest I ever got to having a real family. My parents didn’t have more children after me and while I may have been raised surrounded by cousins and extended family, it isn’t the same. In Barcelona, it felt like I was part of something. Like I belonged to their family unit instead of being an afterthought. A random cousin who got taken in because they didn’t have anyone else.
I pull out my phone and start drafting a text. My fingers hesitate over the send icon but I hit it before I lose my nerve.
Me: Your brother is driving me crazy. Just like old times.
I almost don’t expect her to respond right away. It’s not even seven in the morning yet in Spain but I’m surprised by the message I receive less than a minute later.
Lettie: Unfortunately for you, I’m in Dubai right now. Which means he’s your problem for the foreseeable future.
Me: Dubai?!?
Lettie: for a friend’s birthday
The conversation fizzles out on its own. What else is there to say? Lettie didn’t elaborate any further, and coming up with more questions to ask her is like pulling teeth. Is Alejandro right? Is the damage I’ve done irreparable?
Suddenly, I’ve lost interest in this party and the plans I had for the evening. I shove my phone in my purse and look around for either Damiano or Rian, hoping that whatever meeting they had has finally come to an end. As if in answer to my prayers, I spot Rian upstairs.
He emerges from one of the halls of The Empress’s second floors, expression grim. With both hands shoved into his pockets, he stops at the railing, jaw clenched, and making no effort to come to me once we lock gazes.
A moment later, two more figures appear from the shadowy halls. Strobe lights dance across the mezzanine and bring them out of the darkness, illuminating the cutting structure of Li’s high cheekbones and the halo of blond hair atop Damiano’s head. They’re deep in conversation and I’m about to leave my seat at the bar to join them when the last of their group files out onto the mezzanine.
Sasha Antonov.
He towers over the rest, not in height, but in stature, the broad width of his strong shoulders accentuated by the heavy black coat clinging to his figure. He’s a shock of ink black hair and ivory white skin, eyes an everchanging shade of volcanic gray. Standing beside him and equally as imposing, a rare feat next to a man as big as Sasha, is Alejandro.
Head bowed, he listens intently to what Sasha is saying, expression indecipherable. Thick, sizzling tension absorbs the air in the room and I watch with emergent apprehension as Alejandro gives a single, firm nod of the head. Both men shake hands and Rian casts a glance over his shoulder at the conversation taking place between his estranged half brother and Alejandro. Dread drops like a fifty-pound weight in the pit of my stomach and when Damiano eventually catches my gaze he gives a quick shake of the head.
I’m not sure what it means but I don’t have to wait long. Alejandro takes his leave of the rest of the men—shaking hands with Li curtly but affording Damiano a shocking amount of courtesy and familiarity—and when he’s met with Rian, nothing transpires. They merely exchange glances in acknowledgement of the other’s presence and he descends the stairs. Halfway down, he catches sight of me at the bar and almost misses the next step.
I can’t stop looking at him.
I hate it.
Alejandro is an objectively attractive man. Gorgeous, even. But the initial spark of appearance driven lust was short-lived. At least on my part. During those first few weeks of our courtship before the night in Vallvidrera, I’d been enamored by him. He smiled often enough, was polite and amiable, always a generous host with the patrons of El Aliciente. But those real smiles, his expressions of joy or amusement, were always slightly off balance. His lips are full and beautifully shaped and when he’d laugh, one corner would always kick up higher than the other. The expression would spread to his eyes where the delicate skin there would crinkle just slightly, hinting at what will one day, many decades from now, be deep laugh lines.
What I loved most were his eyes. They’re so expressive, even without trying, that elusive shade of hazel evading true definition, never lasting as one particular shade long enough for one to memorize it. His thick, dark wavy hair, his golden skin, the sound of his voice whenever he said my name.
A pang of longing and loss runs through me, forcing me to look away.
I miss the way he used to say my name. My God, my heart used to sing whenever he called for me. Now when he says my name there’s weight in his voice. As if three syllables and six letters are such a burden for him to say that the sound is heavy when it leaves his lips. I remember when my name used to be his favorite word. He’d say it whenever, wherever, with such freeness one would wonder if it was really my name he was saying and not his own.
I miss the way he used to love me. The truth of this realization hits me with such intense vulnerability and rawness that when someone settles into the seat beside me, I don’t bother to turn my head and look.
“ Dahlia. ”
My eyes flutter shut.
There it is. That. Weight.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Ordering a drink.” The bartender approaches and leaves a bourbon on the rocks on the counter in front of him. Alejandro sits beside me and leans back until the stool is balanced on its hind legs. “What are you doing here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” I look up. “Why were you talking to Sasha?”
A flicker of surprise dances across Alejandro’s features before his mouth settles into a deep scowl. I can’t remember the last time he smiled at me. “Of course…let me guess, was he another one of your conquests?”
Resentment burns through me. “Jealous?”
“No.” He answers with such confidence it grates my nerves. “You’ll get over it eventually.”
“I will not.”
“You can only give yourself over to so many men, so many times, before your body collapses from the sheer exhaustion of trying to forget me.” He takes a leisurely sip of his drink. “Though the effort is admirable.”
“You’re a deplorable creature.”
“Do you love him?” His question is blunt and matter of fact. He doesn’t need to elaborate for me to know he’s asking about Rian.
“Madly. Deeply. Obsessively,” I reply with equal quickness. “And I’m dying for you to leave so I can get on with my life.”
When he laughs, the sound is laced with irony. He lifts the rim of his glass to his lips and finishes the rest of his bourbon in a single go. “Whatever you say, Dee.”
“What were you guys talking about up there?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“How do you know Damiano?”
The bartender passes by, and Alejandro lifts a finger. In seconds, the bartender replenishes his drink and something clicks. Alejandro never actually asked for what he wanted…
“You’ve been here before.”
He quirks a brow. “Someone’s clever.”
Fuck my life.
Of course, the one place I went to get away from him is also the one place in the entire city he has a connection to.
“Alex, I’m not fucking around with you. Why were all of you upstairs together? What were you talking about?”
He turns and rocks back and forth on his seat, balancing himself with a single hand on the bar. “You came here trying to escape me and have no idea just how deeply you’ve entangled yourself.” He studies me a moment, likely deciding how much he should tell me. “Damiano’s great-grandfather gave Abuelo his start in the shipping business. His cousin, Vincenzo, is the one who helped me take care of Ibanez and Montenegro.”
He goes on. “Rian, as I’m sure you’ve already figured out, is the one who gave me the call when we were at Moises and Bertha’s. Sasha is a business acquaintance, and Li is a necessary evil.”
I open my mouth to ask why he dislikes Li so much but decide against it.
Instead, I say, “Don’t retaliate against him.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Am I supposed to believe it’s a coincidence you and Sasha are such friendly acquaintances?” I reply. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t. They’re brothers, Alex, just like you and Diego. They’re trying to get along for their mother’s sake, and if you get between them?—”
“I don’t have to do anything. They’ll tear each other apart without my having to lift a finger.”
I don’t know why I bother. There’s no getting through to him. My best bet is to speak to Rian and see what I can find out because I don’t have a good feeling about this.
I hop off the bar stool and go to leave, but he catches me by the waist.
“You are…” His eyes sweep over my figure, drinking in every inch of me. “ Beautiful .”
Gripping his wrist, I shove him off me. “Don’t touch me.”
Amusement colors his features and he takes another sip of his drink. “Is he still up there?”
I can’t help but look toward the mezzanine. Rian’s there, examining us like wild animals in a cage.
“He’s looking at us as if he’s dying to know what it’s like. Unfortunately, I’ve never been much of an exhibitionist.”
Fire whips through me. It rises to my cheeks and the tips of my ears, intensified by the smile of satisfaction on his lips. I snatch my purse off the bar and make to leave when he starts to rock back on his seat again. In a last-minute surge of indignation, I pass by him and shove two fingers into his shoulders. There isn’t much force behind it but as the bar stool is already off balance, teetering on its hind legs, it sends him crashing backward.
I smile all the way upstairs.
“ W hat did you guys talk about?”
Rian doesn’t answer right away. He approaches the bar cart in Li’s office and pours himself a drink.
“Narvaez is one of the club’s investors. He came to announce he’s selling his shares.”
“To whom?”
“Who else?” he practically seethes. “Sasha.”
Of course. Sneaky bastard.
“The Empress isn’t just a club. There’s more tied into this place,” he says. “With Sasha involved, it could get bloody.”
“You mean complicated?”
He grinds down on a piece of ice. “ No .”
I decide to change the subject. “Did he say anything about me?”
“Surprisingly, he didn’t,” Rian replies. “What did he say to you?”
I settle into one of the leather chairs and cross my legs. “Nothing important.”
“Didn’t look that way from where I was standing.” His grip tightens around the crystal tumbler. “He’s very comfortable touching you.”
I fiddle with the hem of my silver dress, hoping to avoid his scrutiny. “I didn’t notice.”
Rian doesn’t reply right away. He finishes his drink and then walks over to Li’s desk, leaning against it as he stands across from me. Silence passes between us and he folds his hands in front of himself, lost deep in thought.
“If I asked you something, would you tell me the truth?”
I reply, “Depends on what you ask.”
He gives a subtle nob. “All right. What happened between you two?”
God…where do I start? And do I want to tell him?
If ever there’s a time for me to commit or quit, it’s now. Either let Rian all the way in or walk away before anyone can get hurt. It doesn’t take me long to decide.
“We met a few years ago. I was on vacation in Barcelona with my cousin when we got lost and stumbled across his old lounge, El Aliciente…”
H ours pass before I finally reach the end.
Rian asks questions, although only sparingly as he doesn’t want to interrupt and make me lose my train of thought. I tell him about everything that happened from the moment Alejandro entered my life until now, almost three years later. I get up, pace, sit back down, and pace again. Rian listens patiently and gives me the space I need to sort through the mess in my mind. So much has happened and at times I get overwhelmed trying to weave together a coherent narrative for him.
“Toward the end, it became unsustainable. He kept pushing me further away and I couldn’t take it anymore. He was consumed by his vendetta against Sandro and it cost him his relationship with me.”
“Not to defend him, but I’m sure he thought he was protecting you.”
“It wasn’t protection. It was torture,” I reply. “He had every opportunity to tell me the truth and he didn’t. In the end, what was it all for? Sandro’s dead but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore. I never should’ve stayed as long as I did but I loved him and I wanted to?—”
“Do you?” Rian asks. “Still love him?”
I level him with a look. “I?—”
“Don’t lie,” he says quickly, cutting off my response. “I saw it myself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the two of you are so thoroughly entangled you don’t even realize how impossible it would be to tear you apart.” He pulls away from the desk and walks past me toward the door. “And I’m not so sure I want to.”
Alejandro
D ahlia rushes down the stairs like a bolt of lightning, pushing past bystanders and drunk partygoers in her pursuit of the dance floor. Rian isn’t too far behind. With a simmering expression and his hands shoved firmly in his pockets, his razor-sharp gaze is focused in her direction.
Dahlia manages to find Damiano in the chaos and she yanks him by the arm toward the throng of bodies all grinding and swaying near the DJ’s stage. The dress she’s wearing is criminally short and I have to wonder what went through her mind when she picked it out. Not a single outfit in her closet back home looks like the one she’s wearing now, provocative and skintight, the fabric nearly sheer. Adorned with crystal fringe that glimmers and moves around her like waves of silver, the heart-shape neckline hugs her breasts as the boning in the sides cinch in her waist.
She looks different— felt different—when I touched her. Diego told me ages ago he was worried about her. Stress kept her up at night and weight was melting off her body at an alarming rate. It was the only time my resolve weakened enough to make me consider a trip to New York. But the next day when we spoke on the phone, we said things to each other I wish we could take back.
Afterward, Lettie and Diego became our intermediaries because we couldn’t have a conversation without fighting. And when those relationships became strained, the Cold War between Dahlia and I reached a stalemate as we were forced to interact with each other once more.
She moves with so much confidence and freedom; it’s like she’s stepped into someone else’s body and isn’t afraid to be seen or admired. Something heavy settles in the pit of my stomach when I realize she was never this free with me. To me, she’s always been the most beautiful woman in the world. Her eyes, her mouth, the little sigh she makes every time she says my name. The shape of her is divine, every curve lush and lovely and full, the kind of body men have immortalized through art for centuries. But I don’t think she’s ever seen herself the way I see her and I can’t help but wonder if it’s my fault for not trying hard enough.
Dahlia takes whatever drinks are handed to her and I nearly have a stroke when she lets Damiano put a pill in her mouth. It takes everything in me not to sprint across the floor and force my hand down her throat so she can spit it out. However, if I’m going to play the long game, I need to exhibit a little more patience and restraint.
That and my head is still throbbing from when she knocked me off my seat. If I get up now, I’ll be fucking delirious.
I sense movement from my peripheral and Rian stops beside me, back against the bar, eyes leering in the same direction as mine. If Dahlia grinds any lower, the hem of her dress is going to reach heights that’ll push me to commit murder.
The man beside me sighs and gestures for the bartender. “Do you want anything?”
“Two bourbons on the rocks. One for the waste of time and the other for the love of her life.”
I turn my head to face him and Rian’s eyes are narrowed to slits but even he can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re as competitive now as you were in college.”
“Competition implies the presence of an opponent.”
A minute later, the bartender leaves two drinks on the counter for us. “I think we can both agree our families are a little too closely connected for us to risk a major conflict.” Rian lifts his glass. “Best man wins?”
I grind my teeth to hold back a scoff but clank glasses with him anyway.
We sip on our bourbons and watch as a pair of men pop bottles of shaken champagne while Dahlia screams and dances under the flashing lights.
Rian sighs. “She’s doing this to piss us off.”
“I know.”
A beat passes and he looks at me. “Was she always like this?”
“Worse.” I finish my drink. “She almost got herself trafficked once just to spite me.”
My answer stuns him. “Oh…”
I reach into my wallet and leave a hundred at the bar. “Good luck, O’Neil. God knows you’re going to fucking need it.”