Chapter 24
twenty-four
“You need to relax, Ava,” Leon instructs as he leads me around the large space he cleared in the formal dining room. The suave Italian is trying his best to turn my two left feet into dancing feet. Which is like trying to turn an ugly duckling into a swan.
It only happens in fairy tales.
I am under no impression that I am Cinderella. In fact, I am more likely to be one of her flat-footed stepsisters. Leon winces as my heeled shoe stepps on his black leather Louboutin Greggo for the fifth time.
“At this point, we might have to surgically remove those shoes with how swollen his toes will be.” Vas cracks up from the sidelines where he is playing DJ.
This is utterly humiliating, and both Dima and Vas are getting far more entertainment from my pain than they should be.
Leon swears under his breath in Italian as he signals for Vas to cut the music.
“How do you not know how to waltz?” he asks me. “Didn’t Elias take you to parties?”
I snort. “Yeah, but I was never allowed to dance. I was an ornament, nothing more. Do you honestly think he’d allow for me to have a modicum of fun and entertainment?” I scoffed. “That would take away from his entertainment, which was making me as uncomfortable as possible.”
Leon sighs, running a hand through his dark Italian locks.
“The gala is only a week away, and you need to learn to blend in, Ava,” Dima speaks up from the sidelines.
“Matthias hates to dance anyway, so I should be fine,” I point out.
Something is off. The three of them exchange uncomfortable glances, their gazes avoiding mine. I don’t need Matthias’s fancy body language knowledge to know they are hiding something. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Vas coughs, his mouth twisting in distaste.
“You aren’t going as Matthias’s date.” His tone is hard and almost akin to disgust. This decision is apparently one he doesn’t agree with. From the looks on all three of their faces, none of them agree with their boss.
“So what?” I ask, fearing I already know the answer. “We’re going stag?”
Dima shakes his head, arms crossed against his chest.
“You’ll be going as my date,” Leon huffs. “Matthias has…”
“His own date,” I finish for the Italian. Of course he has his own date. Besides his inner circle and Liam’s main men, no one knows we are married. Matthias, it would seem, wants to keep it that way.
“Okay.” I take a long, slow breath as I gather myself together.
We have a job to do, and I won’t let this affect me.
I’d play his game, for now, but it won’t be long before all bets are off.
I need more of those delicious orgasms he gave me, and I’ll get as many as I can while I can. “Let’s do this.”
“Remember,” Leon reminds me as we take our stance. “Let me lead.”
Several hours later and more than a few colorful curses, we are done.
Fuck, my feet hurt like hell. Who likes wearing heels and dancing around like that all night? It is ridiculous. I sit at one end of the tub, letting the salted water lap at my bruised and sore feet.
Leon is a taskmaster, and I refused to give up.
It has nothing to do with representing Leon at the gala.
I could give two shits about what some stodgy paper pushers think of my waltz.
I want to show up Matthias. The man who refuses to publicly acknowledge we are even married.
Instead, the asshole decides to attend the function with one of Vivian’s hookers or something.
Wonder-fuckin-ful.
There is a moment, while I am staring out the window of the high-rise, watching as the city below comes to life under the light of the moon, that I wonder what it’s really like out there.
Streetlamps flicker on. Neon signs light up the darkened alleyways.
Men and women leave the safety of their homes, dressed in their best clothes, hair done up, ready to hit the city’s clubs for a night of fun and debauchery.
Something I’ve never experienced.
I already said Matthias was playing a game with me.
Now it is my turn to play one right back.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to live a little for once in my life.
After all, girls just wanna have fun.
The satin red dress clings to my every curve like a second skin, its ruched sides leaving my upper thighs nearly bare, showcasing the brand-new needlework etched into the right side.
I feel like every man’s wet dream.
My vibrant ginger hair is tucked beneath a long blond wig, my face painted with the utmost care in shades of neutrals that don’t detract from the red matte lipstick that graces my full plump lips.
The wig itches slightly, but it is the only way I can go out without worrying about one of Christian’s goons recognizing me. Hell, I barely recognize myself, especially with the new artwork painting my normally bare skin.
It’s just past ten o’clock on Saturday night. I made an excuse to Vasily and Leon last night after I soaked my burning feet into a prune-like state, giving them a vague excuse about why I am spending the night at McDonough’s instead of at the penthouse.
There is no lie to what I told them. I had uttered that what I needed was space, and that is true; I do. The staunch atmosphere of the penthouse is beginning to suffocate me. The boys are rarely there, and Matthias’s ability to pretend I don’t exist has reached an all-time high.
What I didn’t tell them about are the few pit stops I planned along the way, or what my Saturday night would consist of. Seamus and Kiernan have been more than excited to show me the tattoo shop they own and they finally got the chance to bring me in.
It was managed by a middle-aged man named Ioan, who was an all-star in the ink community.
He stood a bit taller than the twins, with muscles that rivaled Maksim’s.
His hair was a Galway black, eyes as blue as the ocean, and his smile could melt the panties off any lady.
Hell, there was a line of women eyeing him up in the waiting room, ready to shoot their shot with him by bravely getting tattooed.
More than a few of them had given me the stink eye as the Irish gentleman happily led me past his other waiting walk-ins to his booth in the back, talking animatedly about ideas for my own ink.
The thrum of the needle against my skin was heaven. Each time he drew the needle across my thigh as he etched his artwork onto my body, my body felt alive. It wasn’t the same tingle of electricity that skated up my body when Matthias caused me pain that mingled dangerously with my pleasure.
No. This was something different altogether.
A new form of freedom that had never existed before.
Matthias once said my body belonged to him, and in a way, it did.
It always would, but it was also mine. Libby, Kenzi, and I had always dreamed of getting matching tattoos, and once he was done with the piece on my thigh, I had him do three small ones behind my right ear.
Three small birds in flight.
The design was nothing extravagant, but Ioan sensed there was meaning behind the tattoo.
“Ready to see it?” he asked as he handed me a mirror. “Let’s start with your leg.”
Slowly, he helped me stand while Seamus brought over a full-length mirror. I gasped at the imagery in front of me. Ioan had completely freehanded the complex design, and I was taken aback at such an accurate representation.
“You were never a lamb, my dear. You were always a wolf.”
When the tattooist had asked what he could use as inspiration, I’d given him the words Dante had left me with.
I looked at a juxtaposed design of a female with curly locks, melded together with a snarling wolf. The entire piece was black and white, except the eyes of the woman and the wolf were a stark emerald green.
Just like mine.
It was absolutely stunning, and I told him so. But it was the three simple birds behind my ear that had me tearing up. Maybe one day I’d find Kenzi, and she’d get them too. A tribute to our lost sister.
The bass of Clover sounded even from across the street, the line stretching for blocks as people waited in anticipation of finally being let into one of Seattle’s most exclusive venues.
Also owned by my brothers.
“You look fucking stunning, sis,” Seamus crows as he moves in beside me. Kiernan flanks my other side.
They are no slouches themselves. Their normally unruly red hair is combed back, and they replaced their normal everyday wear of jeans and T-shirts with black trousers and matching jade green button-down shirts.
Panties are going to spontaneously combust tonight.
I can already see a few of the women in line eyeing them up like they are nothing more than sizzling pieces of meat to be bitten into and spit back out.
The boys lead me forward, past the red velvet rope and into the smoky atmosphere of the club. When I told them I’ve never been to a club before and I wanted to give it a try, they were more than happy to drag me out with them—with a few added stipulations, of course.
The wig is a must and something I didn’t argue about. I always wanted to be blond like my sisters. I also have to always stay within one of their sights and am under no circumstances allowed to leave without them.
I didn’t plan on most of those things anyway, so I shrugged and agreed.
“Oh my gosh!” Someone grabs my arm, yanking me away from the twins and into a warm hug. “I’m so excited to meet you.”
Pulling free from the grasp, I am prepared to fight. Until the twins come up beside my supposed attacker with broad smiles on their matching faces.
“Jesus, Margaret,” Seamus chuckles. “Ye almost got yourself clocked by your cousin without even being introduced.”
“Cousin?” My mouth parts slightly as I stare at the woman before me.
She is gorgeous. A curvy dark-haired bombshell with pale Robin’s egg eyes and a freckled face.
She wears a pair of tight-fitting black leggings and a green tank top.
Her heels, like mine, give her a bit of height, but she still stands a good inch or two shorter than me.