Chapter 5
SETH
Damiano finds a pretty woman to dance with. I think she’s Edmund’s cousin. I watch the two of them sway to the music. Damiano’s having a grand old time.
Me, not so much.
I hate weddings. Every time I attend one, I remember my brother’s. That was six years ago. Fucking hell. What a mistake I thought he and Madison were making. They were so fucking young.
I don’t know if youth was their bigger crime, or the fact they wouldn’t listen to me—the older, wiser brother. “I know what I’m doing, Seth. I love her. Stop trying to be Dad.”
It was a stupid argument. If I’d been Dad, I wouldn’t have cared at all.
Maybe in the end it’s good that they got married. He got to be happy with her for the rest of his life. He only lived for another year, because fuck motorcycles.
Either way, tonight’s wedding has been pretty okay as far as weddings go. Extra points for the whole fairy garden theme, and for holding it outdoors. If I had to suffer through this in some stuffy reception hall, I’d grab the cake knife and stab myself in the chest.
Oh, and extra points for the cookies. I can’t get enough of these things. I’ve probably eaten an entire tray, all on my own. When a server steps out of the catering tent, I sit up and start drooling like Pavlov’s dog. She’s facing away at first, struggling with the canvas door.
“Hurry up,” I mutter under my breath. I dab at the crumbs left on my plate. I could really use another cookie or twenty.
She finally wins her fight with the door, then spins around to face the party, cookie tray held aloft.
Fuck. Me.
She sees me at the same time I see her. Those pouty lips turn down in a frown. Her cheeks were already flushed—probably from her frustration getting out of the tent. Now the blush deepens as her green eyes zero in on my face.
She drops the tray of cookies. She freezes as they cascade to the ground, her lips parted in surprise and dismay. Then she bends down to start picking up the fallen desserts. Several nearby guests jump up to help her collect them.
I remain in my seat. I can’t move. I can’t fucking breathe.
One week ago, I bought her in an auction at Low Vice.
I watched her fuck Damiano because I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Fucking her would be ten thousand shades of wrong.
Even though her pert breasts had my mouth watering more than cookies ever will.
Even though the sight of her plump lips kissing Damiano drove me insane with lust. Even though her needy sounds echo in my head.
Even though I wake up hard every morning after her face has floated in and out of my dreams.
I can’t have her. But I want her so fucking bad.
I won’t do it, though. I won’t pursue her. Not then, not now, not ever.
* * *
DAMIANO
She’s here. My beautiful angel. I haven’t been able to put her from my mind, even going so far as to pester Seth for her information. He claims he doesn’t have her number, that he lost it after his brother died. A lie, no doubt. I thought I was going to have to hack his phone.
But now, here she is.
Her black pants fit snugly over her hips and ass. Her white blouse is boring and shapeless, but I know what she looks like beneath the fabric.
I make my excuses to my dance partner.
Half a dozen guests rush to help Madison pick up the cookies she spilled. She blushes and stammers her thanks before straightening to return to the caterer’s tent.
Only to find me, blocking her way.
“Miss M,” I say in a low voice. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Her eyes go wide. “Damiano.”
A lady’s workplace isn’t the proper venue for asking her out on a date, but I don’t have many options. “Please. Give me your phone number.”
“I—”
“Madison, we need some help in here,” a woman calls out from the tent.
“Be right there,” she calls back, giving me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I just—”
“Please—your number, bella.”
She recites a string of digits and I dutifully copy them into my phone.
“Thank you.” I want to lift her hand in mine, to kiss it, but she’s clutching her tray like it’s a buoy and she’s adrift in the sea.
Her gaze goes past my shoulder and she pales. “I shouldn’t—I should go.”
In the time it takes me to look over my shoulder and see Seth glowering at us, she disappears into the tent.
Swearing under my breath, I go to confront my friend.
* * *
MADISON
I dodge the curious looks of my coworkers. None of them ask me questions outright. Of course they don’t. It would require interacting with me. Speaking to me.
I wish I knew what made them hate me from the start.
I’ve wasted so much time thinking about it already, though, that I refuse to prod the question again.
All I know is that my first few days on the job, nobody went out of their way to help me.
Nobody went out of their way to befriend me.
When I asked about plans after work, thinking I’d invite people out for drinks to bond, I was coldly informed that they already had plans.
Those “plans” were a standing arrangement for drinks at a local bar. All of them.
One year working here, and have I ever been invited? Nope.
It hurts, but I’m used to it. Maybe I thought the job would bring friendships, even casual friendships, but I was wrong.
And that’s not the purpose of a job, anyway.
I’m supposed to work. Get paid. Use the money for rent and food.
Never have anything left over. Pray to the gods of capitalism that I don’t have an emergency or health scare.
We finish cleaning up, stacking dirty trays onto our carts to roll into the vans. I work side-by-side with Jaclyn. I can tell she’s dying of curiosity about Damiano, but she keeps her lips stubbornly pressed together.
Thanks to her, I haven’t had a day off in over a week, so fuck her curiosity.
Jaclyn and I grab the last two carts and exit the tent.
“Miss M.” Damiano appears, standing in the middle of the cobblestone path in his fine suit. “Madison. May I speak with you?”
Jaclyn shoots me a dirty look. She wants to get out of here. Glinda’s nephew, Raleigh, is throwing a party and everyone else is already on their way.
“I can’t talk right now.” I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he volunteers.
I widen my eyes at him, trying to signal that this is a very bad idea. Jaclyn is too nosy. I don’t want to give her or any of my other coworkers more reasons to dislike me, or gossip about me, or whatever the fuck is going on in their petty little heads.
“I understand.” He touches my shoulder lightly, but I feel a zing of pleasure all the way down to my toes. “I will call you later.”
Jaclyn clears her throat. She’s reached the van and she’s waiting for me to unlock it. If she scowled any harder, she’d hurt herself.
I give Damiano a little wave. “I’ll talk to you later.”
He leans forward and kisses my cheek, surprising me. And leaving no doubt in my head that he isn’t seeking friendship. He wants more of what we did last week.
I want to watch as he walks away, but Jaclyn’s disapproval is emanating off her in frigid waves.
“It’s really inappropriate of you to flirt with wedding guests,” she sneers as we roll our carts up the little ramp and into the van. “Glinda won’t be happy when she hears about this.”
“Mmm.” I press my fingertips to my cheek, right where Damiano’s lips were a moment ago. I feel warm, loose.
“Are you even listening? God, pay attention.” She holds out her hand. “Give me the keys—I’m driving.”
I don’t hand them over until I’m buckled into the passenger seat. She’d probably leave without me, if given half a chance.