Chapter 8
Hyacinth
Lily pulls out two beautiful dresses for us. Looking in the mirror, I feel I’m playing a part in a movie or show. It’s dress-up. Not real. This isn’t the real me.
Blue silk cascades down with a faint sheen of glitter.
Sweetheart neckline that accentuates my breasts.
It’s gorgeous, even on me. Secretly, it’s the prom dress I never had, but I don’t tell my sister that.
Her clucks of sympathy are unnecessary at this juncture.
She has never understood what it’s like to feel fat, frumpy, overlooked.
And tonight, she is as stunning as always.
I let her do my make-up and style my hair.
And as we gaze at ourselves in the mirror, we are two princess sisters embarking on an evening of…
what? Dinner and dancing? Hardly. Confrontation with her fiancé?
I can only hope. It feels like a lot of work to be transformed just for a meal I probably won’t be able to stomach.
Lily walks away to change her earrings again, and as I stare at myself, I can’t help but wonder what Sting would think if he saw me like this.
Would he like it? How could he not, with the cinched in waist and very exposed bosom top?
But would it disappoint him the next day to see me in my casual everyday attire?
I don’t know. Imagining his tail finding its way under my dress, inching up around my calf, up to my thigh, while his hands grip my hips, pulling me close to him, sends a shiver of want through me.
Makes all of whatever it is I’m doing with my sister, seem useless to what I want to be doing.
Another touch up, Lily puts something shiny on my lips. Now I really feel like a spectacle.
By the time the elevator opens, releasing us into the bustle of voices, clanking of slots, and various beats of music all competing with each other, I’ve lost the idea of being a princess and sinking into the role.
I want to go back upstairs to where it’s quiet.
Closing my eyes, I pretend to be Dorothy clicking her heels to take her home.
Except the image in my mind isn’t home. It’s the desert, in front of a low-lying adobe ranch style home, complete with a pet fox with giant ears sitting outside the door. Waiting for me.
I release my sigh, open my eyes, straighten my back, and walk beside Lily into the fray of party-goers and vacationers.
Aren’t we vacationers, too? I suppose Lily is, but I’m just here to keep track of her.
Her sister, the bodyguard. That thought loosens a smile on my lips and I walk a little taller.
As we approach the Michelin Star restaurant where we are supposed to eat, Patrick waves his arms at us from the blackjack table, smarmy grin on his face.
“Lily! My doll. I’m so glad you’re okay!
” He gestures at us to come to him, scooping up the air between us, willing Lily toward him.
There’s only one other person at the table beside the dealer, and they both ignore us.
Patrick pulls Lily into his arms. She lets him, but I see her movements are stiff. Good.
When Patrick looks at me, it’s not a loving future brother-in-law gaze.
It’s thinly veiled disdain. I raise my eyebrows at him, letting him I know I see him, and I don’t like what I see.
He oozes something sickly sweet to Lily, and she demurs, tucking her head against his shoulder.
He doesn’t say anything to me, instead, hands black chips to Lily and whispers to her.
She places them on the table for his bet.
“Was it on purpose?” I ask, voice clear and loud over the background din, ignoring the look the other player gives me for disrupting the round. Lily doesn’t look at me, but at Patrick. A look of shock crosses his face, then smooth over into that same smarmy grin.
“What? The tour tragedy? Of course not.”
“Lily said you were surprised to hear from her. Like you intended to never hear from her again.” My hands are on my hips now. I don’t care about dinner or gambling, about propriety, about this silly dress. I want answers. “You know we almost died out there, right?”
“Almost isn’t the same as actually dying, now is it?” Lily jerks away from him at those words. Back to my side. She grasps my hand and holds on tight. “It would have been an easy end to all of this. Now I have to be more creative.”
“Why not call off the wedding like a normal, decent human being?”
“So blasé. If she dies, I can have some media attention. Right before my new product line of apps launches. It will be good to have my name already circulating in the news and on social media.”
“You aren’t worthy of being the scum on the bottom of my boot.” The deep voice growling behind me surprises me, even as I’m trying to form my own retort, and sends a shot of pure desire straight to my core.
Somehow, while trying to process how I’m hearing Sting’s voice, and wondering if it’s a delayed hallucination from the desert, he stands in front of me. Between my sister and me and Patrick.
And he looks like he stepped straight out of a James Bond movie…with a cowboy theme. Black tux, creases sharp enough to slice a finger, and a very clean and nice black cowboy hat and polished cowboy boots as he casually leans against the blackjack table. Wow.
“Who the hell are you?” Patrick asks, fingering the edge of his cards as he takes a small step back from Sting.
The dealer clears her throat, giving Patrick and Sting a you are disturbing the class sort of look.
Patrick steps back up to the table, reaching out, tugging Lily to him.
Not to protect her though, to claim her and use her as a buffer between him and Sting. Coward.
“I’m the man who rescued these women from dying in the desert.
Sting.” He tips his hat, not to Patrick, but to us.
No, not even us. Just me. His eyes pierce me with their intensity.
I’m all he is looking at. A brief lick of his lips as he takes in my chest, and I am simultaneously blushing hard and heated between my thighs.
“Uh, that’s a goofy name. You don’t look like you’re in a rock band.” I wince at the similar words to what I said to him. Though I must admit, my tone wasn’t quite as derisive as Patrick’s.
“Not all heroes are part of a British rock band,” Sting says without any hint of humor or irony, but it makes me smile all the same.
His tail stretches out, curled around his side, aimed at Patrick.
It’s not arched up high, but still visible and dangerous looking.
I can hear the intake of breath from Patrick at the sight of the tail.
It’s deadly looking. I know I should be afraid of it, too, but I’m not.
Seeing it, seeing him, makes me know what I want more than anything.
Just have to get through this hellish experience.
When Lily catches my eye and I turn to her, I see her eyes are bugging out her head.
Why is he here? She mouths silently at me.
I just shrug. Did we tell him what hotel we were at?
I don’t remember. I don’t care; I’m happy he’s here.
Not happy. More than happy, a feeling of relief floods me while at the same time bubbles of something that might be hope float through me. He came for me.
“Good evening, sir. I am going to have to ask you to step away if you aren’t playing the game,” The dealer says calmly, not skipping a beat at the sight of Sting’s magnificent tail.
“Deal me in, ma’am,” he says, a rasp in his voice.
“Excuse me, I was having a conversation with my fiancée.” Patrick waves a hand, an attempt to dismiss Sting, as if he’s someone lowly he can boss around.
“Yes, and I’m here to see that you don’t bother either of these ladies again.
” Sting places his bet, his scarred fingers carefully dropping a neat stack of chips on the table.
I rest a hand on the table to steady myself, letting my fingers rub the green felt a little to soothe myself.
I’m not a fan personally of gambling, but watching this scene unfold is catnip to my brain.
Just like with the kit foxes, he is gruff and strong, yet so tender and gentle with small things.
I want those fingers to trace the edges of me like they trace the edge of his cards.
To my right is my sister and my…wannabe lover?
? I have to swallow hard to reconcile that word in my mind.
Yes, that’s who he is. Then, there’s her awful fiancé.
The primal urge to pull my sister away from me and Sting tingles in my fingertips.
Yanking her by the hair would feel so satisfying right now.
I mean, I love her, but she’s gotten herself into a pickle, and now she is blocking me from my scorpion cowboy.
I place a hand gently on her arm to get her attention. I need her to move out of my way. Patrick’s voice, a slight whine to it, pipes up, stopping me from whispering to Lily. “I think you are the bother. Much like an irritable insect. Lily is mine, and I will do with her as I please.”
There’s a flash of movement and a squeal of alarm. Next thing I know, Sting’s tail is extended, it’s point tip arched and aimed directly at Patrick’s chest. The squeal came from Patrick.
“Excuse me, neither of these women are yours. They belong to themselves. And no, your job should be to do what she wants. But it’s clear you aren’t intelligent enough for that instruction.
You aren’t talking to either of these ladies.
Or touching them. Or even thinking about them.
Ever again. You’re lucky to walk out of here on your own two feet.
” Sting steps close to Patrick, towering over him, and whispers something I can’t make out.