Page 16 of Keres

I straighten my server uniform and wiggle my ass. “Do I look presentable enough?”

He arches an eyebrow and licks his lips. “You look good enough to eat.”

I put my hand over my mouth and giggle. With a final flutter of my eyelashes, I sashay past him and into the kitchen. Once inside, I head straight for a tray of food and prepare to head out into the ballroom. Events like these always use overpriced catering companies that employ hundreds of temporary staff whose names they never bother to learn. All it took was a little online searching to confirm the usual white shirt and black miniskirt uniform for female employees. Getting ahold of the van was trickier, but not all that difficult for someone who’s been boosting cars since she was thirteen.

I push open the door with my ass, plaster on my best fake smile, and head into the crowd to search for Joey Moretti. People take canapés from my tray as I pass, and a few offer me a polite smile, but most of them simply ignore me. Catering is one of the best jobs for fading into a crowd, especially this kind of crowd. I scan the sea men dressed in tuxedos and women wearing colorful dresses that cost more than the average American makes in a whole year. It makes my blood boil to think of the obscene amount of wealth in this room alone, and how many of them acquired it by exploiting other people.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I can’t get distracted by politics right now. My food tray is empty, but I continue snaking through the crowd, even more unnoticed than before now that I have nothing anyone wants.

And then I see him—Ace Giarrusso looking finer than any man ought to look. His wide shoulders fill out his black tux and nearly block my view of the vaguely familiar-looking woman he’s chatting with. I’m studying her honey-blond hair and yellow dress, trying to place her, when Romeo comes into view. While she converses with an older couple, Romeo and Ace discreetly flank her on both sides. If they’re watching her, where the hell is Joey?

I edge closer, still hidden enough by the crowd of people that Ace and Romeo won’t see me until I want them to. The blond turns her head, giving me a good look at her face. Mia Moretti, Lorenzo’s wife. If she’s here, with Ace and Romeo clearly acting as her security detail, does that mean Joey didn’t come?

I scan the crowd even as I realize that there’s no way Max DiMarco would let his wife out of the house without her two guard dogs by her side. Shit! This wasn’t the plan. Joey was my target—fashion-conscious Joey who wouldn’t sit through a charity event with red wine staining her dress.

Dammit. I know hardly anything at all about this other woman, but a cursory glance tells me she’s well put together. I guess money will do that though. Still, her dress isn’t new. It’s beautiful and it’s expensive, but it’s not from this season. In fact, I recognize it from the Chanel spring collection from a couple years ago.

I could kiss Phoenix, and I wish I could take back all the times I berated her for spending all our money on fashion magazines instead of food.

She used to love to look at the pretty pictures of things we could never afford. I pretended not to care, but as soon as she went to sleep, I pored over the outfits and dresses and imagined what it would be like to be a princess. Until I inevitably ended up gripped by jealous rage over the unfairness of life. I’d toss the magazine in the trash only for Phoenix to fish it out the following day.

I miss that Phoenix. The one who sometimes felt carefree long enough to gush over pretty clothes in fashion magazines. Now, there’s only fury and frustration, and on the particularly bad days, apathy. I swallow down a lump of regret that I don’t have time for right now.

I watch Mia closely. She’s a new mark and I need a read on her. She shifts ever so slightly from one foot to the other and taps her fingers in a pattern of three beats against her leg, not all the time, just every twenty seconds or so.

“Miss, can you get me some champagne?” A guy’s voice says in my ear.

I frown at him and move away, tuning out his grumblings over my refusal to do his bidding. Pretentious prick. I keep watching Mia. She’s still talking, and she looks at ease with the people she’s speaking with. However, she steals occasional glances at Ace, who gives her a subtle but reassuring nod in return. She looks the part, but this isn’t her natural habitat. No matter how good she is at hiding it, she’s nervous. People find comfort in the familiar, which makes me think she’s wearing that dress because it’s her favorite.

I grab a tray of red wine from the bar and quickly maneuver through the crowd so I don’t end up with an empty tray before I reach her. I lose a few glasses to some quick hands, but there are half a dozen remaining by the time I get within a few feet of Mia.

She finishes talking to the couple I saw approach her earlier and they walk away. “Wine?” I say sweetly.

And then I catch Ace’s eye. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. I feign shock. My hands tremble. “I-I…” I stumble forward, and despite Ace’s hand darting out to catch me, I spill the contents of my tray over the bottom of Mia Moretti’s beautiful yellow dress. She gasps as a patch of the yellow fabric turns a dark orange.

My eyes go wide. “Oh! I am so sorry.” I crouch down and dab at the stain with the sleeve of my blouse, ignoring the broken glasses scattered on the floor around me.

She pats my shoulder and indicates for me to stand. “Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes dark with concern. I blink at her. That wasn’t the reaction I expected. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Opening my mouth to speak, I glance between Ace and Romeo. The latter grins at me while his friend looks between me and his boss’s ruined dress. “I kind of…” I cover my face with my hands.

Ace grabs a passing member of the waitstaff. “Can you clear these?” He nods at the broken glass on the floor.

“Of course, sir,” the waiter says, shooting me a sympathetic look before he ducks down and starts picking them up.

“Ace and I have met this young lady before,” Romeo finally tells Mia.

She smiles knowingly. “Oh, I see.”

“She told us she was training to be an accountant though,” Ace adds, his eyes fixed on me now.

“I am, but it doesn’t pay all that well,” I whisper, keeping one hand on my cheek. “I have to waitress on the side. Kind of embarrassing, right?”

“Nothing embarrassing about an honest day’s work.” Mia’s kind smile falls away when she looks down at her dress.

“Not half as embarrassing as ruining your beautiful dress. I’m so sorry Mrs.…”

She waves a hand dismissively. “Call me Mia.”

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