Page 83 of City of Wind and Lies

I turn to face Bowie, hitching a thumb over my shoulder. "This is where you grew up?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, shifting the Escalade into park. "It's too much house if you ask me."

Hell, the place probably has its own zip code.

Opening his door, Bowie gets out of the SUV while I remain frozen in my seat, wide-eyed in pure stupor at the sheer opulence of this place. I always thought Drea's parent's house was nice, but this makes even their place look like a shack.

From what I can see, it's two stories with a turret on both ends and three balconies on the front. Perfectly manicured hedges line the walkway leading to the front stairs and a set of large mahogany double doors.

Obviously, I knew Bowie's family had money, but seeing this place has my anxiety ratcheting up. My stomach has been in knots all afternoon about meeting his parents. What if they don't think I'm good enough for Bowie? Self-doubt clouds my head for the umpteenth time today and I wonder how much weight Bowie's dad carries in his life. If he could threaten Bowie's position, could he make him leave me? That thought only makes me more nauseous than I already am.

My door opens, snapping me out of my spiral as Bowie unbuckles my seat belt, holding out his hand to help me down. I adjust the tie of my mid-length burgundy wrap dress, turning towards him to ask timidly, "How do I look?"

Desire dances in his eyes as he rakes them slowly over me, his voice husky as he answers, "Like a fucking goddess that I should drop to my knees to worship."

I feel a blush forming on my cheeks. "I'm serious, Bowie. I want to make a good impression." And for them to like me.

"Wren," he says, knuckles brushing my cheek as he tucks my hair behind my ear. "They are going to love you because I love you."

Heat pummels my insides and I swear my heart literally skips a beat at his words. He's such a smooth-talking gentleman, it's hard to believe he's also some ruthless mob boss.

His fingers lace with mine and he raises our hands, pressing a kiss to the back of my palm and tipping his head toward the doors. "Ready?"

"No," I snort.

Bowie's face splits in a smile as he leads us inside. And holy fucking shit, I thought the exterior was impressive, but the inside is like I see you and raise you double.

My eyes dart around the pristine foyer. Beautiful white marble tiles cover the floors, a grand staircase leading upstairs with an intricate wrought iron railing that curves around a modern chandelier with light refracting off the warm tan walls.

We turn to the left, down a short hall that slowly opens up into a large sitting room with people seated across four tawny-colored suede sofas. Rocco spots us first and lifts his wine glass, instantly garnering the others' attention.

"Bowie!" An older brunette woman exclaims as she opens her arms and rushes toward him. Even in heels, she barely comes up to his chest as she squeezes his face, kissing each cheek.

"Hi, Ma," he chuckles, returning the gesture.

"I was starting to wonder if you were going to make it after all," she chides.

Her eyes slide towards me, identical in color to Bowie’s, and her rings catch the light as she slaps a hand to her chest with a gasp. "And who do we have here?"

Releasing my hand, Bowie drapes an arm across my shoulders. "Ma, everyone, this is Wren, my girlfriend."

"Hello," I greet, offering my hand.

His mom grasps my outstretched palm, tugging me into a warm hug. "So lovely to meet you, Wren. I'm Corrine, Bowie's mother." Teetering back to look at me again, she pulls me toward the others. "Come meet everyone. We are so excited you are here!" Leaning in, she whispers in my ear, adding, "Bowie's never brought home a girl before, so pardon my manners if I seem a bit high-strung."

I giggle softly in response, allowing her to lead me across the room. Her sweet demeanor eases some of the tension, making me feel less anxious to be here.

"This is my husband Salvatore, but everyone calls him Sal," she says, pausing in front of an intimidating older man with slicked-back salt and pepper hair and eyes so dark they're almost black. His brows crease as he strokes his stubbled chin and eyes me cautiously.

I lift a hand in an awkward wave, murmuring a hello as he eventually nods his head.

He's definitely not as warm and fuzzy as his wife.

Not deterred in the slightest, Corinne shuffles toward Rocco next. "I'm sure you know Rocco and his wife, Isa."

I've met Isa a few times in passing, but honestly, she intimidates the hell out of me. She's stunning, always dressed in designer outfits with not a single dark hair out of place. She's curled into Rocco's side as she sips her wine, not even smudging her lipstick on the glass. The lingering thoughts of whether Bowie would’ve chosen me if I weren't pregnant start to creep in, because everything about Isa screams perfection, and I’m anything but that.

Glancing over my shoulder, I catch sight of Bowie talking to his father. He senses my eyes on him, casting me an easy smile and shooting me a wink that somehow sets my mind at ease.

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