Page 24 of Dating the Don

So, while it feels incredibly strange to stand here and celebrate with Ada, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Ada eats all of the snacks that she brought with her and starts looking around for more. “These are to die for, by the way.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“Not really.”

Ada starts and then catches sight of one of the waiters with a tray she seems to be very intently interested in. “Actually, hold that thought. I have to use the ladies’ room and then I need to catch that waiter.”

Just like that, she slips out of my arms. I almost go after her, but then Al is there. He’s been floating behind Ada like a shadow for days now. It has to be intentional. He dips his head in a respectful bow before following after her. I always had this sneaking suspicion that he cared about her a great deal more than he let on. While I don’t know Al on a personal level, there’s something about the way he looks at her. It’s more than duty, I can tell. He cares about her. Genuinely and deeply. What’s more is that Cristiano obviously trusts the man to be around his sister, even when she’s alone.

I make a mental note to myself to ask her about it later, and head in the direction of the bar instead.

I’ve been without a drink for far too long. Besides, what better place to hide from the guests whose names I cannot remember? They are all starting to blend together. I am not a lightweight by any stretch of the imagination, but I won’t deny that I’m feeling overwhelmed. Maybe no more champagne, perhaps something a touch stronger that will help calm my nerves just a little bit.

I approach the bar and order a whiskey sour. Not really my personal favorite, but it was what my mom always ordered. She didn’t like the taste of it either. I remember asking her one time why she would order something that she didn’t like and she said it was because it always made her feel fancy and sophisticated when she drank it. Though, unlike her, I’m happy to have them add as much extra fruit to mine as possible. The whiskey-soaked cherries? Those I do like.

I chew one happily, letting the warmth of the whiskey lend me courage when another stranger slides into the bar beside me.

“That looks good,” he compliments, eyeing my drink.

I shrug a single shoulder. “It’s not.”

He grins. The gesture warms his face even though only one side of his mouth seems to move. “Well then, I’m sold. I’ll have one what of what she’s having.”

The man’s Irish brogue is out of place with the company that I’ve kept this evening. He must be somebody important to Cristiano to have been invited tonight. Most of all, since the tensions with the Irish are at such an all-time high. Perhaps he’s an ally of some sort? Does Cristiano have men on the inside? Either way, he can’t be a threat since he’s here.

And I’m supposed to play the hostess, so that’s what I’m going to do. I wait until he takes a sip and shakes his head.

“Well?”

“Well, you’re wrong. This is delightful,” he grins. If I had never met Cristiano, I might think that this man was handsome. He’s more rugged. Short blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. He’s built like a lumberjack. I can’t think of any other comparison for the almost square-like build to his body and jawline. It’s an alluring sort of charm that oozes from him. Nothing comparable to Cristiano, of course.

More times than I can count, I’ve watched him win over an entire room within minutes. He oozes comfortable charm because he makes people like him. He attracts them because he looks so disarming and friendly. It’s his classically handsome features that draw people in. This man is attractive in the way that all things bad for you are. They attract you because they seem thrilling. Not comfortable. But then, I don’t think he intends to be.

Still, when he lifts his glass to me, I mirror the motion.

“I suppose that a toast is still in order, regardless of the glass’ contents,” he smirks and clinks the edge of his glass against mine. “Congratulations on your engagement and the like.”

“Thank you,” I answer easily but don’t sip much from my drink. While I want to be friendly toward this man, something in my gut tells me that it would be smart not to take my eyes off him.

“Pity that it’s not going to last, Miss Sullivan,” he says as he finishes the contents of his glass in one gulp. The man spins,letting an elbow rest on the bartop as he turns his focus from me to the floor where all of our guests are mingling.

“What?” I ask.

Before I can demand an explanation, the piano explodes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CRISTIANO

“This had better be important.”

I know that it must be. My men wouldn’t pull me away from such an important party with so many people in attendance for nothing.

“We have word about Doyle’s movements,” Dennis says. He’s one of my men who have been steadily climbing up in the ranks little by little over the last few years. It’s been a point of pride for him. And I know that said pride alone would mean that he wouldn’t dare interrupt me for anything less than solid information.

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