Page 21 of Cruel Dreams

“Zane, go to bed,” Mel orders me.

“The fuck I will.”

“It was an accident. She didn’t realize she even said it.”

“I don’t give a shit. We worked hard on Stella’s death. All the pain she’s been through...” I pace until they open the door of Max’s suite.

Stella looks incredible—an exquisite angel in the front, a delectable devil in the back, the material dripping just above the crack of her ass. She’s wearing high heels, and her legs look long and slim. I want to bend her tight little body over the couch, kiss her bare back, and slowly sink into her. I need every ounce of willpower I can muster to ignore her, and I focus on Nathalie, the elegant whore, the woman who let me do whatever I wanted to her because she hoped I’d fall in love.

I don’t believe Mel. Nathalie’s jealous and I think she said Stella’s name on purpose.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” I bark.

Nat freezes and fear shoots into her eyes. Her pupils dilate. No one wants me mad.

“What? What did I do?” Her lips tremble.

“You said her name, you stupid bitch.”

“Hey,” Mel says, pressing her hand against my chest. “That’s enough. We don’t say shit like that, even if someone’s made a serious mistake. Cool off on the balcony. Now.”

This time I do what she says. I’m afraid if I have to look at Nathalie for one more second I’ll tear her to bloody shreds.

“What’s he talking about?” Nathalie cries to Mel.

I sit on a patio chair, and holding my head in my hands, struggle to breathe and regain my composure.

It’s not only Nathalie that upset me. It’s Stella’s and my conversation at the airport, too. Things aren’t going to work between us, and I was a fool to think they would. Do you know how difficult it is to love someone more than anything in the world and know it’s not enough? That no matter how hard you wish, a life together isn’t possible? Why in the hell would Stellawant me? Marry me? I’ve always been a fuckup, and I will always be a fuckup.

The only thing I can do is fix this so no matter where she chooses to live her life, she can do it without having to look over her shoulder.

I lean against the chair’s cushion. The barges drift by, cargo containers packed so tightly on some it’s amazing they don’t sink. That’s a perfect metaphor for my life. No matter how much is dumped on me, I still have to keep going. I don’t have time to drown.

Through the cracked door I hear Mel say, “You said Stella’s name before you left Huxley’s room. Do you think by then he was screaming loud enough he didn’t hear you? I heard it over the microphone, but you were standing right next to her.”

I inhale one last lungful of sticky air and let myself inside. Nat’s sitting on the loveseat, crying. Mel’s playing the video again, and I sit next to her at the conference table but watch Stella instead. Her skin is a pasty white, but she’s trying to look like Nathalie’s mistake isn’t bothering her. Quinn doesn’t help, murmuring something into her ear.

We listen to the end of the video, and all I can hope is Huxley couldn’t hear Nathalie over his own pitiful shrieks.

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Mel says finally, “but you have to be careful, Nathalie. Another slip-up like that could cost us the whole operation.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I still want to wrap my hands around Nathalie’s throat, but Mel hasn’t been wrong since I hired her. If she thinks no harm has been done, I’ll do my best to let it go.

Nat slinks out of the room, her shoulders hunched and tears wetting her cheeks.

I should go after her and apologize, but I don’t have it in me. She’s not the one I want to console.

Holding Stella to me, she presses her face into my chest. She’s shivering, and I splay my hands over her bare back. God, her skin is so soft. I could stand like this forever.

“I think it will be okay,” Mel says again. “Let Stella go to bed, and we’ll go over the footage. There are some good stills here, and we can decide which ones we’ll use at Ash’s fundraiser.”

I kiss the top of Stella’s head, and she looks at me, forcing herself to smile. “We knew this would be dangerous,” she says.

“I know.” I brush my lips over hers. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

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