Page 4 of Forbidden Dark Vows

Carlos, Alessandro’s brother, comes over and grimaces when he notices the smears on my face, and I subconsciously try to wipe them away with the palm of my hand. “What happened to you? Is this supposed to be some kind of camouflage so that no one will notice you? If so, it isn’t working.”

I check my fingers—they’re grubby now too. “Just helping a damsel in distress.”

He peers all around, his eyes twinkling. That’s the thing about the Russo family—they all have that sparkle, a charisma that people literally find irresistible, and they’re genuinely nice people with it. Must be why the universe smiles down on them.

“Where is she then, this damsel in distress?”

I can’t help smiling. “She’s the one that got away.”

Carlos clamps a large warm hand on my shoulder and peers around at the guests.

Alessandro hired a function suite for the party, the ceiling heavy with crystal chandeliers that cast shimmering diamonds across the room. Waiters in crisp white shirts and black bow ties are walking around with trays of champagne. The tables lining the room are laden with platters of food and floral centerpieces.

Not the kind of place I’d ever have envisaged my friend hosting a birthday party, but he’s drifting into a new lifestyle, and I wonder how long it will be before he leaves his old friends behind. I recognize a young actress from a recently released movie, wearing a gold dress that looks as if it has been poured over her. She’s talking to a movie director who looks remarkably like Martin Scorsese.

I swallow hard, wishing that I’d at least gone back to my room to shower before making an appearance.

“I see Alessandro has finally met his match,” Carlos says, dragging me out of my self-indulgent misery.

“Who?” I scan the room for Alessandro—he’s taller than most people—and the air seems to leave my lungs for a second time this evening when I spot him across the room with a small group of people I don’t recognize. Apart from the young woman standing beside him.

Ruby Jackson.

Do they know each other? Or did Alessandro dish out invitations like autographs at the ice rink? A quick glance around the room tells me that she’s the only one here who isn’t dressed to impress, so I guess he didn’t bring a busload of folks back with him.

She’s the only one.

A waiter comes over, and I accept a glass of champagne which I down in one go. And regret it instantly when the bubbles resurface almost instantaneously.

“Have you ever seen him like this?” Carlos nods in their direction.

He doesn’t need to elaborate—I know exactly what he means. Alessandro is charming as always, steering the conversation, the wide easy smile a constant, but his eyes keep flicking to the woman at his side, the sparkle unmistakable. His hand snakes around her and settles on her lower back as he lowers his head to whisper in her ear, and she smiles up at him…

I signal for the waiter to bring more champagne and switch my empty glass for a full one. I sip this drink slowly.

I don’t know why Alessandro inviting Ruby to his birthday celebration bothers me so much. Scratch that. I know exactly why it bothers me.

We’ve been friends long enough for me to understand that he’ll woo her and then drop her like a lead balloon as soon as he gets bored. Alessandro is the classic chaser. He enjoys the challenge, and if my brief conversation with Ruby is anything to go by, she’ll present the kind of challenge he’ll be unable to refuse.

And Ruby Jackson deserves better than that.

I swallow another mouthful of bubbly liquid. I need a beer. I’ll never get used to drinking champagne and expensive wine that needs time to breathe before you can taste it.

How do I know that she deserves better?

I don’t. At least, that’s what I tell myself, as I turn away from the sight of my best friend nuzzling her neck while she chews her bottom lip.

“I think I need to meet the woman who has captivated my little brother.” Carlos raises his glass to me in a mock toast and navigates around the guests to go join Alessandro and Ruby.

“Did you get into a scrape or something?” Ronnie comes over with a beer and eyes up my greasy face.

“Long story. Where did you find a beer?”

Ronnie taps the side of his nose. “I brought a secret stash. I can’t be drinking that shit.”

I follow him to the cloakroom, where he has hidden a crate of beer underneath a rail of glamorous but impractical winter coats. We crack open a couple of cans and follow the steady thrum of voices back to the function room.

Ronnie spots an old friend and leaves me standing next to a table filled with hors d’oeuvres, bite-sized morsels that smell overwhelmingly fishy. I’m so busy studying the swirls of pink mousse and crab claws and tiny mounds of caviar, that I don’t notice anyone approaching.

---