Page 3 of Reign

The traffic in Miami is insane. I can’t say I’ve ever been a fan of this overcrowded city after visiting once with my parents when I was younger, but we’re close to the water and at least in a single-family home instead of a high-rise. A thirty-million-dollar, single family home to be exact. I’m sure it’s going to be nice, but sharing it with Dominic and his ex-lover is a massive buzzkill.

I stare straight ahead the whole ride to the house, trying desperately to ignore the flames licking the inside of my thigh every time Dominic changes gears.

Two

Casper/Dominic/Casandro

AS SOON AS WE PULL INTO the driveway of the white stucco house, I immediately think of Richard and Bea. Although the size difference between the two houses is pretty large, the styles are similar and I feel the sharp pang of loss.

With my very next thought, I pray to God that Mateo had the foresight to stock the bar I know is somewhere in this place. If he can get this car to the airport, he sure as hell can have someone throw some Codigo in the fucking freezer. And since I know price isn’t an issue, there better be a backup bottle as well. Maybe five.

It’s obvious someone’s been taking care of the house because the windows are washed, and the landscaping out front is impeccable. I tap the garage door opener on the visor and watch one of the doors go up, revealing the empty space inside. Although there are four garage bays, they are separated from each other making me wonder what the other three bays hold.

“What do we do now?” Camila asks, glancing around like she’s waiting for someone to jump out of the bushes.

“Drink,” Libby and I answer in unison. She’s trying to hide a smug smile but I can see the strain at the corner of her full, pink lips. Even though I just had her last night, I miss her touch. I miss her taste, and I’m more than tired of her hate and anger. I want to help her process everything we went through. She killed a man for fuck’s sake. But she’s shutting down and shutting me out.

That small smile though, it tells me there’s hope that she’ll come around.

Once the emergency brake is set on the Ferrari, the girls fling the passenger door open and spill out, wanting space from each other. Camila’s beige pant suit is crumpled from all the sitting she’s done this morning, but she still looks like she just stepped off the runway. As beautiful as she is though, nothing and no one holds a candle to Libby. Her eyes are enough to stop people in their tracks. It’s amazing to me that she notices every woman who breathes in my direction but misses the number of men who follow her with their eyes while their mouths hang open.

On the way to the parking deck, just twenty minutes ago, I was happy to let her take the lead. It gave me a chance to silently threaten a group of college guys making vulgar gestures to each other indicating what they wanted to see her do. It’s amazing what a vice grip on a twisted wrist can accomplish. And my sweet, stunning princess missed it all. Too busy keeping Camila in her sights most likely.

I follow the girls inside, our meager belongings making only one trip necessary. Thankfully, Mateo promised we’d have everything we’d need waiting for us.

As I enter the giant house, fatigue hits me so hard and fast that I feel dizzy for a minute. It’s been a helluva four days. I know the sense of security is false. I know we’re no safer here than we were in Venezuela, but the physical distance between us and Mateo right now relieves enough pressure in my chest that I can draw a deep breath and my heartburn has temporarily subsided.

The scent of lemon cleaner fills my nostrils as I make my way to the foyer, the stomp of my boots echoing off the walls of the hallway.

“I’m going to find a room,” Camila says over her shoulder as she stands as the bottom of the wide, curved marble staircase in the open foyer.

I hadn’t anticipated how much relief I’d feel once she was out of sight, but the tension leaves my shoulders almost immediately. My feelings for Camila are complicated and after the last two weeks in Venezuela, I hate her as much as I love her. But we have a past I can’t deny and one I can never thank her enough for.

My tired legs carry me into the kitchen where I see Isabel holding up two bottles, her face betraying no emotion. “Clase Azul or Don Julio?” she asks, her expression uncaring and her eyes on the bottles in her hands.

“No Codigo?” I ask, returning her stony gaze but looking right at her.

“Feel free to check for yourself. I just grabbed the first two I saw.” She won’t meet my stare as she sets the two bottles on the counter and turns to find a glass.

I know she’s upset. I know this isn’t ideal. I know I fucked up. I know it all. But I need her on my side and I’m happy to go toe-to-toe with her if it helps her work through some shit. She can have space and time as long as she remembers that, at the end of the day, she’s mine and I’m not going anywhere.

She pours a double shot of tequila over ice and slides me the glass. “Drink it or don’t, I don’t care either way.” I couldn’t be more shocked when she turns the bottle up and takes a hearty swig straight from it. I’d encourage her to slow down, but I think she’s earned the right to get a little hammered. Not only that, but I see the tremor in her hand as she holds the bottle to her lips, telling me she’s hit emotional overload just like when we pulled up to the marina in Venezuela.

I break first.

Unable to stand seeing her so upset, I reach for her and wrap a hand around the elbow of her free arm. The contact with her skin feels good and I’m thankful her tank top leaves her arms bare.

“Lib, talk to me,” I plead.

“Don’t you meanIsabel?”she snaps immediately before apologizing as she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fuck, sorry. What do you want me to say? I can’t just snap my fingers and feel better.” She takes another pull off the bottle. “I thought we were getting out of Venezuela and going to be free. I thought it was going to be me and you living on a beach. Starting over. Healing each other from both the distant and recent pasts. Notthis.” She waves her empty hand around indicating the lavish, gleaming, white kitchen we’re standing in. “Not with Camila and not on the hook for yet another life of crime before we’re truly free. Three names in one lifetime seems a bit much, don’t you think?” She pauses and takes a breath but still won’t meet my eyes. “I’m starting to think we’ll never have an identity that sticks.”

“Nothing lasts forever, Princess. You know that.” Based on the look in her eyes I can read what she isn’t saying.What about us?I take a tentative step closer and draw her to me. She doesn’t shake me off so either she’s exhausted or the alcohol is kicking in. Maybe both. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here.”

She casts her eyes down and takes a final sip of tequila before removing her arm out from under mine and screwing the lid back on the bottle. The loss of contact guts me.

The inch of progress we’ve just made is completely undone when Camila saunters into the kitchen, arms folded across her chest, her venom headed straight for me. “I’m glad to know you’ve finally learned how to stick around forsomeone,” she sneers.

I’m in Camila’s face in two strides but am very careful not to touch her. “Camila, I swear to God, do not make me regret bringing you along. I’m done apologizing,” I swing my eyes back and forth between both women before landing back on Camila, “to both of you. I have to focus on getting to Nikita and this bullshit isn’t helping. If you make Libby’s lifeanyharder, I will make sure you have nowhere to go except back to Venezuela. You both know where I stand. There’s nothing more to be said about it.”

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