Page 61 of Dance of Deception

Holy.Shit.

I slowly turn, my mouth open as I see shock and indignation spread over Vera’s face.

“Ibegyour pard?—”

“Lovelyto meet you, Mrs. Ostrova. Enjoy the evening.”

Without another word, Carmine’s hand tightens on my hip, marching us away through the crowd. It’s not until we get to the bar that I somehow remember how to move and attempt to pull back from him.

Carmine’s hand doesn’t budge. Not a single part of him does, like he’s suddenly turned to marble, keeping me pinned to his side for all of eternity.

“Can you pleaselet go,” I mutter under my breath as he orders two flutes of champagne from the bartender.

“No.”

No explanation. Just a flatno.

I struggle for another few seconds as he casually sips his champagne and drags his gaze around the room, completely indifferent to my efforts. Finally, I give up.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Back there, with my mom.” My brow furrows. “I mean, ever heard of first impressions?”

“I have. I find them overrated. Also, caring about first impressions suggests you careat allabout the person you’re having that first impression with.”

I frown. “Not really. It means you care abouttheirimpression of you…”

I trail off when I realize where this is going.

“Are you suggesting I should give a fuck what your embarrassment of a mother thinks of me?”

My brows shoot up as my jaw drops. “Really?”

“What—is she standing right here?”

I stare at him.

“No,” he continues, looking at me plainly. “So why are you still continuing with this charade, pretending she’s anything but a hindrance to you?”

Jesus, seriously?

“You realize this is apersonwe’re talking about, right? Look, she’s…a lot. But she’s also mymom.”

He shrugs easily. “It's rarely that complicated. Life becomes much simpler when you stop trying to tell yourself people are anything more than what they show you.”

My brow furrows. “Are you always this robotic when it comes to people?”

Carmine sips his champagne, his eyes locked on mine over the rim of his flute. “Only when they’re not worth being anything but robotic with.”

“Not worth itbecause of who they are? Or because they can’t do anything for you, or have anything you need?”

His brows arch. “I’m not sure this is an either-or type of conversation where that woman is concerned.”

I smile wryly, looking down at my flute.

“She’s…”

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