Page 26 of Ink Deep Devotion

Dad looks down and frowns.“That boy is trouble.”Translation: I am sorry, Mila, but I will kill him if I find him near you again.

“He just needs time.” I close the distance, trying to defuse the situation. "We all need to calm down and take a breath; just give it time to blow over. Fanning a fire does not extinguish it. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve made it crystal clear to Dom we’re just friends."

“The funny thing about being crystal clear, Mila, is that it all depends on the angle you’re looking from. Step to the left or right, and a new perspective might reveal a fracture.”

???

I flatten my palm over my stomach.Breathe in, now out, in again.How the heck can I relax when that lady is looking at me like she wants to tear the dress off me? You want it? Take it! Everyone else takes, so just rip the fabric off me!

Chin up high, that’s right, calm down, and ignore the fake smiles and phony conversations.I’m standing in a den of vipers, yet everyone is nodding and grinning like their angels in line to enter heaven.

A pang of sadness wraps around my mind. Dom was right; he and I used to escape these holiday parties and have the best time. I’d steal a tray of desserts and Dom a bottle of booze, we’d hide out in the backyard, and the night would fade away.

Without meaning to, my eyes find Dom. He tips his head back, laughing as he talks to an older gentleman. God he’s good. You’d never know he was heartbroken. This constant guilt he floods me with is getting too much to bear. I didn’t mean to break his heart; I just… jumped from one sinking ship to another when I should have just learned how to swim.

Everything is such a mess.

I turn slowly, looking at all the wonderful Christmas decorations filling every inch of the house. It’s not warm and cozy vibes. More like my home is a hotel. Dad hosts these holiday parties for both his staff and his clients. I feel as much a guest in my own house as these strangers. I’ve spent more time behind the walls of boarding schools than my father’s home.

A silver tray appears right in front of my eyes.“Champagne?” the server grins broadly at me.

“Got the bottle?” I grab the glass and take a sip.Wow, my cheeks hurt from forcing a smile.

He grins,“I’ll stand here as long as you need.” He does just that as I drink my glass and then grab a second.

“Thank you.” I murmur, "I'm not usually like this.”

"Judgement-free zone," He winks.

"You won't survive here long with that mentality." I joke.

“The pay is good, so I look on the bright side. If you need me, I'll be close by. The next tray is lobster tartlets." He whispers, "They usually go fast, so I'll try to save you some."

“Thanks. I needed that." Not the laugh, just the escape, a random conversation.

"You have a nice smile; I hope you don't mind me telling you that. Smiles are rare around here; too much Botox." He teases, but his eyes are searching mine, looking for a sign I won't drink myself to death.

I turn, glass in hand, and take another sip. The bubbles fizz up my throat and tickle my nose, causing my face to scrunch.

“Careful,” a deep, husky voice says from behind.“you look as light as a feather.” His words echo with a predator’s grin.

His shadow hits me first, wrapping and curling around me so tightly that the light from the French chandeliers above can't illuminate an escape. His shadow has a force of its own; cold, monumental, and deafening. All the sounds seem to fade as I turn and tip my chin up to face the unwavering mountain I have stumbled upon. My lips part, and those eyes—I know them. In fact, his face looks so familiar, just aged, as if I were frozen and just set free.

Even though the room is booming with conversation, I know this man can hear my swallow.“Mr. King,” I acknowledge without a doubt, the most dangerous man in the room. He has a gravity of his own, causing eyes to pivot our way.He’s a goddamn black hole, the unknown, a force so powerful you’re enticed to come closer, but you know if you do, you can never escape, and you’ll never be the same again because he will twist and contort every aspect of your life. Every. Single. Detail. He will dissect and own.

His lips curl into a saccharine grin that would make a Dutch painter envious of its mysterious appeal.“Call me Marcus.” He states.

Not the devil?

“Ma...Marcus,” My throat seems to have gone on a diet because she shrinks down two sizes making my next inhale too tight.

He challenges me with a raised brow.“You seem unsure, as if you thought I went by another name?”

I step back, but damn these shoes! I stumble; Marcus watches without giving his aid, just waiting for me to correct my faults, like a lion allows a deer to begin to jog before it runs. Almost as if he’s deciding on whether I’m worth the chase.

“No,” I reply.Can he read minds?

“No, what? No, you’re not unsure, or no, you thought I was someone else?”

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