Page 7 of Forbidden Sins

When I’m finished showering, I dry off, slicking my favorite lotion over my skin until I’m soft all over and smell sweetly of vanilla and honeysuckle. I blow out my hair, wrapping pieces of it in hot rollers until my head is covered in them, and then I turn my attention to my makeup. I want it to be light and pretty, and I opt for a sparkling rose-gold eyeshadow, a light champagne highlight, soft rose blush on my cheeks, and a smooth, matte nude lip. A swipe of mascara, and I’m ready to take my hair out of the rollers, brushing out the thick, heavy curls until they fall around my face and shoulders in a cascade of soft, dark waves.

The dress I chose is gorgeous, if a bit less daring than what I might have tried to pick if I didn’t know how much my father would disapprove. The bodice is stiff dark purple silk, with a narrow, deep V filled in with an opaque illusion lace that prevents more than the very top of my cleavage from being visible, and wide straps that sit just on the edge of my shoulders. There’s a darker purple ribbon at the waist, and then the skirt falls in a mermaid cut down to the floor. The skirt itself is a very pale lavender, and cascading over it is draped dark purple tulle in the same hue as the bodice, stiff with beading from the waist all the way down to the floor in a pattern that’s reminiscent of the beading patterns on dresses from the twenties.

It’s glamorous and fits me perfectly, highlighting the swell of my cleavage, my small waist, and the swell of my hips. When I step into the nude Louboutin pumps that I bought to go with it, the skirt swirls around my feet like purple froth, and I look in the mirror, wondering if I should have gone with something more innocent. I hadn’t thought about it when I picked out the dress, but with the thought in my head now that my father might bepushing potential husbands in my direction, I suddenly wish I’d covered up more. I look elegant, beautiful…adult.

I swallow hard, walking to my vanity to get the jewelry I picked out. A pair of princess-cut amethysts just below a pearl stud, a matching drop necklace of an amethyst surrounded in a halo of pearls, and a bracelet made of interchanging amethysts and pearls, all of it set in rose gold. I take one more look in the mirror, drawing in a slow breath, and I hear the sound of the music starting up downstairs. Guests will begin arriving in the next few minutes, and for the next several hours, I’ll be the center of attention.

A part of me wants to strip everything off that I just put on, crawl into my pajamas, and stay hidden in my room. But I know that’s not possible, so instead, I tilt my chin up, give myself one more appraising look, and head for the door to go downstairs.

Sebastian is standing just outside. I pause in the doorway, and I see him freeze for the barest of seconds, his gaze sweeping over me. For that brief moment, I could swear I see his eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me, see his throat move as he swallows hard, taking a step back to give me more room.

“You look beautiful, princess,” he says, his voice cool and casual, delivering a compliment that I should expect, tonight of all nights. But once again, I could swear that I hear something more there, some undercurrent, a tight rasp in his voice that makes something coil and tighten in my stomach. Something I don’t understand, that feels primal and necessary even if I don’t know what it is. Even if I’ve never felt it before.

“There are already a lot of guests downstairs,” Sebastian warns. “This is definitely your father trying to throw the gala of the year.”

“I figured as much.” I take a deep, steadying breath, heading down the hall and toward the west staircase that will lead me to the ballroom. I hear Sebastian’s footsteps behind me, firmagainst the gleaming wood of the hallway floors, crisp and precise. He’s keeping an appropriate distance, but I’m painfully aware of him—of his eyes on me.

The music gets louder as I reach the staircase, and I pause at the top, my hand on the banister. I can see the guests milling around downstairs, the uniformed staff moving through the growing sea of them with trays of champagne and appetizers. The French doors at the far end of the ballroom that lead out to another part of the gardens are thrown open to let the warm summer air in, and when I breathe in, I can smell the scent of the flowers from outside. I can almost imagine that I can hear the trickling of the fountain, but of course I can’t really, not over the music.

As I glide down the stairs, graceful as any princess in a fairytale, the attention of the room turns toward me. I catch a glimpse of my father off to one side, speaking to Dimitri Yashkov, and he pulls away, coming to stand at the foot of the staircase as I reach the bottom of it. He takes my hand, offering me a broad, proud smile, and turns us both to face the crowd of guests.

“My lovely daughter, Estella Gallo! Thank you all for coming to celebrate her twenty-first birthday with us. Happy birthday, Estella,” he says the last as he turns back to me, leaning in to kiss me once on each cheek before pulling away.

“Thank you,papa,” I manage, feeling heat crawl up my neck at how many eyes are on me. The room feels overly warm and overly packed, and I bite my lip, glancing around for both a glass of champagne and my brother. “Is Luis back yet?”

My father frowns. “No. They were delayed, I’m told. But I’m sure I’ll be informed that they’re returning any moment now,” he assures me.

“Of course.” I feel a flicker of apprehension, but he’s right. What could possibly have happened, anyway? Luis is late forsome reason, but he’ll be here. I know my brother—and he would rather die than disappoint me by not being here, especially after he promised.

I feel affection for my father, and I respect him, but I love Luis, and he loves me. We’ve always been close, and I know he won’t let me down.

“I’m sure your brother is just tying up some loose ends,” Sebastian murmurs to me as I move away from where my father is standing close behind me. “He’ll be here.”

“I know.” I glance around the room, stepping forward to snag a glass of champagne off a passing tray. I take a quick, bracing sip of it, savoring the dry taste of it on my tongue and the pop of the bubbles against my lips.

“I’m going to go check in with Brick,” he says, still standing just off to the side. “And do a sweep of the ballroom. Are you alright?”

I know the reason for his question. I won’t see much of Sebastian for the rest of the night—as part of the security for a Gallo party, even in the position of my personal bodyguard, his job is to blend into the background and stay unnoticed. No one should even realize he’s there. He certainly shouldn’t be close by my side, distracting friends or possible suitors who might come and talk to me. But if there’s a problem, if something unthinkable were to happen, like an attack, he would be there in an instant.

He’ll be watching me, as he has been for the past three years. The thought is comforting, but tonight, there’s something else to it, too. A shiver that runs down my spine, sending a faint bloom of heat along my skin.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, taking another sip of the champagne. “I’m just going to go see if I can find my friend from college who RSVPed—Marilee.”

Sebastian nods, and then I see him slip away into the crowd, no doubt looking for Brick. I bite my lip as I watch him go, and then turn my attention back to the guests as I snag an appetizer off of another tray—a small piece of baguette toast with a layer of goat cheese and an herbed shrimp set atop that.

I see a tall, dark-haired,verypregnant woman standing next to Dimitri Yashkov with a flute of what’s probably sparkling water in one hand, saying something to the gorgeous blonde woman standing next to her—who is also pregnant. I recognize them immediately—Evelyn and Dahlia Yashkov, the former married to thepakhanof the New York City Bratva, Dimitri, and the latter married to his brother and enforcer, Alek Yashkov. Alek is probably somewhere around here, although from what I hear, he doesn’t particularly enjoy these kinds of parties.

Ironic that I have something in common with a Bratva enforcer. I couldn’t be more different from that kind of person if I tried, and yet, if we chatted about it, I imagine we’d probably have some of the same things to say about tonight’s festivities.

I head toward the buffet table, catching a glimpse of copper hair on the dance floor as I look for Marilee. Rowan Gallagher—dancing with his recent bride, a formerprimaof the New York City Ballet, Genevieve. She’s in his arms, dancing gracefully across the floor, and I feel a stab of envy. I know how to dance, but she looks like a swan, her steps so fluid and enchanting that just watching her is like looking at art come to life.

Glancing around, I can see that Sebastian has completely melted out of sight. I do see Marilee, in a dark green evening gown with the skirt swept up and gathered at her hip on one side, opening into a slit that shows off her long, tanned leg. Her dark honey-blonde hair is pulled up in an elaborate updo, and she’s wearing pretty pearl jewelry. She blends in remarkably well with the rest of the guests, and I wonder if I’ve been wrong toavoid my college friends by assuming that the gulf between us would be too wide now.

“Marilee!” I wave, and she catches sight of me, setting down the small plate that she’s holding with a variety of finger foods on it.

“Estella!” She steps forward, giving me a quick hug. “Happy birthday. This party isinsane.” She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she says it, and I can’t help but laugh.

“It’s more my father’s party than mine,” I admit. “You’re the only friend I have here.”Other than Sebastian—but that hardly counts, does it?I try to imagine telling Marilee that my other closest friend here is a man paid to protect me, and it seems too pathetic to say out loud. “My brother is supposed to be here, but I think he’s running late.”

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