Page 47 of Veil of Obsession
And that’s the real problem. Matteo won’t rage about it, won’t throw a fit, won’t drink himself into stupor or chase distractions to numb the inevitability of it. He’ll accept it. Not because he’s resigned, not because he’s loyal, but because to him, this is just another strategic move on the board. Another transaction. A means to an end.
And Vivan? She won’t know what’s hit her.
I flick my gaze back to the TV, where Dana’s face is still plastered across the screen—a dead girl who was never mine, but still managed to drag me into her mess.
And now, because of it, my brother is about to get tied to a family that thinks they can control him.
I grind my teeth, leaning forward and resting my forearms on my knees. “And what if Matteo doesn’t want her?”
Eli gives me a look. “Matteo doesn’t want anything. He just takes what’s useful.”
I shake my head, laughing under my breath.
This is fucked.
And something tells me it’s only going to get worse. But for now, my little mouse needs to pay for what she has done.
I think it’s time to lure her out of her hiding place.
17
Princess
I’m in a red satin dress, my hair in curls, a red lip and high heels. Of course, Lucio is at a bar in Manhattan at seven in the evening. I had to lie to my parents and brothers and tell them that I’m staying at my close friend Jade’s place just to follow him.
Sitting off to the side, I watch him down one drink after another. I slip my phone out, attempting to take a couple of pictures, but of course I forget to turn the damn flash off. The bright light that comes from my phone causes some people to turn and look at me, so I cover it and drop it on my thigh, fumbling to kill the light. I look up frantically to see if Lucio has noticed the little debacle, but he’s too busy nursing his drink to notice anything.
Taking a deep breath, I go for another attempt. I double-check that my flash is off before quickly snapping three pictures of him. Then I slip off the bar stool and take a seat on the other end of the bar. In the shadows, watching him, I send him a text with the pictures attached.
Me
Drinking all alone, I see.
He lazily picks his phone off the bar’s countertop, swiping it open. I can see the moment he realizes he’s being watched. His head snaps from side to side, trying to find the person who took the pictures. He’s looking in the wrong direction—well, itwasthe right place, but I’m on the other side of the bar now.
I avert my gaze discreetly when his eyes sweep over my section. I don’t think he sees me; otherwise, he would’ve known it’s me straight away. He suspected me at the charity ball, but he couldn’tproveit.
I run my finger over the rim of my wine glass as I look back at him, watching him. He’s still surveying the place.
I get the text he’s sent me, but I don’t look at my phone. Instead, I pretend to focus my gaze on my glass, though I’m still watching him. He’s being foolish, thinking he’ll be able to catch me in a crowded bar, where phones are pinging left and right. He knows that. But I still don’t attempt to touch my phone. I take a sip out of my glass.
A young, twenty-something guy approaches me, giving me a grin. I don’t return it.
“Hi.” He slips into the seat across from me.
“Fuck off,” I tell him.
It’s harsh, but I don’t give a fuck. Boys like him don’t really understand a nice “no.” They need to be told to fuck right off from the get-go. Being nice only furthers their delusion.
He’s perplexed by my harsh tone, and he looks as if I’ve just slapped him. As he slips out of the seat, I hear him mutter “bitch” under his breath. Snorting, I finish my wine glass and look back at the bar, and my breath catches in my throat.
Lucio’s watching me.
Fuck.
I pretend not to notice him, and instead stay seated. Counting—one, two, three—I breathe in, slip out of my seat, and head to the ladies’ room. Pushing the door open, I overhear two girls gushing over each other’s dresses. I stand at the sink, staring at my reflection.
What the fuck am I doing? I don’t belong here.
