Page 46 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“Stop fidgeting so I can get hold of the buttons.” I ran my fingers down her spine, making her shiver at the cool touch against her heated flesh. Why hadn’t I touched her there before? Reluctantly, I worked the small buttons through the holes in the back of the dress until I reached the top of the high neck. I twisted a wayward curl of fiery hair around my finger, feeling its silky texture before releasing it and watching it bounce back into place. “There.”

She turned, and the full effect of the dress hit me like a tidal wave. Wait, that was my cock dripping precum as I took in Riona’s appearance. Her makeup was darker, the black around her eyes making them look even bigger, and the red lipstick. Fuck.

The lace wrapped around her neck and plunged low between her breasts, where it met black velvet that flowed down to the floor. Her arms were bare, and as I stared unabashedly, goosebumps covered her ivory skin. Would she slap me if I kissed her?

Fuck it.

I closed the slight distance between us and brushed my thumb across her jaw, watching the flare of her nostrils and her lowered eyelids. The line of her neck elongated when Riona tipped her head back to allow me to run my thumb down her throat as I leaned in, breathing in her scent. The hint of cinnamon and something lighter that I couldn’t place. It was as if her natural scent called to me, beckoned me to touch, taste.

Only Riona stiffened, and I settled for barely brushing my nose over her pulse point, needing that contact before pulling away and looking into her startled eyes. She was fighting her attraction to me again. “You smell nice.”

“Th–thank you,” she stammered, clasping her hands protectively in front of her body. Even her nails were perfectly filed into a tapered curve and painted in a simple, clear gloss that caught the light. I wanted to see my blood tinging the tips red after she’d clawed at my back.

Shaking my head, I held my arm out toward the door. “Shall we?”

“Right. Yeah.” Riona cleared her throat delicately and pulled a black shawl that would take the chill out of the cool spring air from the hook by the door, wrapping it around her shoulders before reaching for a black velvet clutch. “Lead the way.”

She was silent on the ride to the party venue—some wealthy investor’s expansive, gated property, among other multi-million-dollar mansions. The limo slowed on the long drive, finally pulling to a stop between an ornate fountain and a red brick house. It was a larger version of the house I grew up in, but I knew the owner didn’t have a large family to fill it. No, it was a show of wealth and status.

I chuckled as I took it all in, knowing that the man might have money, but I had more power than he did. Offering my hand to Riona, I helped her from the limo and waited as she straightened her dress before we approached the double doors flanked by staff, who checked our names and welcomed us.

It didn’t take long to work through the crowd, greeting others and introducing Riona, who held herself gracefully and charmed everyone she spoke with. Watching her work the room, I was proud to have her on my arm.

Up ahead, my mother turned from her conversation and spotted us and beamed. “Ah, you made it!”

She hugged and kissed us both before stepping back enough to let Dante into our little circle. He nodded at me and offered Riona a small smile as he took in her appearance. “Riona, it’s good to see you again. You look lovely this evening.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, biting her lip briefly before she composed herself. “I’m happy to be here.”

“You are exactly where you belong,” my mother assured Riona, taking her hand and leading her to a group of fashionably attired women. They stopped what they were doing to pay attention to whatever she was saying.

Dante droned on about the charity we were donating a building to for a community center in an area of town where youth needed a safe place to gather. It made us look good, but it would no doubt act as a pipeline for new members of the family business. I nodded when necessary, but my focus was on the group of women nearby.

Antonella Neretti was regal in her modest black gown and tasteful pearl jewelry. I rarely saw her dressed up now that I had my own place, and I avoided formal gatherings whenever possible, but I could remember watching her get ready and put those same earrings on when I was a small boy. Sometimes she would let me help work the clasp on her necklace, so she didn’t ruin her manicure. I used to imagine she was a queen when her hair was piled on her head in curls, and she wore fancy dresses and shoes.

Now I could see the strain of age and forced wisdom around her eyes if I looked carefully. I watched her take a glass of champagne from a server meandering through the crowd with a tray. She sipped on it; the others didn’t notice when she finished the first and quickly took another from the next passing tray. It didn’t take long to realize why she was self-medicating. My father strode toward her, all pleasant smiles and impeccable manners, as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

My mother looked up at him with false adoration, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides when my father's fingers tightened against her side, grasping hard enough that it must hurt. Her expression didn’t falter for a second.

“Don’t,” Dante warned quietly, handing me two champagne flutes and taking another for himself. He offered the glass to our father from his left, prompting him to release Mamma and take the drink.

I followed him, stopping at Riona’s side and handing her one glass. “Thirsty?”

“Thank you.” She took a small sip of champagne and smiled at whatever the affluent woman across from her gushed about.

The night was supposed to be about me putting on a good front for the public, but I found myself mesmerized by Riona, content to watch and listen to what she had to say. I knew she was educated, but her opinions were fair and compassionate, adding to the list of things I admired about her.

After my father made a speech about how grateful the Neretti family was to give back to the community, a band played music, and some couples danced in the center of the room. I tugged Riona’s hand and drew her to my chest, grinning at her gasp.

“Dance with me, Juliet.”

“You know, a dance started the star-crossed lovers’ downfall,” she said sardonically, her mouth quirking up in a smirk. She didn’t pull away, instead wrapping her free hand around the back of my neck, her fingers playing with the ends of my hair. Sparks traveled down my spine at her gentle touch.

“Well, our families aren’t enemies, so we’ve got one up on them,” I offered with a grin, spinning her around on the dance floor. She followed smoothly, like she was made to fit into my arms. I was suddenly grateful for the dance lessons our mother forced on us as teenagers.

Riona’s wide eyes met mine, a deep cobalt color in the dim lighting. “Aren’t they, though? We both know how fragile a truce is, how easily alliances are broken. We could be at war tomorrow.”

“Never,” I answered vehemently. “You will never be my enemy.”

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