Page 47 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

I need a dress, though.

If anything, I’ll get a nice dress out of the deal.

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When I was a little girl,I loved playing dress up, pretending to be a princess. It was a tireless game I did almost every day from the moment I got home from school until I was tucked into bed at night. I’d put on big dresses, adorn my arms with play jewelry and daydream about being captured by the big, bad beast that was secretly a prince.

Standing in front of the mirror now, I haven’t a clue what I saw so appealing about fancy dresses, and I certainly don’t need a prince—or a beast to save me. Back then, fairy tales were my way of escaping the endless hours of yelling that often came from my father’s mouth that was always directed toward my mother.

All my pretending came to an end the day my mom died, and although it’s not his fault, technically, I’ve blamed my father for her death ever since. And I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it or stop feeling that way.

Removing the cap from my lipstick, I lean forward closer to the mirror, reapplying a layer of crimson. Finishing, I pull back, smacking my lips and recapping the tube before shoving it into my small clutch purse.

I stare at my reflection a beat longer, taking in the chiffon evening gown I nabbed on my extended lunch break. From my waist up, the dress is fitted with an overlay of rhinestones that wraps around my torso with the zipper ending at the middle of my back and the top of the dress clasps together at the nape of my neck in a halter-top style, leaving my slender but defined shoulders and back naked. The navy chiffon bottom flows easily to the floor covering my navy Jimmy Choo sandals.

I smile when my blue eyes pause on my chest highlighted by the style of the dress. Amusement tickles me at my father’s unmasked expression when he picked me up from my condo earlier tonight.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled at how much cleavage is on display. I didn’t plan it, not really, when I selected the dress and accessories.

I have to admit though, my boobs do look nice. A laugh bubbles out of me because of course, my breasts should look fabulous in the five-hundred-dollar designer PENELOPE Lingerie bra I’m wearing underneath.

My dad was already buying me a dress and shoes, adding lingerie wasn’t going to make a difference. And I’ve dreamed of owning a matching PENELOPE Lingerie set for a while. I’d never be able to splurge on it for myself; Penelope Burke’s shit costs a fortune.

I sigh, taking a step away from the mirror. I’ve lingered in the ladies’ room long enough, so I make my way back out to find my father talking with the mayor of Los Angeles, Samuel García.

Walking up behind my father, I slide my hand between his body and arm, wrapping my palm loosely around his arm.

“Sam, this is my daughter, Brianna.” My father takes a sip from the champagne flute in his hand, draining the remains.

“Samuel García.”

The mayor nods down at me as he extends his free hand. Meeting him halfway, I take his offered hand in a quick clasp.

“Yes, sir,” I confirm, knowing who he is. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Brianna is in the detective bureau.”

“Really?” Mayor García’s voice is full of surprise, but that’s not what I find so shocking. It’s the, dare I say, pride in my father’s voice when he tells the mayor I’m a cop. My dad has never shied away from telling me he doesn’t approve of my career choice. He’s offered me multiple high-paying jobs within his own company that I’ve turned down. He has tried to get my brother and even my sister-in-law to hire me, which Jackson has offered. Alana knows better.

“Yes,” I confirm, squeezing my father’s arm, silently asking him what the fuck.

“Which division?” Mayor García asks, giving me his full attention.

“GND,” I respond, using acronyms all LEOs use, knowing he’ll know what I’m talking about.

“Ah,” he nods, “our Gangs and Narcotics enforcement.”

“Sam,” my father cuts into the conversation. “It was good seeing you tonight. I’m going to go park this tired, old body of mine in a chair.” His head turns my way where he peers down. “Come, daughter.”

I raise my eyebrow at his order, releasing my hold on his arm.

“Please, Brianna,” he forces the nicety out that I know is hard for him to do. “I’ve been standing all damn day. I’d like to enjoy the rest of the night from the comfort of a cushioned seat.”

The mayor chuckles.

“I hope you both enjoy the rest of your evening. And Robert, please feel free to drop some of that money I know you hoard away on something tonight. After all”—he smiles, cutting his eyes over at me—“you have a beautiful daughter here to spend it on, and it is a charity after all.”

“Some of us don’t get rich by blowing it all away.”

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