Page 2 of Lethal Vows

She’s tall, almost my height now.

Her mother was a supermodel whom Papa met at Fashion Week in Milan. She saw his power and money, and that was more than enough of an attraction to stay. She gave him a child, hoping it would be a boy, but out came Honey instead. Beautiful Honey. The only way you can tell we’re sisters is our eyes—almost cat-like in shape and silverish in color.

Marco stays back as we weave through the last of the crowd. I spot Angel straight away. She waves at me, but what stops me in my tracks are the two men behind her. They look older, not our age, at least I think. But possibly not quite as old as the men who surround my father and stare at me in ways that make me extremely uncomfortable.

“Rya, hurry up. I have a drink for you,” she shouts through the crowd, not caring what they might think. I look over my shoulder at Marco, who shakes his head but doesn’t say anything to stop me.

I pull back from Honey and look down. “Go and stay with Marco. I won’t be long. I have to say goodbye.”

She obediently nods as she looks over my shoulder, curious about the men.

“Go,” I encourage again, with a huff of a laugh she walks away. Most definitely, her curiosity is going to give Papa grief.

I make my way over to meet Angel. She smells of fresh linen. I’ve always loved that scent, as it almost feels homey. Our laundry has never had a scent. It’s as though it conspires with my stepmother to ensure nothing about our house is homey.

Angel’s arms tightly embrace me as she utters, “I’ll miss you when you’re in New York.” I struggle in her tight hold, trying to take in a deep breath. I’m going to miss her too. But this is way too many hugs for my liking in one day.

“New York?” someone says from behind her.

She pulls back but holds my arms. I look over her shoulder at the two men, both good-looking. But one—the one who’s looking at me as if he’s almost angry—holds my stare.

“This is Crue and his brother Dominic.” She waves at them. “Friends of the family,” she says with an eye roll. “Ignore them. They saw me sneak out of Mother’s party and insisted they come, or they were going to tell her I snuck this.” She pulls out a bottle of wine with a Cheshire cat smile. “And this,” she says, gesturing to a small bottle of whiskey shoved between her breasts. She pulls me in for another hug.

As she does, she passes me the bottle, and I glance over my shoulder to ensure Marco isn’t watching before I lift the small bottle and drain half the whiskey. Dominic whistles before he steps forward and places his arm around Angel. I embrace the burn down my throat, but I am confused. She hadn’t told me about a new man.

Angel happily takes the bottle and shrugs him off, saying, “Dominic, knock it off,” before taking a swig.

“I recall you calling me God the other night.”

I gasp at his words.

Angel’s cheeks blush and she hands me the bottle of wine, leaning in close as if that’s the chaser.

“Don’t judge. I was sad about you leaving. He was there.”

“You lost your virginity to him?” I ask while opening the bottle of wine, and then I take a sip.

“Yep,” he answers, obviously overhearing us.

“Rya.” I turn around to see Marco has Honey leaning against him. She’s tired. I swear, sometimes she still reminds me of a child.

“I’m not ready to go yet,” I tell him.

“Your father—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Will do nothing. I’ll be back later.”

Marco shoots a glare at the bottle still in my hand. “I’ll come back for you. That’s all I am giving,” he says.

I nod and give him my sickly-sweet smile. One that he doesn’t seem all too delighted by, but that always works for Honey. Marco is basically our uncle, not by blood but by marriage. We love him, but he always listens to orders from Papa. There are times when he offers me a sliver of freedom, but it’s not often.

I watch them walk off and feel someone step up next to me.

“You a princess or something?” I don’t even turn to him. Earlier, he stared at me as if I had a second head. Or like he was mad at me. Instead, I shake my head and focus on Marco and Honey as they disappear into the crowd.

“That’s the princess leaving,” I say, lifting the bottle to my lips and drinking as much as I can.

“Whoa, there. Just because you aren’t a princess doesn’t mean you should trust us,” he says.

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