Page 7 of Mason

She squirms under my gaze, her pillowy bottom lip glistening with peach gloss between her teeth. “He’s a cute Irish guy. And he’s not that old.”

I groan. Papa would disown me for half of the shit she’s pulled, but then again, she isn’t expected to marry up. She’s just expected to marry, period. As long as he’s part of the business, she’s good to go. “I don’t know, Rachel…”

There has to be an easier way to get alone time with Dorian. Granted, the grapevine method of getting his attention isn’t working too well. But Down Under is a crapshoot, more so if Rachel is intending on bedding some random old guy.

My best friend frowns. “I really feel a connection, Emily. He might be the one.”

She always says this. I hate her for it sometimes. She has all the time in the world to settle down with a man of her choosing, yet she actively looks outside the perimeters in place like a dog testing his brand new electric fence. At least she has a damn choice.

“He can’t be,” I remind, stepping around a pair of teenage love birds strolling hand in hand. I’ve never got anything like that, either. My relationships are always a secret. They have to be.

She scowls. “You never wonder if your soulmate isn’t a guy from the business?”

I snake a hand into my purse for my keys. “Nope.”

“What if he’s a fancy-schmancy stockbroker with a six-pack and an English accent?” she asks, smirking devilishly. “With a fat cock and a fatter wallet.”

“Then he’s not the man for me,” I say with a shrug, checking both ways before crossing the street. A few cars scurry by before I can step onto the asphalt.

Rachel narrows her charcoal-lined eyes as she follows my lead. “Seriously? You’d turn down a rich, hung hottie because he wasn’t daddy approved?”

I don’t hesitate. “Of course.”

I know the rules. She does too. It’s ingrained in us from an early age to marry our kind, have babies, maintain a house, and put a smile on our face.

She threads her fingers in the onyx rosary dangling from her neck, a gift from her grandmother that’s heard more questionable shit than a confessional. “It wouldn’t kill you to open your eyes to other fruit. It’s awfully juicy.”

“It would.” I focus on my boots padding off the asphalt,tempering the urge to shake an ounce of sense into the doe-eyed ditz. I want to keep her as a friend. I like having one person who I can be myself around, and because she feels the need to push buttons, that could get ripped away if the wrong person overhears.

She doesn’t try to hide the dramatic roll of her eyes. “Your daddy wouldn’t touch a hair on your head, Emily Rose. You’re his angelo.” She says Papa’s nickname for me like it’s an insult.

I turn to face her, stopping dead in the middle of the street. “Angel or not—he’d crush me, and you know it. Your father would too, or else you’d be parading Oscarall over town.”

Rob Darrow is a lot of things, but he isn’t a pushover. He’ll throw Rachel and her perky tits out of his house faster than she can come up with an excuse. And if he does, I can’t help her. That’s the kiss of death in our world. A shame that leaves a stink you can’t wash out.

A sports car approaches, and she tugs my arm, ignoring what I said. “Emily, get out of the road!”

I raise a hand at the car as it revs its engine before meeting my best friend’s amber eyes. “Admit it.”

The driver blasts his horn, and I ignore it, smiling as Rachel squirms. I have all day. The driver can pound sand. I don’t care.

When the horn sounds again, she snatches her hand from my arm as if I electrocuted her. Her tongue sinks into her cheek before she replies, “Okay, well, maybe I haven’t told him yet. So what? I’m going to.”

Exactly.

Rachel Darrow is boy crazy, but she isn’t stupid. She knows that stepping outside of the lines is an easy way to end up penniless with a weak husband. And that’s with a kind father. Mine would break a few bones as a parting gift. He might even make my husband-to-be vanish.

I continue along, allowing the sports car to speed by.

“I’m really going to,” she insists as we approach my vehicle.

I meet her eyes over the roof of the Mercedes. “Rachel, keep looking, please. I need you to stay alive, so we can grow old together, wearing mink and gossiping like our mothers.”

That’s a stretch, really. Mama wants nothing to do with her mother, Sophia, but I still throw the thought out there. Maybe it’ll save her from doing something stupid. Get her thinking about the future rather than what makes her tingle downstairs right now.

She chews her lip before smiling. “Okay, but only if you go to Down Under with me tonight.”

I open the door with a grin. Just thinking about seeing Dorian without barriers is enough to send the butterflies fluttering in my belly. This might be the night that kicks Steven to the curb for good. “Deal.”

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