Page 93 of Girl Anonymous

“In less than an hour, the clothes and bags will be delivered by messenger. Help yourself to breakfast.” Owen waved his hand around the kitchen. “We’ll see you later today!”

As the two guys disappeared toward their room, Dante contemplated her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She simply didn’t quite understand his endgame in reference to her. Or she did understand it—he’d told her often enough—but she could not comprehend quite why.

“Thinking,” she said.

He cupped her cheeks and looked into her eyes. “Stop. You’re doing it wrong.”

Maybe, but she couldn’t stop.

She wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t charming, she wasn’t tactful, she didn’t flatter him. She was the last remaining Daire; the last remaining enemy of the Arundels. Sure, he wanted to sleep with her. That was clear. After that night in Gothic, more than clear. But why the rest of it? Why want marriage? Why claim her and cause such trouble among the already contentious Arundels?

He was going to kiss her, so she asked, “Fast-food breakfast okay?”

“Hm.” He caressed her lower lip with his thumb. “We’ve got time. You put ice on your boo-boos.” He opened the freezer and tossed her two ice bags. “And I’ll pop the toast in and make us PB and Js.”

“That sounds good.”

He stuck his head in the refrigerator and came out with all-natural peanut butter. “Damned hippies,” he muttered.

She smiled, because he wanted her to, and pressed the ice on her bruises.

In the end, all the events past, present, and future came down to one question: Did this man toy with her like a crafty cat with an unwary mouse? When she embraced him, did she embrace her own destruction?

After all, Benoit Arundel was Dante’s father. Nothing could change that.

As Dante and Maarja drove away, clothes in the trunk, she asked, “Do we trust Connor and Owen completely now?”

Dante laughed shortly. “I attached an app to Connor’s computer that reports all his activities to me.”

“So, short answer, no. What about his other computer? I assume there’s more than one. Or Owen’s computer?”

“All the electronics in the house and probably a few beyond respond to the app.” Dante rubbed her thigh. “I’m proud of the way you’re thinking like an Arundel.”

She answered tartly, “I’m thinking like a survivor who’s recently suffered too many close calls.”

“As I said, an Arundel. We have a lot in common, Maarja. Not just an ancient blood feud. Not just a bottle reunited with its top. We have the same instincts, we think alike, and in the far distant future, long after the wedding, when we’ve been together for all our lives, we’ll even look alike. Wait and see.”

“I don’t see that there’s a lot of choice,” she muttered.

“No. We no longer have any choice.” On that cheerful note, Dante hit the freeway toward Oakland.

CHAPTER 45

Dante parked the Opel Kadett on the curb in front of Octavia’s Oakland home. “No one will steal this turd,” he said with satisfaction as he pulled their new neatly packed luggage out of the trunk.

“They would if they knew what was under the hood.” Maarja got out and looked around.

The yard looked pretty good; Mr. Nyugen rented the attic for himself and the dilapidated backyard gazebo for his karate school, and on the side he handled the gardening.

On the other hand, the house looked… Well, if a word could be found to describe it, that word would besagging. Built in the early twentieth century during a brief period of prosperity, the former mansion had two stories, two bathrooms (one up and one down), a large front porch, and tall double-hung windows. The furbelows that decorated the eaves had once been multicolored, and fragments of paints still clung in the crevices. Overall, the white paint was peeling and bare boards rotted, but it was home.

She opened the front gate, also sagging, and stepped carefully along the broken chunks of concrete walk, up the steps, and across the porch to the door.

Upon going inside, she stepped into a riot of conversation and movement: in the foyer, the dining room, the living room, onthe stairs were neighbors, members of Oakland Golden Neighborhood Community Festival, Octavia’s sisters-in-law who she kept as friends after her divorce, their kids (also friends), Mr. Nyugen, and some kids in white karate gi, balancing on ladders and decorating with garlands of flowers. People from Saint Rees Fine Arts Movers mingled and helped, blending in as they did so well and at the same time monitoring the activities for unusual behavior.

Beside her, Dante dropped the bags. “Your mom and sister must be home and preparing for our wedding.”

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