Page 9 of Point of No Return

“Are you fucking him yet?” my mother’s voice is less than a foot away as the door drifts closed behind her.

Despite my surprise, I know better than to jump. I should’ve known she’d find a way to sneak away. Over my shoulder, she watches me in the mirror, slowly, delicately, tugging on the fingers of her red gloves until they come free.

“Are you fucking him yet?” she repeats, resting the gloves on the back of my chair. “You’re awfully familiar with each other already.”

“No, Moma. If anything, I think he’s trying to toy with me.” Her brows pinch together, but she doesn’t say much else.

We expected this.

She nods, draping her slender hands over my shoulder and squeezing lightly. “I’m being watched closely,” I tell her.

“I would be offended if he wasn’t having you watched.”

“I think Tyson is less suspicious of me than my fiancé is.”

“They might not know what you can do, Lottie. But don’t make the mistake of thinking they’re not weary of you.”

I sigh at the lecturing tone in her voice. “I know, Moma.”

She squeezes my shoulders again, and I find myself watching the dark ink across her knuckles stretch over bone. “Do you think Skar will cause problems?”

I nearly laugh at that. “He hasn’t said a word to me before today, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

My mother smiles. “I assume it won’t be a problem getting him to trust you then?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Her lips purse, brows pinching together again. “You know what you have to do,” she pats my shoulders gingerly. And I nod because it’s true.

I know what comes next.

When the suite door opens, admitting a few drunken guests, my mother steps away from me, reaching into her clutch for her plum colored lipstick. She busies herself applying another coat to her lips. The women giggle, passing clumsy, hushed gossip at our attendance before slipping past into the bathrooms.

“Get it done, Lottie,” my mother plucks her gloves from the chair as I stand, but she tugs me to a stop before I can leave.

There’s another tube of lipstick in her hands- this one bombshell red. She uncaps it, dabbing it across my lips before tucking it safely into my palm with a smile. I know immediately that what’s inside is something far more sinister than just makeup.

“I’ll see you at lunch later this week. Can’t wait to see the ring.”

Chapter Five

Skar

There is no way a woman like Eva Orlova married Charles for anything but money. It takes a lot to bore me. My line of work deals primarily with businessmen who are holed up in an office all day, dying for company. Yet somehow, only a few minutes alone with the man has me wanting to slam my head against a wall just to feel something. I dismiss myself soon after, content to watch the night away from afar.

My fiancée absconded with her mother more than an hour ago, but I’ve spotted her a couple of times, floating from person to person. If our engagement wasn’t the talk of the party before, it certainly is now that everyone in the room has gathered around to talk to her at some point.

There are cameras all over the house, but even knowing that everything is being recorded does little to settle my nerves. I’ve spent most of the week working when really, I should have been trying to figure out what kind of angle my fiancée might be playing. I still don’t have a clue.

Eva found Charles soon after I dismissed myself, and they’ve been chatting for most of the time since then. My eyes follow as she and Charles talk with another well-off couple I’ve seen at one of these parties a few times.

Eva’s smile is saccharin-sweet. Too sweet. The more she talks, the more fabricated it seems. Charles is polite, quiet, a bit of a recluse. He chimes in occasionally, but he doesn’t strike me as a threat. I make a note to look into his wife more.

From the top of the stairs, Tyson Benenati taps a spoon against his crystal glass, the sound ringing out and silencing the orchestra. The crowd follows, quieting. Eva’s eyes float to me almost as if she knows I’ve been watching her, and she smiles, lips dark, before her gaze bounces toward Charlotte half a floor away.

“Good evening,” Tyson’s voice fills the hall, but I’ve already started moving toward Charlotte.

She flinches when I reach her though she doesn’t further acknowledge my presence- even as I rest one of my hands around her waist, pulling her into me. I pretend I’ve touched her a thousand times. I’m acutely aware of the fact that though I’m close enough to inhale her vanilla scent, I haven’t touched her skin yet. I don’t trust myself enough for that.

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