Page 119 of Vying Girls
I shake my head. ‘He’s beheaded students for less.’
Tilda smiles absently, her eyes trained on the man in question. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course she’d have a thing for the middle-aged bad boy.
But that’s fine. Less of her attention on me.
From across the room, scotch in hand, I watch her converse with Zaccaro. Well, converse would be too strong of a word. Zaccaro’s lips are moving, that polite, eager, undoubtedly manufactured light in his eyes as he lords himself over Tilda like some kind of celebrity. Which he kind of is around here, albeit for all the wrong reasons.
Tilda just nods, smiles in all the right places, barely blinking as she laps him up. He does this at these meals, makes it a point to personally speak with everyone.
That slit in her dress faces me, a long, dagger-shaped line of skin exposed. I made sure not to get pissed tonight, not beyond this gentle buzz that’s making everything bearable. The rich meal helped, but it’s been hours now. Hours of Tilda beside me in that fucking dress.
I don’t know what’s worse, that red number that barely covers her ass or this one that makes her stand taller, classier. She keeps finding my eyes, relief in them each time they land. Still feeling out of place, then. I fog up my tumbler with my snort. She’s the poshest-looking bitch here. Objectively the prettiest.
Not so objectively, too, if I’m going to be honest.
I cast my eyes over the room. The table’s been cleared, the lights dimmed. The music is louder now, the people too. This is usually when I bail. Can’t be fucked with the shmoozing, the awkward dancing that goes with it. Be more bearable if Blakely showed her face at these things, being Fina’s bestie and all, but no, she’d rather be throwing fists in a cage.
Directly across from me stands the blonde girl who Tilda knows. She’s got Zaccaro’s man with her, the lanky, creepy son of a gun who always accompanies Zaccaro out and about.
I can hear Tilda’s voice in my head.Only Mafia have bodyguards, right?I smile despite myself, still watching Aurelie. She gazes out coolly, as if she’s the only one in the entire room. Is she royalty or something?Mafia princess?
I’m interrupted from my wonderings when Tilda returns, seeming a little breathless.
‘I just spoke to the Mafia and survived.’
‘Congrats. He only spared you because it’s your birthday.’
She runs a hand over her forehead in mock relief. We watch the others dance for a bit. Fina spins Violet, the two of them pissing about. Clearly not fucking unlike Violet and Blakely. They holler stuff at Margot who rolls her eyes good naturedly, plastering on a glare.
I bet they all grew up here, over on Hazel Point. Coddled, their place in life secured by nepotism. Just like mine, I guess, only I got a little more character development.
‘Are we gonna do that?’ Tilda asks.
I frown. ‘Dance?’
She nods, not looking at me. ‘Be a shame not to in this dress. I’m sure you didn’t buy it just for it to be sat in.’
I eye her coldly. ‘I think that scotch has gone to your head.’
‘Oh. For sure.’ She peeks at me. ‘So. Dance?’
I push off the wall I’m leaning on, levelling her with a look that makes her cower back. I hold out a casual hand. She takes onemore sip of her whiskey, a big one, dumps her glass, then takes my hand.
‘Jesus. Your fingers are freezing.’
‘Always.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘Unlike yours.’
I lead her to the middle of the floor, hoping to lose us in the other dancers. There aren’t many. Margot’s here now. She executes a quick dance move that makes Fina groan aloud. Zaccaro’s got Aurelie clutched to him, speaking to her in low tones. Her eyes are still vacant, like she can’t hear him at all. Dancing with him is clearly the last thing she wants to be doing. Can’t blame her. My skin crawls at the thought of being that close to the smarmy bastard.
I sway with Tilda half-heartedly. She’s too close for me not to look at.
Smiling shyly, she closes her eyes. ‘This is so weird.’
‘Your idea.’
‘I know. It’s not you. It’s everyone else.’ She opens her eyes again. ‘Maybe it’s you a bit. I’m still getting over it.’
I nod, not needing to ask whatitis.
