Page 58 of The True Garza
Later—fresh-faced, mildlyrejuvenated from a nap, and all dressed in a blood-red evening gown and gold sandals—I head downstairs.
True is pacing the floor, fingers flying across his phone screen. Deliciously outfitted in a tux that was undoubtedly tailored with precision for every width, cut, and curve of him.
Dear savior, this just isn’t fair.
My nipples tighten under the soft material of my gown. Something feral unfurls in me. I want to pounce him. Mark him. Make him mine. All mine.
“Hey,” I say, needing his attention.I’m over here. Look at me. Pay attention to me and not whoever’s on that screen. You should be mine. How do I make you mine?
He stops pacing and looks up from the screen. His gaze sweeps over me. But it’s flat and expressionless. It angers me. Why doesn’t he ever react to me?
“Ready?” he asks, pocketing his phone.
I nod as I approach and hold up the diamond fringe necklace Jules paired with this gown. “Would you mind putting this on for me?”
When he takes it, I turn around and lift my hair.
“Tell me something vulnerable.” He brings the jewelry around my neck. “It’s only fair.”
“Why does it bother you that I know?” I ask him. “Do you feel the need to appear perfect to women or something?”
He latches the necklace, then nudges my fingers for me to release my hair.
When I make to move, he rests his hands firmly on my shoulders to keep me still. “Tell me something vulnerable, London.” A beat of silence. “It matters.”
“Okay,” I breathe through a resigned sigh. “I blame myself for my old partner’s murder. As a result, I struggle with bouts of depression and alcohol abuse.”
His hold on my shoulders softens. And then his face is in my hair. “Thank you.”
We remain that way for a long time. His strong, hot presence at my back, his face in my hair. It feels like solace. A distant hug. A moment of nothing and everything all at once. I want more than his hands on my shoulders and his face in my hair. I want him closer. I want him to spin me around, clamp his fingers around my neck, and squeeze hard as he slams his mouth to mine and sinks his teeth into my lip until I bleed.
I want…him.
“We should go,” he mutters.
A soft sound of protest escapes me when his hands fall away.
He goes ahead of me and opens the door, pausing to wave me through.
“You can leave after the first twenty minutes,” I suggest once we’re outside.
“That’s Trent’s suggestion?” he asks. “That I leave you behind?”
“If it becomes too difficult for you, yes.”
“I’ll be fine,” he assures me. “I’m running an experiment.”
“With me?”
Instead of answering, he just places his hand on my lower back and guides me to the main building.
The dinner meeting is being held in an enclosed—though capacious—room that’s walled all around with mirrors. There’s no hiding in here.
A large, square table sits in the middle of the room, with a pristine white tablecloth, tufted white chairs, and glistening silverware. Each side of the table seats six.
“Ah, the equalizers are here,” the host, Kenneth Gaines, says aloud. “Now we can begin.”
Everyone who’d been busynottalking to each other straightens in their seat and tucks their mobiles away, all looking relieved by our presence.
