Page 4 of Christmas with the Mafia
Under the bright lights and against the shadow of decadence, the more sinister elements play out. Deals are brokered with the clink of a champagne glass, friendships forged on the promise of a brief conversation. Dynasties are grown and felled after one conversation, and a meeting of minds is more important than the one of souls.
There is always an ulterior motive for organizing events like this, and the charity element is the sheen we all hide behind, the main objective being to line our pockets rather than helping the needy.
However, tonight is more important than any other because tonight a king will meet his queen. The world will weep for her when she discovers that Prince Charming doesn’t exist—not in the real world, and it’s always the villain who wins the fair lady in the end.
Three
REGINA
I am not doing this.I chant it over in my head the entire time it takes for Quincy and Aston to arrive.
They crowd into my small condo and gaze at me with critical eyes.
“Are you sure that outfit is a good idea?”
Quincy raises a disapproving plucked brow, and I bristle with defensiveness.
“Of course, if it’s good enough for celebrities, it’s more than good enough for me.”
“But you’re not a celebrity, honey.”
Quincy’s words are careful, much like they would be said to a small child demanding the impossible, and I brush them aside.
“I have a vlog, remember, and a following of two hundred thousand. In their world I am.”
I smooth down my nonexistent dress, wondering why she isn’t gushing in awe about it. I mean, I look fantastic. The ice queen—remember. Elsa would kill to be me right now, and I’m only surprised she can’tsee that.
Aston can. He can’t tear his gaze away, and I’m guessing it’s because I’m like a magnificent queen among her subjects.
Quincy sighs. “Honey, please. Don’t you have a nice black dress or something? Standard issue for events like this.”
“No.” I fold my arms, noting Aston’s flicker of regret in his eyes as I disguise the curves spilling out from under the scrap of fabric covering the important bits.
“It’s not exactly Cinderella though.”
“If you say ugly sister, I’ll stick my glass slipper through your heart.”
Aston chuckles as Quincy throws her hands in the air. “Fine, we’re wasting time anyway. Grab your purse, honey, you shall go to the ball.”
“I’m not sure.” Doubts batter against my bravado and leave me weak, and the fierce gleam in Quincy’s eyes cuts sharper than any diamond at the gala tonight.
“Just because Connor is heaped in misery right now, it doesn’t mean you have to miss out. Hell, anyone would kill for an invitation to that place, and you owe it to the two hundred thousand to film every second of it. You owe it to me, so I insist on you live streaming your way around that ballroom, concentrating your efforts on any outfits, interesting paintings or gossip that will keep me going for the entire year.”
“You’re right.” I stand a little taller. “I am a professional influencer, and I owe it to my followers to shine a light on lives that we only read about. Connor’s misery will be my triumph.”
Aston snorts, and Quincy rolls her eyes. “I kind of agreewith you there. What a low blow standing you up on the most important night of your life. He’s not dead, so I don’t see the problem. All he had to do was tug on a tuxedo and get you through the door before dashing for a cab—and not Astons—while leaving you to move around the room like a freaking glitter ball.”
I refuse to accept that I appear anything but magical, and her disapproval is washing off me like the disappearing snowflakes on my dirty window.
I know I look impossibly chic and couture; it’s the trend. I didn’t make it up and am merely embracing it.
“Let’s go.”
My voice is loaded with false determination because I’m mindful that if I hesitate for one more second, I’m calling time on this madness.
“What about your coat?”
The fact Quincy resembles a snowman right now alerts me to the fact it may be minus figures outside.
