Page 9 of Luca
Marcie was already there, sitting at a table, glass of bubbly in hand, chatting loudly with Gracie, her sister-in-law Sonia Rominov, and Mikhail Rominov’s fiancé Eilidh. All three were in varying stages of pregnancy and holding what looked like soft drinks. Poor them. I smirked. They might not be able to enjoy alcohol tonight, but I sure as hell was going to.
As I approached, Marcie squealed in delight, grabbing me and planting twin cheek air kisses that made me chuckle. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one planning to get tipsy—she was well on her way. It was her birthday, after all, so she had every right to overindulge if she wanted to.
“Happy birthday, birthday girl. Where do you want me to put your gift?” I asked.
“Over beside the bar,” she said, gesturing vaguely.
“Great, I’ll grab myself a drink while I’m at it. Want anything?” I asked, knowing it was probably a dumb question.
“Hell yeah! Hit me up with a double shot of tequila. Actually, just bring the bottle, and we’ll do a round of shots,” she said, flashing a wicked grin.
“You really want to go there this early?” I asked, raising a brow. If Marcie was breaking out the tequila now, something was definitely wrong. Tequila was our go-to when we wanted to get plastered, but it usually meant we were drowning our sorrows. Which could only mean—man trouble. “Don’t you think you should pace yourself a bit?”
“I’ll be fine. Just planning on making the most of my birthday,” she said, taking a sip of champagne.
“Everything alright?” I asked, watching her closely.
“Fine,” she said, nodding and smiling. But the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and the tightness in her expression was impossible to miss.
Most people wouldn’t notice she was faking her enthusiasm, but I did. We’d known each other too long and been through too much for me to miss the signs. She’d been so excited about this party, but something was definitely off. As I turned towards the bar, I spotted the likely cause: Anton DuPont, standing nearby, talking to Vlad.
Damn. What had he done, or more likelynotdone, now?
Anton was a close friend of the Rominovs, but that’s not how Marcie had met him. About eighteen months ago, she’d had a stalker—someone who met her at an event she’d planned and became dangerously obsessed. Things escalated quickly, to the point where she was terrified to leave her house. Derrick, her assistant, had connections, and he brought in Anton, who’d just opened a security firm. He protected her, the stalker was caught and jailed, and ever since then, Marcie had been head over heels for him. But Anton kept rejecting her. Yet, whenever he was around, he couldn’t stay away.
The mixed signals had been driving Marcie crazy, and I guess tonight was no different. It was time that stopped.
Huffing in annoyance, I was about to go rip him a new one when it hit me—Marcie and I were dealing with the same problem, just from opposite sides. Here she was, obsessing over a guy who wouldn’t get involved, while I was refusing to get involved with a guy who seemed obsessed with me.
Anton had friend-zoned Marcie, just like I’d friend-zoned Luca. Of course, I had my reasons, but I wondered what Anton’s were. Marcie wasn’t a criminal, and she wasn’t someone who played around. What was his deal?
Maybe I should ask him. But as I dropped off Marcie’s gift and headed for the bar, I thought better of it. Interfering in someone else’s life only invited them to interfere in yours, and I didn’t need that. No, whatever was happening between the two, they’d have to figure it out themselves.
Grabbing a bottle of tequila, some salt, lime, and shot glasses, I returned to the table. I might not be willing to get involved, but I’d sure as heck help Marcie through it—line up the shots and hold her hair back when the tequila inevitably came back to haunt her. After all, that’s what best friend’s did.
Several shots later, I felt a pleasant warmth spreading through me. Marcie’s face was brighter now, her smile goofier, her eyes a little unfocused.
A shadow fell over us as we downed another shot, and I looked up to see Anton. He kissed Marcie on the cheek.
“Happy birthday, Marcie. You look beautiful. I hope you like my gift,” he murmured, handing her a small box.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling widely at him.
I missed the rest of their conversation as Gracie turned to let me know she was heading to the bathroom. When I looked back, Anton was turning to leave, Marcie grabbed his arm, asking himto sit with us, but he made some excuse I couldn’t hear and headed off towards the Rominov men.
Marcie watched him go with a sad smile and eyes filled with longing. Yep, we were both hooked on men we couldn’t have—me because I wouldn’t date the guy, and Marcie because he wouldn’t date her. What a pair we were.
“Are you okay, honey?” I asked, my eyes searching her face in concern.
She nodded, huffing heavily, and closed her eyes.
“He’s a bloody fool if he won’t take a chance on a wonderful woman like you,” I said, squeezing Marcie’s hand as I shot daggers into Anton’s retreating back.
Marcie opened her eyes and forced a smile before grabbing the last of our tequila shots, and downing it.
I sighed. Marcie was completely obsessed with Anton, but I wasn’t sure he was worth it. Not the way he’d been acting. It was okay for him not to feel the same way about Marcie as she did about him, but it wasn’t okay for him to keep sending her mixed signals.
“I know he was your hero, Marcie, but to be honest, he’s been acting like an arse since,” I said, unable to keep my thoughts to myself any longer.