Page 21 of Jig's Last Dance
Again with the disapproving tone, which I ignore but for a slight frown. My parents died. I’d like to think he could’ve given me a little grace.
Instead, I say, “Um, I don’t have a dress—”
“Do not worry, bambina, hm. It’s been arranged. Now, I must tend to a few things.”
With that, I’m dismissed, but I pull my lips into a smile when he stops at the door and looks back at me.
He studies me for a moment, the intensity of his gaze raising the hair on my arms before he nods and exits. Shit.
That was intense. Has he always been that way? Of course, he has. He’s the most powerful man in his world.
One of the staff appears and leads me up the stairs to a room. Once inside, I close the door and stare at the space decorated for a princess, complete with a four-poster bed and plush rug.
It’s beautiful but unlived in. Has Sal ever considered starting a family of his own?
Curious, I step out onto the balcony. The view reminds me Jig’s, with beautiful trees and plants surrounding a perfectly tended lawn.
The difference here is that Sal’s home has fencing around his estate to keep people out. Or is it in?
Sal gave me no room to decline. What happens when I want to leave?
∞∞∞
A new black dress with sleek, sexy heels arrives at my door an hour before I’m to meet Sal in the foyer. To my delight, someone even included makeup, although I’m curious if Sal picked out the colors. Weird much?
The strapless dress hugs my curves and ends at my knees. Pulling my long blonde hair back into a high ponytail, I line my blue eyes with a nude shadow and swipe on red lips.
With the heels, my legs look long and lean. This is not usually an adjective I use when it comes to my tiny frame, and I smile before it fades.
Ben freaked out because I was with a low-level grunt for Paddy McCafferty. Now I’m going to dinner on the arm of a mafia king. What the fuck am I doing?
Sal’s waiting for me when I arrive at the designated time, and he leads me to the vehicle, where his guard opens the back door. Once inside, we pull away, and I stare out the window.
It’s funny, but before, when I didn’t understand, I could talk about anything with Sal. I thought he was my best friend. Later, things that didn’t make sense became clearer.
In the seventh grade, when I complained about a boy threatening me, that boy came back to my school and apologized before avoiding me like I was diseased. When I was five, I begged my mom for a motorized scooter, and she refused, saying it was too dangerous. But for my birthday, I received that scooter while my mom looked on with a pinched expression. A week later, I fell and broke my arm.
Now, sitting next to Sal, my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth. The reality is, I don’t truly know what he’s capable of. I never did.
“Alice?”
“Yes,” I murmur, turning his way to find him studying me patiently.
“Are you okay?”
“Um, yes, of course. Just a little tired,” I say with a smile. It’s awkward as fuck, but I don’t know how to bridge the gap, and I don’t know if I want to.
His eyes flicker. “Have you considered what you’re doing once you graduate?”
“I thought maybe community college and a job.”
Truthfully, I’ve spent so much time avoiding going home, which devolved into partying, that I haven’t given my future much thought. Besides, I have a lifetime to consider it.
Sal’s gaze drops to my hands in my lap before he rubs his chin. A kernel of unease slides down my spine, and I smooth my hands down the fabric of my dress.
After a moment, he says, “Your father wanted much for you.”
Sal has a way of drawing out his words that enforces his power. A reminder to listen or regret.