She’s sitting at a restaurant table, her makeup immaculate and she’s wearing a tight little white dress. Fuck. Mikhail is seated beside her, dressed in a suit, his beard shaved perfectly. His hand is on her thigh, his eyes on the camera. I study the photo obsessively. Her eyes look dull, as if the glitz and glam that she’s dressed as does nothing to hide the ugliness she feels inside.

Yeah. Shit is about to change.

I scroll back to the top and hit follow.

Game on.

Chapter Nineteen

I came to the conclusion years ago that I wasn’t the kind of girl who liked going out and running amok, so becoming a mother worked for me. Until it didn’t when Papa died.

Since he came back two days ago, things around the house have been tense. I can feel Mama’s betrayal. Why he would leave her and me to pick up all his shit while he ran off. After putting Wolf to bed, Mama insisted Betty and I head out, as she and Papa had shit to sort through. She told us both not to go home tonight, so now here I am, at the penthouse of my hotel in the city and looking directly across the road.

“You okay?” Betty comes up from behind me, handing me a drink. I take it from her, stepping backward and back into the lounge to get out of the wind.

“Yeah. Apparently, they put a bar into the hotel.” I take a large swig. “I say let’s check it out tonight.”

Betty flops down onto the leather chair in the corner. “Of course.’’

There’s a beep on the speaker and I jog toward the little voice box, pressing the button.

“Ma’am, we have a Jade, Poppy, and Sloane here for you?”

“Let them up. Thanks, Michelle.”

“Oh God,” Betty grumbles, kicking off her heels and curling her legs under her ass on the couch. “This really a good idea?” I fish the bottle of 42 out the back of the cupboard, grabbing a bunch of glasses.

“Yes. You’re the one who said I don’t get to go out or have a life because of the family business!” I peek my head around the corner, only seeing her dark hair spilling over the couch. The living room is all glass walls and a large patio that curves around the design. There’s a large TV hanging on the wall to the left, with a fireplace burning beneath it. Three bedrooms downstairs and the master upstairs, loft style. I’ve always loved this apartment. I loved living here before Papa passed away. I feel so stupid saying that now. Men are liars. All of them.

“True!” Betty calls out. “Well, we may as well since you’re also childless until tomorrow too.”