Bad Little Bride

My fingers tingle with the need to rip the messy bun off the top of her head, so I clench them into fists in the covers, not bothering to climb out of bed, but sitting up in the middle of it.

She says nothing as she steps in, baggy sweats and a ratty T-shirt covering her, and somehow making her even more endearing. She’s like a cute little Bratz doll, a little rough around the edges and lacking in grace but somehow still intriguing. It’s annoying.

Katana comes over, climbing up and settling beside me like I didn’t stick her with a blade not even eight hours ago. She’s so at ease that I’m too shocked to speak, silently staring as she lights and hits another massive blunt as if it’s perfectly normal to climb in bed with your ex-husband’s new wife.

She hits it twice, staring up at the smoke before passing it over.

I glare at the side of her face and finally, she looks over, coughing through a laugh.

“Come on, princess.” She nudges me with her knee. “Have some.”

“Get out of my room.”

“Have some and I will.”

My eyes narrow. “If you’re trying to drug me, I will kill you when I come to.”

“You and Enzo both.” She pushes it farther in my face.

Groaning, I tear it from her fingers, pulling in a long lungful, but blowing it out before it makes me choke straight into her smirking face.

Katana only smiles wider. “Someone is a secret pothead. She knows how to avoid the burn.”

“She has real weapons now.”

Katana’s muscles lock, but a moment later, the girl laughs again, and I’m convinced she has issues.

The problem? She doesn’t seem to see me as one of those issues and I’m not sure what to do with that.

This has to be a play, right? Get in my head, piss me off, screw me over, then screw my man.

Not that she hasn’t already.

Not that she might not still be.

Not that he’s really mine.

We’re both quiet for a while, lost in our own thoughts, mine a full-on shitstorm. The blunt is steadily passed between us until my room is a pit of fog and we’re down to less than half of what we started with.

“Tonight was the first night I’ve been out of this house in two years,” she admits into the air.

I tense, but something refuses to allow me to look at her…and I think it might be a subconscious understanding that she doesn’t want me to. I don’t know why I care. In fact, I should look at her simply because she doesn’t want me to, but I don’t.

I want to ask her what she means. Why she hasn’t left and if it’s been her decision or his.

Is she his prisoner?

His sex slave?

A chill breaks out across my skin and I frown at the wall across from me.

It’s not uncommon in my world, for men to take advantage of women and force them into things they don’t want. Of course, my father cut the cocks off any man under his rule who was so much as rumored to have harmed a woman in any form.

Does Enzo allow such behavior in his ranks?

There’s nothing but men working in this mansion. Does that mean he can’t trust them around women?

Am I not safe in these walls?

Is Katana not safe?

Why do you care?!

My frown deepens.

So she hasn’t been out in two years and tonight, she was done up and dressed in a beautiful gown, so excited to go to the most boring type of event that exists—a fundraiser—and I was a total bitch, pissing on her parade from the moment we piled into the car.

She’s fucked your husband before, Boston. He was hers first.

One of the many famous words from my father come sliding in and, now more than ever, they make sense: Never trust someone who has something to gain from your fall.

Katana definitely has something to gain if I go down.

Her husband back.

This time, when Katana passes the blunt back my way, I don’t reach for it, and she doesn’t pull it up for another hit. A few moments later, the cherry burns out, and instead of relighting, Katana silently climbs off of my bed.

Her movement is slow, and it’s almost if she’s hoping I’ll ask her to stay. If that’s the case, she’s about to be disappointed.

The faster she’s out of here, the better.

She makes it halfway to the door when we hear footsteps in the hall.

We freeze, and then Enzo’s large frame is taking over the doorway.

He jerks to a stop, his mouth opening and clamping shut as he takes in the two of us.

“No.” He scowls. “Hell no.” His eyes beat around the room, landing on her. “Where is your guard?”

She needs a guard in this fortress?

“He may or may not be passed out on the floor by my door.” She smiles, as if proud. “That tea of his is no joke.”

“Not when you put your sleeping pills in it, it’s not.” Based on the way he frowns, his words are not a guess, letting me in on the fact her drugging her “guard” is a repeat offense. “Out. Now.”

She walks to the door, pausing right beside him and looking back at me.

My eyes narrow and she smiles sloppily, dazed off her ass. “Don’t worry, Enzo. I didn’t tell her about your issue, you know, rising to the occasion.”

I’ve lifted and heaved a lamp at her before she’s even finished her sentence. She squeals, ducking just as the porcelain explodes over the wall beside her head, and laughs her ass down the hall.

Crazy bitch.

Enzo’s hard eyes swing back to mine, narrowing as if he’s searching.

A scoff leaves me, anger and annoyance seeping into my veins. “She didn’t speak a word about whatever it is you don’t want me to know about your sex life.”

His glare only deepens, and he stands there for a full, silent minute.

And then he slams my door closed, locking me inside.

Prick.

It’s just after eight when Grandma comes knocking on my door.

“You know,” I groan, tearing the covers over my head, “you defeat the purpose of knocking when you barge in like that.”

“Up.” She ignores me. “Dress for the lake or brunch at the country club.”

“Murderers have memberships to country clubs?”

“Your fiancé is not a murderer.”

At that I throw the covers off my head, pinning her with a yeah, okay expression.

Grandma smirks, lifting a silver brow. “He has people who murder for him.”

I gape, a small laugh leaving me as I sit up in bed. “Grandma, did you make a joke?”

She cringes at the nickname. “Is it a joke if it’s true?”

Touché.

She taps her wrist, spinning and walking out. “Be ready by nine. How we take our coffee will depend on your choice.”

“I can’t be made to smile for at least another twenty-four hours.”

“Lake it is!” she shouts back.

Thirty minutes later, we’re walking out a giant glass back door I’ve never seen, stepping out onto a stone trail. Trees line the edges, the branches still thick and full, no sign of fall approaching.

Beyond the trees is nothing but small hills of grass, and once we reach the edge of the pathway, a matching staircase appears, as does the first view of Enzo’s private lake.

“Wow,” I breathe, my eyes running along the vastness of the water. It’s shaped like a puddle would be, with small, curving-like loops all around its edges, creating at least a dozen small coves of trees and more. I look toward the farthest point. “Is that a bridge?” That must be where the sound of trickling water comes from.

“It is.” She pushes forward and I tear my eyes from the view to notice she’s wearing a willowy dress and sandals, the most dressed down I’ve ever seen her. I smile at her back, meeting her stare when she twists, as if sensing my gaze. “Come.”

We make it to the end of the stairs and turn left.

A giant pergola sits just ahead, vines of white ivy twirled around its legs and hanging loose at different lengths along every inch of its top. Four wooden chairs, the same deep mahogany as the pergola, sit beneath it, thick white cushions covering each one. A built-in minibar rests at the back-right corner so as not to block any of the lake’s views, and on top is a spread of fruits and pastries, and an espresso machine with a bottle of caramel right beside it. It’s gorgeous and picturesque, but that’s not what has my mouth falling open.

Smiling, I look to Grandma, jumping ahead of her and jogging over to what can only be a sound system.

My eyes fly across the knobs, and my feet are practically bouncing as I find the power button. It flicks on instantly, and I laugh when it’s not a calming classical note I’d expect to find in such a tranquil-like space, but the angry notes of Bad Religion roaring through the speakers.

I close my eyes, listening to the melody and timing the beat of the drums in the background.

I kick my sandals off and step back, lifting my arms into first position, creating a soft circle with their length, my fingertips nearly touching and even with my navel.

I wait until the chorus hits and then I spin, kicking my leg out behind and jumping onto the other with a twirl. My head rolls and my back arches, my arms swinging in a circle around me before I throw my upper body forward while keeping my foot in place.

My left knee comes up and then I straighten, stretching it into the air above my head, only to wrap my hands around my ankle and spin, lowering it inch by inch until it too meets the grass beneath me.

I skip, running two steps and then dive into the air on a full split, my hair whipping my face, but I can’t help but smile and laugh as I turn around.

That laughter dies on my lips, and I stutter-step.

Enzo’s dark gaze bores into me from the bottom of the stairs, where he seems to be frozen…a second man at his back.

I chew my lip, my hair getting into my mouth, and quickly turn toward Grandma with a glare.

She purses her lips to keep from smiling, lifting a small mug topped with whipped cream and caramel. “Cappuccino?” She tries not to laugh and fails.

I swiftly slide my shoes back on, pressing the button on the stereo, and wrap my hands around the heated porcelain. “I hate you,” I hiss.

“No one likes a liar, princess.” This time she does smile, but quickly points it over my shoulder. “Are you going to join us, Mr. Fikile?!” she calls out, and I note even her shout is elegant.

I sneak a glance through the curls of my hair and sure enough, Enzo hasn’t moved, but he jolts when the man behind him lets out a mocking laugh.

He whips around as if forgetting he wasn’t alone, and this time when he spins back, his mouth is pinched in irritation.

Swallowing, I look away, but when I sense his approach, I force myself to turn and face him fully, unsure of my next move with the visitor trailing just behind him.

He steps under the shade of the pergola, and he doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me. His large hand reaches out, grasping my hair, and my lips part, my head tipping back to keep his gaze.

My pulse jumps when his head lowers, his lips gliding over mine in a feather of a kiss. A tease.

It’s the first time his lips have so much as touched mine and I feel shorted. Cheated. I also feel…dazed.

It’s not even a taste, yet my mouth is watering, and I don’t realize I’ve closed my eyes until they reopen again, finding him waiting for that extra moment of connection. It’s a palpable one, a stark heat sparking between us, so much so I wouldn’t be shocked if literal sparks flashed before me.

“I didn’t die,” he whispers.

An unexpected chuckle leaves me, and his eyes fall to my lips as if to try and witness the sound as it escapes.

“You going to introduce me to the woman or not?” the man behind Enzo asks, his deep voice woven with amusement. “I’m dying over here.”

“I’m no longer particularly fond of the idea, no.” He frowns, his hand still buried in my hair.

My eyes go to flick past Enzo, but he shifts his shoulders, drawing my attention right back, and the man chuckles, his long fingers coming into view when he clamps them on Enzo’s shoulder in a way I am positive only someone closest to him would dare touch him.

The dark-eyed man steps closer to me, his smile wide and relaxed in a way Enzo’s isn’t, as if he doesn’t have a million things running through his mind at once while trying to focus on one, but lives in the now. That or he’s well-trained in the art of a carefree attitude. Maybe that’s their whole game, being polar opposites at first impressions.

“Mino?” I guess, looking to Enzo for confirmation that this is in fact his second-in-command.

Enzo nods, stepping back, but only to force Mino farther from me, and then he tugs me into his opposite side. “Boston, Mino. Mino, Boston,” he says in introduction.

“Hello.” I offer a polite smile, my cheeks warming knowing he too saw my impromptu freestyle.

Mino somehow grins even wider, his palms rubbing together as his eyes take in everything they can without dropping below my chin. “Hello, tiny dancer.”

“No nicknames.” Enzo glares, his attention shifting to where my mouth meets the mug when I go for a small sip. “And stop smiling at her.”

“Why? We’re gonna get real tight, me and her.”

“Fuck off, Mino,” Enzo mumbles, but there’s no power behind it.

Mino laughs, turning to Grandma with a bow.

Grandma narrows her eyes at the man but holds up a mug for him to take.

“You love me,” he tells her.

“I most certainly do not.” She turns away from him, coming back with a cup for Enzo.

Enzo’s palm finds my back and he leads me to one of the chairs, but before I can lower into the seat, he eases the mug from my hand, his free one closing over my hip and guiding me so I’m sitting on his left thigh.

I go still instantly, but he hauls me back farther, until I’m more or less cradled between the crook of his arm, and then he passes my drink back.

I grab it, reminding myself to take steady breaths and trying to focus on my cappuccino rather than the soothing warmth of his large body enveloping my own.

“Relax.” His lips find my ear. “We’re just sitting.”

Heat buds in my core at his heady whisper, which is just sad.

Why is he touching me and playing this up? He said only three people knew we were already married, Mino being one of them, so what is this? His way of placating me?

Does he think I’m like a kitten he can pet, and all is forgiven?

What would he do if I stood and walked away? Humiliate me some more by demanding I come back and kneel at his feet while his friend laughed on?

I roll my eyes at myself, nothing I’ve learned so far indicating that’s the path he’d take when disrespected, but what do I know?

He was already married when I asked him to marry me.

Oh god, I’m the other woman, aren’t I?

Fucking lovely.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

Are you keeping Katana prisoner?

I swallow, keeping my face blank. “No.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

He looks to the side, and I realize Grandma is still here. No wonder he’s on touchy-feely mode. Wouldn’t want his, whatever she is to him, to think he’s taken a second prisoner—not that Katana is a prisoner.

I can’t figure out what she is outside of a pain in my ass.

Grandma walks over, lowering a few options onto the small table before us.

Mino snags a chocolate scone as he throws himself into the chair adjacent to ours, his left leg lifting so his ankle can brace over his right knee.

He’s an attractive man. Nearly as tall as Enzo, but trimmer, and if I had to guess, around the same age. Where Enzo’s hair is the color of coal, Mino’s is a soft, chocolate brown with eyes to match. His jaw is clear of facial hair, and he has a small scar along the left side of his temple that disappears under his curly mop.

Enzo shoves a bowl of blueberries into my lap, facing his most trusted. “Where are we with the Martinez deal?”

“His daughter is due to arrive to the States in four days. The team that will escort her from the landing strip to the drop-off location was chosen, and the contract signed. So far, so good.”

“And the payment?”

Mino reaches into the inner pocket of his white suit jacket, passing over a small manila envelope.

Enzo stretches out, picking it up and glancing inside before tossing it back down.

The two go over several more dealings, not hiding details but not necessarily going into specifics, though sometimes Enzo turns to me to explain what they’re talking about.

Apparently, last night they tracked down a rogue dealer, someone who has been creeping around the lower-level neighborhoods selling specialized software.

Software that was identical to what was stolen from the Bandoni family, Bronx’s family, warehouse. They run a “legit” transport facility, shipping electronics and things all over the States. But really, those trips are a cover, a way for them to connect to satellites along the way, hacking systems and all that other techy shit that’s way over my head. That’s where Bandoni’s real money comes from, the clients who need inside systems they could normally never get into.

I’ve known Torin, Bronx’s dad, all my life. He’s on the Greyson Union and one of my father’s closest friends, though I use that term lightly in this world, so it’s interesting to know he hired Enzo to hunt, and the lion always catches his prey.

It’s an ironic little game Enzo plays, running a highly coveted and sought-out private security company, escorting celebrities, royalty, and more from point A to point B, guaranteeing their safety like no one else can. He’s a hero on paper and a villain on the streets, using all his knowledge and connections covertly to do the exact opposite. He strips people of their safety and is known for his ability to slip through any and every security measure put in place that’s not designed by the man himself.

He deals in death and retribution. He’s the reaper. “The Ghost.” He’s the man you never see coming, that no one lives to tell the tales of. He’s that good. Or his men are, if what Grandma said was true. He doesn’t have to raise his weapon but has people who do it for him. They’re an organization of assassins, an army of unconquerable soldiers.

I knew most of this information from just being a member in this world, maybe had a little more insight being the daughter to Rayo and the sister to Rocklin, though none of it’s a secret, quite the opposite, really. It’s word of mouth that brings the clients in, while simultaneously scaring off those who might dare to make a move against an organization.

Of course, all the deeper details were noted in the file I was given when I was on the hunt for my husband. So yes, when it came to his dealings, I knew exactly what I was getting into with this man.

It’s why I chose him.

If nothing else, I’m quite proud of the strength I’ve tied myself to.

You have a job that needs to be done but don’t trust the men on the other end? Hire the Fikiles.

Have a “job” you need erased from the face of the earth without a trace? Hire the Fikiles.

His men help the transporters transport, the thieves thieve, the murderers murder.

It’s the very reason my father hated him so much. He says Enzo has no loyalty, that he lives by no code, as his work is not limited to a specific set of allies. But is there really a code that matters when blood spilt is nothing more than a matter for the maids in this world?

Bored, I consider heading back inside, but when I lean forward, Enzo’s arm tightens around me, making it clear I won’t be excused. So, I set my mug and the berries down, settling farther into Enzo’s chest. Instantly, his hand slides along my thigh, rubbing small circles over the boho bottoms I slid on.

I must fall asleep, because the next thing I know, I’m in his arms, being softly lowered into the chair on my own.

His eyes find mine. “I’ll be back.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if that means I’ll see him later, but then I remember he’s an asshole and pull away.

His gaze narrows, but he doesn’t comment on the change in my demeanor. “There are men at every front tower and eyes in the skies. Every fifteen yards holds a guard. You will not see them, but they’re there.”

“Are you issuing a warning or trying to be reassuring?”

He blinks in frustration. “What need do I have to warrant a warning?”

“The fact that I left you when I didn’t know you belonged to someone else and now, I do.”

He gets in my face, his tone now a threat of its own. “You didn’t leave me, Little Bride. You were taken from me by your father, a man I allowed to live against my better judgment.”

“I would have never come back here with you if you’d have killed him.”

“And how would you have known, hmm?” He gets in my face. “All you knew when you got here was what I told you. I could have killed him, and you’d have had no idea, but I didn’t. I didn’t because I knew if I had, and I wanted to, but if I had, you never would have forgiven me, even if his death would have been no one’s fault but his own.”

“If you would have killed him, it would be you who went down once the other district leaders learned you were the one who spit on our agreement first.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You agreed to marry me when you already had a wife, Enzo! That alone would make the contract null and void.”

His eyes flare with a fiery rage and he dips down, getting in my face. “If you think a little detail like that could have stopped me from getting what I wanted in the end, you are sorely mistaken, little girl.”

Little detail. Right. I refuse to react to his words, but rather sit back in the chair and stare up at him with a void expression. “And what is it that you wanted, Enzo? A woman to claim without being accused of incest?”

His features harden, his fists clenching.

I realize I’m being a brat, maybe even hardheaded, and he hasn’t exactly done anything wrong – well, today anyway. But it’s necessary. A man like him could walk all over me, use me, and lose me, so I have to stay on my toes. I can’t let his…whatever you want to call the soft shifts in his attitude, distract me.

It’s when you least expect it, the floor beneath you shakes, knocking you off-balance, and I’m hardly standing upright.

There’s a strain in my chest, one that tells me I’m reading things wrong, but I force a single brow to rise, looking at my wrist as if there’s a watch latched around it. “Better get going, dear, you wouldn’t want to be late for wherever it is you have to go.”

He pushes to his full height, pointing a long finger in my direction. “We will be discussing this when I get home, and stay the hell away from Katana. I’ll be damned if my wife befriends anyone in my house before she does me.” With that he whips around and leaves.

I wait several minutes to see if Grandma will return or not, but when she doesn’t, I decide I’m not going to waste this little bit of freedom.

I crank the music up obnoxiously loud and head toward the water, hoping like hell I can channel my inner Rocklin and let it wash all the bullshit away, if only for a little while.

I leave my shirt on but get rid of the pants and walk right into the chilled water. I walk until I can do a backbend and disappear beneath the surface altogether. I hold my breath for several long beats and when I resurface, I smile at the sun. I stay there, wading in the water until my fingertips are wrinkly before I finally step out, wrapping one of the giant fluffy towels around my waist.

The moment my feet slip inside my shoes, Grandma appears at the top of the stairs.

“Come,” she shouts, waits until I reach the foot of the stairs, and then spins on her heel, leaving me to catch up. When I do, she leads me down a completely different hall than the one that ends at my room, curving to the left and revealing a giant, black iron staircase. “There is an elevator through the hall if you need it.”

I shake my head, following her up the steps into a giant, wide-open space with a railing that leads from one wall to the next, two double doors in the center and one across from it to the right.

She pushes the double doors open and I enter behind her, my mouth falling open at the sight.

The room is enormous and shaped like a giant half-moon, the entire back side a massive, bowed window with a radius top. There’s trimming running from floor to ceiling every so many feet and not a curtain in sight.

“The entire wall opens up and there’s a private balcony overlooking the water, a Jacuzzi, and minibar,” she explains, walking over to the side paneling.

“It’s incredible,” I whisper, slowly twisting and taking in the entire space. Only then do I spot the four-poster bed. It faces the windows and is piled with what looks to be thick, fluffy pillows, the cases a deep green in color. I make my way over, running my fingertips along the comforter, a black and emerald marble-like color. “Is this…”

“Mulberry silk? Yes,” she explains, and when I glance back at her, she’s simply standing there with her hands clasped before her.

I turn back, pressing my palm against it fully and dragging it down the butter-like material, a small smile pulling at my lips. My hand wraps around the post, my thumb stroking along the carvings engraved into the black wood. “Ancient Egyptian,” I murmur, gaze trailing all the little markings and wishing desperately I knew what it said. My sister would know.

I move toward the bathroom, gasping at the sight.

Much like the room, the bathroom also includes a curving window, but this one is a dark, tinted window fitted perfectly around the massive tub that’s raised high above the entire space.

With a smile, I climb the steps, counting twelve before I reach the upper platform.

It’s no more than three feet wide, the perfect amount of space to allow you to sit on the tub’s edge should you wish, or to bring a platter of fruits and wines.

Or to do many other filthy, filthy things…

My blood warms at the thought and I step into the bath, crossing my legs and sitting in the dead center, my knees not even touching the edges, it’s that wide.

“Now this is divine,” I murmur to myself, my eyes bouncing across the lake outside, and following the birds as they sweep from tree to tree.

“That opens as well,” Grandma tells me. “The glass slides all the way back, disappearing into the wall, among a few other tricks.”

I nod, picturing sitting in the warm water with a book and bottle of wine. “This is a room I wouldn’t mind being locked in.”

Forcing myself to stand, I quickly scan the rest of the space, the sink a giant slab of black marble, hints of greens swirled in with golden glitter throughout. It’s one of those waterfall sinks, tilted slightly so the water disappears into a slight crease at the back, no drain in sight. The mirror is tinted and from where I’m standing, I can only see a sheet of black glass as it offers a privacy screen, only showing you what’s directly in front of you.

Running my hand along the edge, I smile at the spinning tray in the middle, a single rose dipped in a glittery rose gold in the center, sitting on a bed of crystals and crisp water, but then I spot the folded black bandana on the tray beside it, a small, familiar jar sitting right on top.

With a slight frown, I lift it up, finding it’s the same brand of salve I used on Enzo’s new tattoo. Unscrewing the cap, I look inside. It’s a quarter of the way gone, like mine.

Is it mine?

A bit of giddiness washes over me, and I quickly move from the bathroom, rushing for the doors that can only lead to the closet. I pull the doors open, and my shoulders fall.

“This is Enzo’s room.”

It’s not a guess, his clothes hang neatly, and color-coded, I might add, in the walk-in space before me.

I glance back at Grandma as she approaches, watching as she presses a button on the wall near my head.

A soft click catches my attention, and I follow the sound, my eyes widening when the center wall splits, folding his shoe shelves in half and revealing a second, hidden space until I’m staring at myself in the large mirror straight ahead. Hesitantly, I make my way inside and my mouth falls open.

The space is no less than twenty feet, both long and wide, and every single inch is covered. Tops, pants, gowns. Handbags, heels, and jewelry.

But it’s the glass doors to the far left that draw me over.

With shaky fingers, I wrap my hand around the crystal knob and tug them open, my smile widening at the array of colors. The glitter and tulle and sweet, sweet satin.

It’s not until I start to move the hangers around that I realize what it is exactly that I’m looking at.

They’re costumes, yes. Leotards and tights and more, duh.

But they’re not just any dancer’s attire.

They’re mine.

They’re all the ones I wore to every major performance I’ve ever had, including the showcase pieces from Greyson Elite and my solo in New York. The very piece my father had to sign a contract stating any damages done to the diamond-encrusted, million-dollar design, even during the performance, we would be liable for. Yes, my father could pay that without a single blink, but that’s not the point.

The delicate piece was created as a marketing tool and was auctioned off to the highest bidder a month after the final curtain closing last year. From what I heard, it was locked in a glass case in the center of DeLuca Diamonds in New York City, but it’s just hanging here as if it’s a simple piece of silk.

They’re all here.

Every. Single. One.

I look toward Grandma, who still stands just outside the closet entrance, but my attention latches onto a familiar faux fur jacket, the leopard print vibrant and the length nearly sweeping along the floor.

The clothes. The shoes and bags.

“These are all my things,” I whisper. From home.

“All your things and more,” Grandma comments.

“So this room…”

Her shoulders straighten, as if bracing for a fight. “Is your new room.”

My pulse beats a little faster and I peek at her from the corner of my eye. “And Enzo?”

She tips her head slightly, her gaze assessing, and when she speaks again, there’s something lighter in her tone. “Will come home to you here.”

I nod, turning back to the closet. My closet, before stepping out into his closet.

Our room.

This is our room. Mine and my husband’s.

I’m married to Enzo Fikile.

A tiny thrill slithers up my spine as my gaze lands on the bed, but there’s an anxious tug that comes with it.

My eyes stray back toward the closets, my mind reeling. Enzo prepared this room for us, bringing in all my things from home and arranging them just as I had them, taking what he saw and adding to it using the same styles. And the costumes, both new and old. The shoes.

My toes curl, an eagerness to get back into pointes nearly drawing me right back inside.

He’s given me everything I need now.

Is this why I was put in that other room? So he could prepare?

To give me time to warm up to him or maybe time for him to cool off after I pulled the disappearing act.

Why does he have my performance pieces?

How does he have my performance pieces?

He would have had to go looking, do some research to find out what showcases I’d been a part of and track down the costumes somehow. And the diamond piece…

I make it a point to remember to look it up, see if a certain jewelry store has been robbed lately…

That shouldn’t send a spark of electricity surging through my nervous system…but it does.

I bite my lip, tracing the length of the four-poster bed.

“Grandma…” I begin, hating the hesitation in my voice. “You said if I needed anything to let you know.”

I look to her, and her eyes tighten around the edges, showing her age a little more. “I did. I’m under clear instructions to indulge your every request, Miss Revenaw.”

“Good.” I nod. “Because there is something I need, and I’m not sure it can wait…”