Page 56 of Savage Prince
When I climb into a taxi on Friday night, part of me wants to go straight to the club and wait until my appointed time and let my stranger help me forget this shitty end of my week.
But I’m not doing it.
I can’t keep meeting a guy whose name I don’t know. That’s definitely not going to end with me having a man who looks at me like Rix does at Valentina.
If I can’t call him for help, then he doesn’t deserve to be part of my life. Simple enough.
And since I don’t have any way to contact him, in addition to not having his name, my decision is made.
It’s over.
As I ride back to my place, I can’t help but wonder if he’ll find someone else to play with when I don’t show up.
Stop thinking about him.
My phone rings as I toss my purse on the counter. Valentina’s name is on the screen, and hope rushes through me.
“Valentina? Did they find my car?”
“Oh, honey, sorry, no. They didn’t.”
That hope instantly deflates. “Oh.”
“But I was wondering ... do you have plans tonight?”
I look around all five hundred square feet of my apartment—from the living area to the kitchenette and to the doorway to the bedroom—as though searching for an excuse, which is my knee-jerk reaction. Then I remind myself that Ineedplans tonight, because that may be the only way I keep my promise to myself not to go to Haven.
“No.”
“Good. Well, maybe not good for you, but good for us because I’m having some friends over for a girls’ night tonight. I was telling a few of them about you, and we thought you might want to join us.”
Girls’ night? That’s one of those things that I’ve seen in movies and read about in books but haven’t actually ever done. Not even in college, because I was working three jobs just to pay tuition and rent.
“Uh, sure?” My answer comes out as a question, and I clear my throat. “I mean, I’d love to.”
“Great. I’ll text you my address.” She pauses, and I can practically feel her wince at reminding me of the fact that I don’t have a way to get there. “Wait, never mind that. I can have someone pick you up.”
“I can get there. It’s no big deal. What time?”
She fills me in on the rest of the details, and when I hang up, I force myself to smile.
Now I won’t be tempted to go to the club.
* * *
I haveno idea what I’ve gotten myself into. None at all.
First, Valentina’s place is a beautiful house in the Garden District that I guarantee costs more than I’ll probably ever make in my entire life. Property here isn’t cheap, especially when it’s perfectly restored like hers.
Keira would probably feel comfortable here, but I feel insanely out of place. I wipe my heels three times on the doormat out of old habit to avoid tracking mud inside onto the hardwood floors and expensive-looking rugs. Canvases of gorgeous nudes, which I recognize as Valentina’s own work from the gallery, decorate the walls.
They’re incredible. It’s even more incredible to think that she makes her living from art and it can pay for this life of hers. Or at least I assume, considering her husband is a cop. Then again, I probably shouldn’t assume anything about anything.
“Welcome,” Valentina says, giving me a quick hug. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She follows my gaze to the paintings on the walls. “Yes, those are mine too. Rix insists that I showcase them here. He’s actually the one who made me finally take the leap to sell them. He changed everything for me. I would’ve kept them hidden in my studio for the rest of my life if it’d been left up to me to find the courage. You get me, I know.”
I swallow, thinking about what a crazy leap of faith that must have been, because I’m still having trouble comprehending it. “Clearly, you made the right choice.”
She smiles. “You are too. I promise. I have instincts for art, and I know yours is going to sell. It’s unique and raw and beautiful. People are going to die for it. You just wait.”
