It’s a black statesman, I think. I’ve told my dad who I’m going to see, as well my mum and Toni. I’ve written a big note on the fridge just in case I end up in a trunk.
That’s a joke.
Sort of.
My dad believes Jimmy to be very refined and generous, but without a doubt, also a man you do not want to cross. I’m not even sure how to cross a man like Jimmy Storm, but I sure as hell don’t plan on doing it. I clutch my bag and thank the man holding the passenger door open. As I step inside the car, I begin to fidget.
The windows are pitch-black on the outside, but easily seen through on the inside, which I didn’t think was legal. But then, he is Jimmy Storm.
The car begins to move, and I riffle around in my bag for a while even though I’m not searching for anything. It’s an awkward journey. The man in the front seat peers at me every so often, so I keep my head low and pretend I’m preoccupied with my misplaced belonging.
It’s a half hour drive from my town to Connolly. Knowing I can’t riffle around for that long, I pull out my phone, open my kindle reader, and continue Ugly Love by Colleen Hoover.
I’ve just gotten to a juicy bit when a picture message from Toni drops down from the settings bar. I click on the notification and a picture of Max pops up. He looks pissed off with the person snapping it; there is no wondering why. He’s bent over a redhead. Her thighs are spread, dress pulled down below her bra and bunched up above her underwear. She looks flushed and excited to have him over her.
I would be too.
He’s probably moments away from ripping her black, lacey underwear off her annoyingly perfect body. His tattoo covered back is bare, but I can see a peak of denim at his hips though, so he’s not completely naked. He’s glowering at the camera, his eyes slits of stormy grey.
Ugh.
God, he’s gorgeous.
There is a little monster in my belly, sitting high and alert. So while I was dancing myself into a near coma and then falling asleep alone in bed, he was at a party, humping a gorgeous redhead with perfectly voluptuous breasts. The little monster pinches the walls of my belly. It’s green-eyed, lonely, and needy.
The caption reads, ‘Redhead caught red-handed between a couch and a hard place. Does Max even know this one’s name?’
All of a sudden anger wrestles jealousy to the ground and stomps on it. So I’m not allowed to kiss a boy, but he can have long legs wrapped around his body any time he likes? I swipe the picture away, although I’m sure it won’t be the last time I look at it.
Study it.
We finally roll onto a driveway and I press my cheek to the window. The front yard is a large concrete jungle with huge pot plants and very little grass or natural vegetation other than ten-foot-high hedges separating its various sections. There are security cameras everywhere. We pull into the turning circle and stop alongside a central water feature. The three-story house is raised and the front door is accessible by several steps. It has columns and archways, and it’s grand and beautiful. I don’t see a garage though nor any designated parking bays on this side of the property. Presuming this entry is specifically for guests being dropped off, I wonder what the main entry must look like. Does it have gold crusted pillars and a fountain of youth?
My legs are already shaking with fatigue from rehearsals today and as I take the steps up towards the double doors, they start to feel infinitely weaker. I stop to smooth my dress down my body and adjust a strap on my wrap-around heels. When I peer back up from my shoes, Jimmy is smiling at me from the doorway.
He claps his hands together. ‘M’a scusari. Cassidy, I feel I must apologise.‘
I sweep my hair to the side. ‘For what?’
‘Your father contacted me while you were on your way here. He was a bit unsure of why I might want to speak with you. It’s occurred to me that my inviting you here without asking him first was poor manners. Se? You’re a young girl and that may have been. . .’ He motions with his hands as he appears to search for the word. ‘Perceived as inappropriate.’
‘Oh, that’s okay,’ I assure him, feeling slightly more at ease now. Although, not nearly as at ease as I’ll be once I know what this is all about. Why he hasn’t just come out and told me, I don’t understand. Supposedly, it’s not polite to talk business over the phone or maybe his phones are tapped and we’re planning on going to the mattresses . . . I’m not entirely sure what that even means, but I’d heard it on The Godfather once.
‘Well. That’s very kind. Please come inside. My daughter is waiting to meet you in the living room.’ He moves backwards and I walk pass him. ‘To the right.’ Stepping inside, my heels clip clop on the marble flooring. The circular foyer leads off in many directions and I’m unsure about which one to take. Up the stairs? Through the door beside it? Or into one of the many others on the right?
Coming up behind me, Jimmy says, ‘I’m afraid I have some business to attend to, Cassidy. I’m terribly sorry. Aurora will take good care of you.’
I watch him as he strides away. ‘Oh, okay. Um, thanks.’
‘Cassidy?’ someone calls.
My heels start clip clopping again as I walk left into a lounge type area. ‘Hi.’
‘Oh, thank goodness. I’m so stressed.’ A leggy brunette paces around charts on easels and two people sitting with clipboards, looking rattled. ‘There is so much to do. I’ve still got seating plans to finalise and the table settings to fix and you to organise.’
My brows shoot into my hairline. ‘Me?’
‘Yes.’ She stops rushing around to scrutinise me. ‘My dancer.’
I tilt my head and contemplate feigning understanding. ‘Ah. . . ‘
Her dark eyes grow wide. ‘No one told you.’
‘Not in so many words.’
‘In any words?’
I wince. ‘Not so much.’
She throws her hands around. ‘Madonna mia!’ The two holding clipboards flinch and I try not to laugh. ‘You’d think he could handle something this simple. I mean the man runs half the District, but his daughter’s wedding? No. Forget about it. That’s just too hard.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. This is just classic.’ She points to the couch. ‘Please sit.’
Nervously, I sit opposite the terrified two. She grins and scoots in next to me.
‘Sicilian weddings are big, Cassidy. Mine is a four-day event. I need performers and entertainment and activities. I have this amazing orchestra flying over from Sydney and I really want you to dance.’
‘Oh.’ I swivel around to face her.
‘I’ve seen you on YouTube.’ She smiles at me. ‘You’re beautiful. The ballet is so romantic. Please. I’ve budgeted $1500 for your pocket, plus accommodation and food.’
‘Wow.’ My voice squeaks slightly because a stranger who resembles some kind of a stunning Italian manga character has called me beautiful. And because $1500 will cover my studio’s utility bills for six months.
Plus. . .
‘Accommodation?’ Food!
‘Yes. It’s a destination wedding.’ She interlocks her long, elegant fingers, the rock on her forefinger nearly blinding me. ‘Clay and I want to get married in Bali. I know it’s been done, but we fell in love hiking in Ubud.’
I nod and smile sweetly, trying to appear professional when what I really want to do is jump up and down and squeal with excitement. ‘When is it?’
‘Two weeks from Saturday.’
‘Oh my God, that’s soon.’
‘Yes. You’re the last act I need to finalise. A last-minute act, but my favourite.’ She stares at me with big brown doe eyes. ‘Please. My father thinks you’re wonderful and that man is not easy to please. I’d know. He really wants this. So do I. What do you think?’
My cheeks feel warm. ‘Sure. I’d love to.’
‘Yes!’ She claps her hands. ‘I’m so excited.’
Her glee is infectious, so I can’t help but giggle. ‘What choreography would you like?’
‘I’m happy for you to create your own. Romantic. Intense. Meaningful. My father loves to see fouettés. The Black Swan is his favourite.’ I’m in no way surprised to hear that Jimmy Storm’s favourite choreography is one of Odile’s. It is dark. Intense. Sensual. Odile is the epitome of a sexy female antagonist.
‘Okay.’ I bite my bottom lip, not wanting to argue with her. Aurora seems to get what she wants. Still. . .’Odile is a bit dark for a wedding.’
‘Well, you’ll be on the night before the wedding, during the final dinner before I leave Clay and go to my villa with the girls.’
‘She’s probably still a little dark even for a pre-wedding dinner. I’ll incorporate some fouettés though, for sure.’
A phone buzzes on the table in front of us, but Aurora completely ignores it. Staring at me, she asks, ‘Can you do twenty-five in a row?’ She smiles without blinking. ‘I’d love to see that.’
‘That’s a very specific number.’ I chuckle uneasily. Fouettés are challenging, especially twenty-five in a row. Talk about a head spin. Ballerinas have vomited after completing less than that.
‘It’s my lucky number,’ she presses.
‘Okay.’ I nod once. ‘I’ll try.’
She turns to look at a piece of paper on the coffee table and scowls. ‘Honestly, look at this. Such incompetents.’
I swallow hard and stare at the table. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘The seating chart should say, Clay Butcher and Aurora Butcher! Not Aurora Storm. I mean, it’s not that hard.’
When I hear the name Butcher, I fumble for words. I take a big breath in and cross one thigh over the other, biding myself time. I want to ask if that means all The Butcher Boys will be at the wedding?
In frickin’ Bali?
‘Yeah,’ I manage to get out. ‘That’s a big mix up.’
‘Yeah, it’s a big mix up.’ Her phone begins to buzz again and this time she grabs it, her long manicured nails curling around the display. ‘I have to take this. I’ll email you the details and also check in with your sister. She’s Max’s plus one. You’ll be staying in the same villa as her, so you won’t be alone.’
Oh my gawd.
I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my inexplicable smile. She’s up and pacing again with the phone clutched to her ear. I lower my hand and glance at the terrified two, who haven’t moved since I’d walked in. I want to, like, cuddle them or something.
Feeling a little dazed and in need of a Toni and Cassidy conversation dissection, I walk towards the door. As I glance behind me to wave at her, I slam into something hard. Two hands grip my shoulders and centre me. Startled, I look up and find myself staring at a scowling Max. My mouth drops open when I see he’s in a black suit with a black tie pulled loosely around his neck. His white shirt is unbuttoned slightly, showing the licks of a tattoo at his neck.
There is no way I’d guess this guy was only twenty-four. He has the appearance and presence tonight of someone in his thirties. He looks pissed off, as if I have no right to be here. As if he hadn’t punched my date in the face. As if I’m an annoying little sister.
‘The fuck are you doing here?’
My heart races. ‘Wow, it’s nice to see you too.’
Xander appears by his side. ‘Cassidy, I should have known it was you. Only you could make my brother forfeit his hand because he’d heard your voice.’
Max throws Xander daggers before aiming them back at me. ‘Why are you here?’
As I arch my neck to see him properly, I try to ignore the harshness in his eyes. ‘You know, my mum has always said that if the wind changes, your face could be stuck like that.’
He lets go of my shoulders and folds his thick arms across his chest. ‘When it comes to you, this is my default expression.’
‘I seem to have quite the effect on you then,’ I say smugly. And I’m so impressed with the wit I’m pulling out in the face of Max Butcher’s intimidation that I grin.
‘When did you become such a smart arse?’
I swallow hard. ‘I’m not sure.’
He glances around and then back at me, the dark look in his eyes stealing my breath. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
My chest tightens when I realise we are not just playfully sparring with words. He actually doesn’t want me here. Scoffing softly at his attitude towards me, I say, ‘You’re giving me whiplash, Max. What’s your problem?’
He snorts. ‘Every time I see you, you’re asking for trouble.’
I glance at Xander and feel my cheeks glowing with embarrassment. He smiles tightly, eyes pitying and apologetic. I hate that look.
Stacey pokes her head out from an adjoining room and her brows draw together when she see me. ‘Max, I’ve dealt you a hand. You coming back in here?’
Well, she clearly isn’t a Cassidy Slater fan. Apparently neither is Max today. The image of him bent over that redhead suddenly jumps into my mind, igniting me with annoyance.
Butthead!
‘I’m leaving anyway,’ I say as I rush past him, down the steps and towards the statesman.
Xander jogs after me and holds his hand up to the driver. ‘Just give us a minute.’ He studies my face for a moment. ‘Hey, don’t worry about Max. If it’s any consolation, he doesn’t want me here either.’
‘He’s such a jerk sometimes.’ I stand next to the car, shuffling in place, desperate to get away from Max before he sees the affect he has on me. As if he doesn’t already know.
‘Yeah. He can be.’ Xander grips my shoulder with one hand and rocks me slightly. ‘But he’s also the best person I know.’
The statesman idles beside us.
I scoff and stare up at Max as he watches us from atop the steps. ‘Then you need to get out more.’
‘When you’ve had the kind of upbringing we’ve had, the qualities you admire are different.’
I frown at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
He just smiles at me and opens the passenger door, waving me in. ‘I know you don’t. That’s why he likes you so much.’
‘He doesn’t like me that much. I irritate him.’
Xander chuckles and shakes his head as I step inside the car. He closes the door and taps the roof. As the car pulls away, I twist in my seat, watching Max get smaller and smaller until he’s out of sight.
I slump back in my seat and try to process everything. He’s so hot and cold with me. Touching me in the pool. Teasing me. His attention is intoxicating and I’d do just about anything for those moments when I have it. Like, I’d do anything for that chuckle. For the small touches. For the moments he seems almost. . . protective of me.
But his personality flips from flirt to butthead in seconds and I never know which Max Butcher I’m going to get. My mere presence this evening had seemed to infuriate him, so he’d humiliated me in front of Xander. And if Stacey had also heard the way he’d spoken to me, then her too.
And why? He could have just ignored me. Not forfeited his hand to give me a hard time about being in his superior presence. . .
And what were the chances that he’d be at Jimmy’s the same time as I was? Is he friends with Aurora? I suppose they are family now.
So Max and his brothers are associated with Jimmy Storm. My eyes shift to the rear-view mirror and I catch the driver’s eyes just before he glances back at the road. I shuffle in my seat and take a big breath in, trying not to overthink this situation, but it’s hard to ignore so many red flags.
Be mindful of the company you keep.
Max is trouble. That’s for sure. What I’m struggling with now is how little I seem to care.
