The guard shook his head, said something in Italian—No. Dammit. I didn’t understand—and pointed for me to move back again.
I glanced over at Horse, who wore a stylish deep purple suit with tapered pant legs and a red silk tie, but he was completely occupied. Dangit. I needed to get into that party.
Retreated but not defeated, I moved behind the pack of photographers and stood there for a moment, thinking. Around the side of the house was a thicket of trees and a stone wall, where dancing lights poured over the top. That had to be the backyard, and apparently no one was keeping an eye on that side of the house.
I slipped off into the shadows and slung my large bag over my neck. I was only five five, but figured I should be able to climb over the wall.
I jumped, caught the top of the wall, and then did a sort of hop-kick. I managed to get the side of my shoe onto the little ledge and then used the leverage to pull myself up. The moment my head popped over the top, I saw a huge crowd of people staring at me. “Oh God. This is really embarrassing.”
“Princess Leah, so we meet again.”
I looked behind me, over my shoulder at Horse, who stood there staring with an incredibly amused look on his face.
Christ, I’m an idiot. I lowered myself to the ground and managed to scrape the skin from my palm in the process. “Ouch.” I shook my hand, wincing.
“Oh,” said Horse, “has my little leaping princess hurt herself?”
“Funny. It really hurts, actually.” Some of the old stone wall had ground into my hand.
“I’m sorry; it is just that I find it diverting that you were entering the party in this very unconventional way.”
“Well.” I looked up at him, unsure of what to say. Keep it simple. “I saw some competitors out front and didn’t want them to see me. We’ve gotten into a few fistfights recently.”
“Fistfights?”
I shrugged. “Sure. You know how us paparazzi get.” I can’t believe I just said that. My fistfight story wasn’t exactly simple.
“Well,” he said and held out his hand, “I appreciate you not starting a war in front of the house, but now you are with me, and I assure you, no one will be throwing punches.”
I gave Horse my uninjured hand and we made our way through the bushes, back out to the front of the house.
“Now, you just point to whichever guy hit you, and I’ll be sure he never bothers you again.”
Oh shit. See, Dakota! This is why your dad always told you to keep it simple. Now my lie was sprouting a second head. Soon it would have a third.
Horse looked down at me expectantly.
Double dangit. I had to give him someone.
My eyes wandered over to a man who stood at the edge of the crowd, smoking a cigar, snapping pictures and elbowing the other paparazzi to move out of his way. He looked like a douche, so I supposed he’d have to do.
“That guy.” I pointed to Mr. Cigar.
Horse looked at the man and then cocked a brow. “You got into a fistfight with that man?”
Okay. He was little large. Probably two twenty or so.
Again I shrugged. “What can I say? No one muscles in on my pictures.”
Horse gave me a look indicating he thought I was slightly insane, but then gestured for me to enter the party.
“What are you going to do to him?” I asked.
“Do not worry. He won’t stay long in jail.”
Jail? Oh no. I could only hope the guy deserved it in the karma sense.
Horse showed me inside where the crowd was young, sparkling, beautiful, and dressed…well, they weren’t wearing sneakers and I was, which made me look like the biggest loser.
And the house…Wow. It was just as beautiful as the pictures I’d seen in the magazine, with its domed ceilings, oil paintings of Italian hillsides, gleaming white marble floors, and beautifully arched doorways. The chandelier in the foyer reminded me of something I’d seen in an old Madonna video on VH1, shimmering with a thousand white crystals.
“Um, Horse, can you point me to the powder room? I need to freshen up.”
He smiled and flashed his extra-white teeth. I wasn’t sure what he did for Nikki in terms of his formal role, but no doubt he also got paid to look good.
Horse showed me down the hallway just off the foyer, and when he walked inside the guest bathroom—with marble everything—I immediately felt uneasy.
“Oh. I’m okay, no need to help,” I said.
He closed the door behind him and stepped in close.
“Uh. No, really,” I said. “I’m fine. You can leave.”
Slowly he leaned forward and then reached around me toward a discreet little medicine cabinet behind the beveled mirror. He grabbed a tiny pouch and held it up.
“Oh. It’s a first aid kit.” I felt stupid. Again.
I’m on a roll tonight.
He grinned. “You did not think I would do something ungentlemanly, did you? The Horse does not roll like that.” Role-lik-dat is how it sounded.
“Sorry. It’s just that you came into the bathroom with me, and I didn’t know what to think.”
He grabbed my palm and squeezed some clear, stinging liquid on it.
“Ouch.” I tried to jerk my hand away, but he held on tight.
“Just relax, princess.” He fished out a pair of tweezers from the little bag and began plucking at the small bits of stone in my hand. As he worked, his face focused and determined, he asked, “Did you really fight with Carlos?”
“Carlos?” I asked.
Horse pulled out a small chunk and began working on another one.
“Yes, the paparazzo outside.”
Oh no. Horse knew I was lying. I could see it on his face. “Okay. No, I didn’t. I was stuck out front because your guys wouldn’t let me pass by, and you were too busy to notice me.”
Horse chuckled. “So you thought you’d hop over the wall?” He shook his head. “You Americans are always so impatient.”
“True.” I sighed. “Can’t argue there.”
“Si!” He held up another little piece of crumbly cement. “I got it!”
He let go of my hand and reached for a large Band-Aid. “Well, I am very flattered that you were so eager to spend the evening with me.”
Ah. Horse thought I’d been jumping the wall so I could get into the party and hang out with him. I decided to play along. “You got me.”
He stuck the bandage over my palm and then placed a kiss on top. I had to admit, Horse had the charmer routine down pretty dang well. He looked at me with those bright green eyes, batting his thick blond lashes. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard all night.”
I slid my hand away and made an awkward laugh. “Well, thanks again. But now I need some alone time.”
Horse winked. “I’ll be right outside waiting.”
When he opened the door and stepped out, I noticed a dark, tall, muscled figure outside.
Paolix.
Our eyes met for a moment and, once again, he gave me a look with those smoldering eyes, sending shivers spiking through my body. This time, I wasn’t so sure if it was disdain or jealously.
I swallowed and was about to say something—I didn’t know what—but the door shut, and I immediately heard Horse’s and Paolix’s deep voices arguing. Paolix sounded like he was scolding Horse, and Horse sounded like he was telling him to pound sand.
I quickly touched up my red lipstick and inspected my shiny red hair in the mirror. I didn’t look glamorous and sparkly like the people at this party; I looked downright plain. Freckled nose, barely any makeup, and my clothes were nice—for work—but not cool.
You’re not here to win a style award, Dakota. You’re here to talk to Paolix and figure out the truth.
I slipped off my running shoes and swapped them out for my heels and then headed outside. Paolix was not there and neither was Horse, so I wandered around the large home, going from crowded room to crowded room. Everyone looked like supermodels and slightly unfriendly. When I
was about to give up finding my target, I heard a familiar, high-pitched voice calling out my fake name.
It was Nikki, wearing white slacks, super-high heels, and a backless white top. Most of her body parts were showing, as the fabric was nearly sheer. She looked fabulous. Yes, I was once again jealous because she was everything I was not—daring, fearless, outgoing, and public. And tan. I was paranoid, bitter, introverted, and living on the down low. And pale. Really, really pale.
Nikki waved me over to where she stood with a group of good-looking men who seemed to be drooling and grinning like they’d all been hit in the heads with horny hammers.
“Hi, Nikki. Thanks for inviting me.”
She leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. With our heels on, we were about the same height—in the five eight range.
“No,” she said sweetly. “Thank you for coming. I have always wanted to meet Felix’s twin, but he won’t let me near him.”
This could be good information.
“Really? Why’s that?” I asked innocently.
“Let us go find shots!” She looked at her gaggle of admirers. “Ciao, boys. I have to help my friend find something to drink.”
They waved at her disappointedly as she dragged me off toward another room with a bar in the corner. Along the way, everyone smiled, high-fived her, kissed her cheek—she was the life of the party. It felt weird even standing next to her. I was always so worried about being noticed that I’d stopped trying altogether.
She asked the bartender for something, and he nodded.
“So,” she grinned, “tell me about his brother.”
This was really strange. “What do you want to know?”
“Is he as cute?” she asked.
“Uh…sure.”
“Good! Because you know how sometimes one of the twins is ugly? I was worried that might be the case.”
“Why are you worried?”
The bartender slid two tall drinks our way. They had red, syrupy stuff swirling around on the bottom, then a layer of yellow and green.
“Thank you,” I said and put the straw to my lips. Having only tried one alcoholic drink in my life, I sipped hesitantly. It tasted like bananas mixed with toothpaste.
Ew. Ew. Ew. I forced myself to swallow. “Delicious.”
“It’s a Bob Marley,” she said.
I faked another sip. “Yum, mon. Yum.”
She laughed with a cackle and then crinkled her pert nose. “I like you, Leah. You,” she waved her hands with their long pink nails over my body, “have this whole farmer’s daughter thing. It’s very homey.”
Wow. That was a backhanded compliment if I’d ever heard one. Homey was what you called a pillow with embroidery or one of those old wheelbarrow planters. “Um. Thanks. My work clothes.”
“Ah yes. Horse mentioned that you are doing a piece on me. Which magazine was that?”
Oh crap. This was why lying was bad. Bad bad. A, I sucked at it, and B, I sucked at it. “Ummm…” I took a long sip of my banana mint nightmare to buy time, “well, it’s new—not sure you’ve ever heard of it before: Hollywood Hotties.”
She quirked a perfectly arched golden brow. “But I am not from Hollywood.”
“Oh, we’re starting a new international celebrity section.”
She shrugged. “Well, if you’d like to take some photos later, I will pose for you!”
“That would be great.” I had no idea how to use the camera I’d brought. I mean, yeah, I could turn it on and click the button, but that was it. I’d have to find Paolix, confront him, and haul butt out of there.
“Nikki, I see you’ve found my friend from last night,” said that deep, dark, embittered voice from behind me.
Nikki’s hazel eyes lit up, and she rushed into his arms. Paolix cupped her ass and kissed her passionately for several moments. I felt like I might die under the weight of watching her tongue sliding into his mouth and the way he ground himself against her firm, curvy, perfectly tanned body. If this was Paolo, he had no heart. None.
She pulled back and then took his hand. “We were just talking about your brother.”
“Yes,” I said, “exactly why is it you refuse to introduce your girlfriend to him?” I took another sip of my drink. Actually, it tasted a lot better now. And my chest and limbs felt kind of tingly. I took a long suck and downed about half the glass.
Paolix’s beautiful face turned icier. “Do you know where he is? Because I do not.”
I glared for a moment. “Yeah. I know exactly where he is.”
Nikki clapped. “How exciting. Then we can meet.”
Paolix crossed his arms. “Really? Where?”
“With his head up his ass, pretending to be—”
“You”—Paolix pointed his finger in my face—“should watch yourself, American.”
“Felix!” Nikki began scolding him in Italian. And from the looks of it, he didn’t appreciate it one bit, especially since everyone in the room was now paying attention.
I bit the insides of my cheeks. It was time to implement the “winging it” part of my plan. If this was Paolo masquerading as his twin brother, then he was up to something. One option was to mess with that “something,” because he’d make damned sure I was dealt with. Not that I thought he’d ever hurt me physically, but he’d have to do something to tip his hand. The other option was to test if this was Felix.
Option two felt safer, but what was something I could do that Felix would care less about, but Paolo wouldn’t?
My eyes caught a glimpse of Horse, the man-stallion, kissing some swooning, giggling girl’s hand across the room. With the heavy, yet liberating beat of Bob Marley thumping his way through my veins, I had an idea.
“Excuse me. Be right back,” I said to the squabbling couple. I made my way across the room, stopped in front of Horse, and looked at the chick he was busy flirting with. “This will just take a second.”
Bob and I have business.
I stood on my toes, slid my hand to the back of his neck, and pulled him toward my lips. As if this sort of thing happened all the time, he casually snaked his arm around my lower back and pulled me in, deepening the kiss. His tongue expertly tangled with mine, and though it was a good kiss—slow, confident strokes—it lacked the passion I’d felt with Paolo. When Paolo kissed me, he used his mouth to communicate what he had planned for me. Hard, rough kisses meant he’d be tearing off my clothes within a matter of minutes and bending me over for a thorough…well, you know. When Paolo kissed me slow and soft, it meant he was going to take his time, licking every inch of my body, igniting me over and over again. Sometimes he kissed me both ways in one sitting, and I knew we were going to have a special night of both flavors. Any which way I sliced it, though, his kisses always meant more. Horse’s kiss was just a kiss. Flavorless.
From the corner of my fluttering eyes, I caught a glimpse of Nikki and Paolix looking over at us. I arched my back and leaned into Horse as if he were the last man on earth who could obtain an erection.
Did I feel bad for faking it?
No way.
Horse was a player and fair game.
I moaned softly and massaged the nape of his neck and then slowly pulled back, staring deeply into his eyes. “Oh. Sorry about that. I just didn’t want any mixed signals tonight.”
He cleared his throat and bobbed his head stiffly. “Eh, no. No mixed signals.”
I winked at him. “Good.” I turned and walked from the room, hoping my bait would work. If this was Paolo, no way would he stand for me touching some other guy. Did I think that double standards were lame? Yes. Did that change reality? No.
I went outside through a set of open double doors to a large, crowded, well-lit patio. Several fire pits illuminated the outdoor space, and the swimming pool glowed with floating candles, making it appear like a dreamland. Rich or not, I never had this sort of luxury. The name of my game had always been playing the part of our current identities, which generally meant we lived in plain sight, comfortably
, but without flaunting our money.
I walked up to a group of nice-looking men—avant-garde haircuts, skinny jeans, and turtlenecks—who were puffing away on cigarettes. I didn’t smoke, nor was it something I ever planned to take up, but half the party was outside, and I needed an excuse to be out there without appearing suspicious.
One of the men—brown hair cut in a Paul McCartney, ’60s Beatles do—quickly offered me a smoke. “Hellooo, there. And what is your name?” he asked.
I took the cancerous offering, he lit it, and I pretended to inhale like Mandy and I had done once behind the gym at a dance.
“I’m Leah,” I said. “And you are?”
“They are Ed and Rolf. I am Marlin.”
“Oh. Like the fish. How exciting.” I guessed he didn’t get the fish joke, because he just looked at me with a puckered frown.
“Well,” I cleared my throat, “nice to meet you boys. And thanks for the smoke.”
I continued on my way, weaving through the crowd and praying my little plan would work.
I headed to the far end of the yard, close to where I’d tried to sneak in earlier, and found a chair next to an unoccupied fire pit.
“You smoke?”
I glanced up and saw those dark, angry, familiar eyes staring at me.
Ha! This had to be Paolo. Otherwise, why would he be outside looking for me?
I threw my cigarette into the fire. “Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.” He crossed his arms like a disapproving big brother. “It’s disgusting.”
“All right”—I turned toward him—“you don’t approve. Why would I care?”
“Why are you here?” he snarled, ignoring my question.
I stood to face him. “Nikki invited me. Why would I turn down a party at her house? Or exclusive photos for my story?”
His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”
“All right. Why do you think I’m here?”
A wicked twinkle in his dark eyes suddenly made me feel a little nervous. Then he stepped in closer, which made me super nervous.
“I think you can’t get enough of me.” He took one more step and leaned down to whisper into my ear, “I’ll let you suck me over behind the pool house. Would you like that?”
I jerked my head back, feeling revolted. It was hard looking at the spitting image of Paolo and hearing those vile words come from his mouth.