Page 34 of The Killer Card

“Have her?” I snort. “She’s not your child—” The look she gives me snaps my mouth shut. “Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask trying to recover.

“No,” she says decidedly. “She’s determined to go through with this sham of a marriage whether her parents deserve her help or not.”

She finishes her drink, setting the empty glass on the table next to her. A waiter comes around to collect and sets down another without her having to ask.

“Cristian has tried to talk her out of it,” she goes on. “At the very least he has her best interests at heart. Clara has tried. I’ve tried—”

“Rowan mentioned seeing her the other day. I think he said she was wearing a veil—”

“At our fitting. Yes, she mentioned it.” She takes a deep sip of her drink. “I hope Elias isn’t doing much better.”

Shaking my head, I face the stage, mirroring her calm but unable to stay as still. I end up looking around at the other couples in the room when I tell her, “He’s miserable. Hasn’t performed at El Rincón in weeks. He comes in to sign the checks, help with orders, but other than that he’s a ghost.”

Naomi is silent long enough that the lights begin to dim, and a spotlight finds the stage. A young man in low slung jeans takes the stairs. He picks up the rope, wrapping it a few times around his hand, testing its strength, before turning back toward the stairs where a woman scantily clad in expensive lace is rising into the light to join him. He extends his free hand, kissing her fingers as he helps her ascend. She’s beautiful- they both are- with an elegant grace that the man appreciates with long lingering looks. She doesn’t blush, but she does smile at his attention, an endearing grin, as if she’s seen that look in his eyes a thousand times before.

The performers usually are an established couple. Once a month two- or three- of the bravest members of the club will volunteer to show off their kinks, and more importantly, their passion to a captive audience of their closest friends. It’s a respectful exchange of pleasure for pleasure. We enjoy watching, they enjoy being watched. A few people in the audience will get off to it, I’ve been amongst them before, but some are just here to appreciate the boundless crossing of love and lust.

“They’re really in love aren’t they?”

I know she’s talking about Elias and Poppy, even if her eyes remain on the couple. The man leads his lady to her seat, his fingers caressing her bare skin in featherlight strokes.

“Yes…” I murmur, taking a sip of my drink.

“Then why isn’t he fighting for her more?”

My brows narrow. When I look at her again she’s glaring at the stage, still refusing to look at me. Heat starts crawling up my neck. My hand clenches atop my thigh. “Excuse me?”

She sets down her half finished second- maybe third- drink. “If Elias loves her the way he claims to—”

“He’d die for her—”

“Then why hasn’t he tried?” She finally looks at me, crossing her hands in her lap. Shrugging, she purses her lips. “Why has he not shown up at our door? Why has he not demanded to see her, or done anything other than call Cristian to check in? Why hasn’t he asked to speak to her over his phone, or texted or—”

“He’s respecting her boundaries,” I defend my friend, setting my own drink down sharply. A gentleman on the couch adjacent to ours gives me a look. I slide closer to Naomi, until our thighs touch, lowering my voice. “She told him she wants nothing to do with him. The things she said to him—”

“He told you what she said?”

“Of course.”

He’s my best friend. Rowan and I showed up immediately when he called. He wasn’t crying, not anymore, but the tragedy in his eyes had been more heartbreaking than anything we’d ever witnessed. We’d watched this man be pulled away from his son for two decades and none of those moments compared to this. Those days were never final, not even when years started to pass without them speaking, but this. Poppy was marrying Cristian. Once those papers were signed, there would be no going back, not for either of them.

“She told him he’s too old for her. That he’s too old to have a family with her. That she would be nothing but a burden to him if she allowed them to be together—"

Naomi snorts, shaking her head. “All of you are so much older than us and yet you’re no wiser than you were when you were our age.” She meets my eyes, her icy blues captivating in their conviction. “You’ve met Penelope Hastings. Do you think for even a second of her privileged life that girl has ever worried about being a burden to anyone?”

Frowning, I glance at the stage. The gentleman has begun his Shabari routine, carefully and intricately wrapping the ropes around the young woman’s body in crossing patterns. Her breathing is shallow, the weight of the restraints heightening her arousal. The crowd is growing restless in their anticipation.

“I’m not saying Nelly is incapable of being selfless,” Naomi continues. “I think leaving Elias is the most selfless she’s ever been, but she is not selfless by nature. It took powerful threats to make her act that way. Because Penelope Hastings is selfish. She is demanding and she is spoiled. No matter who she might try to be for him, or who she wants to be for herself, there is no changing how she was raised.

“Elias is lucky he has money, because Nelly could never be poor. She could never have simple as much as she likes the novelty of it. If Elias were to show up at her door tomorrow, this selfless act she’s putting on would shatter. All it would take is him showing up.”

Naomi reaches for her drink, finishing the wine. Another is set down when the empty glass is whisked away. My eyes narrow, but I decide to say nothing. I’m not her keeper. In fact, I’d much rather she offered to be mine, but that will never happen if she continues to associate me with people she finds distasteful. Elias for being a coward. Cristian for whatever reasons she might have.

She’s stopped looking at me again and it’s making my skin itch how focused she is on the couple on stage instead of me sitting right next to her.

Sex is permeating the air now, the rustle of fabric and the soft moans of those who can’t help themselves any longer cresting beneath the swells of erotic music. On the stage, the man cups on of the woman’s breasts, leaning down to take her pert nipple between his teeth.

Naomi’s breath hitches, and though her expression doesn’t change, thanks to the brightness of her eyes I can see that her pupils are blown wide.