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I reply by crushing my lips against hers. Claiming her, curling my fingers into her hair and drawing her closer. She tastes like gin and chewing gum. Smells like a Sunday morning tangled in bed.
When I finally let her pull away, she looks up at me with a drunken grin. “That good, huh?”
“Went pretty smooth.” I nod over her shoulder to Poppy and Nova. “Having fun?”
“Yes. Does every mob family host balls like this?”
By the way the oceans in her eyes sparkle, I know what she’s thinking. I brush a hair off her forehead and say, “We can have as many balls as you want, angel.” Then, I draw her back in for another kiss, hungrily tasting her sweet mouth.
I don’t care how it looks—the newest member of The Network playing tongue tennis with his girl. I don’t care what the etiquette is. What the rules are.
Because ever since I met Lottie Lewis, all I’ve done is break the rules.
* * *
LOTTIE
We can’t keep our hands off each other on the car ride back to the Garden. Under the twinkling lights of the Rolls roof, we explore each other’s bodies; hands, mouths, and tongues following the beaten paths of flesh they’ve explored a million times before.
As the grassy hill comes into sight, underlit with soft lighting, I nestle into the crook of Cillian’s arm, breathing in his liquor-aftershave-pheromone concoction. “I love it here so much. Why did we get the apartment in Philly, again?”
He laughs. It vibrates against me. “I can’t rule Philly without living there for at least some of the year, and it’s much closer to your college,” he says, winding his hand through my hair. “Besides, we can’t live in a greenhouse forever, baby.”
“You’re right. And the humidity wreaks havoc on my hair.”
“And you want to turn it into a therapist retreat once you get your license.”
I sigh. “If I ever pass my midterms.”
Another chuckle. I’ll never get bored of the sound. “Well for now,” he says, stepping out of the car and offering me his hand, “the after-party is in the Garden of Eden. Invitation only.”
He snakes his arm around my waist, steadying me on my stilettos as we cross the gravel and head into the Garden. As he taps away at the security controls, unsteady on his own feet and one eye closed, I consider living in Philly.
It’s like the weight of the world has tumbled off of my shoulders. With no Lucky and no Nimo lurking like a storm cloud, I can walk the streets freely without looking over my shoulder or freezing in fear every time a car’s headlamps wash over me. I don’t live in a shitty apartment that rattles according to the train times, nor share a bathroom with the world’s biggest stoner and her mooch of a boyfriend. Cillian glances at me, raising his eyebrows as he finally navigates the tablet and the hydraulics hiss to life.
Philadelphia or the Garden of Eden. I don’t care. As long as I’m with Cillian, I’m home.
He grips my hand as we walk through the front living quarters and into the main garden. I notice he’s silent, his palm sweaty.
“You okay?” I ask, glancing at him. His jaw tick, tick, ticks in time with the vein in his temple. Hard-faced, he dips his head into a nod.
I’m confused about the sudden change of demeanor until we enter the Garden and reach the cobbled path.
I gasp.
It’s even more beautiful than usual. Small tealights line the pathway, a carpet of rose petals too.
“What’s—?”
Cillian silences me with a finger to my lips. Wordlessly, he pulls me down the path, following soft jazz music, until the river comes into view. It’s full of tealights too, little floating ones, leading all the way up to the waterfall. It gives the clear water a diamond-like sheen.
“Cillian. What is all of this?”
Clara must have been busy setting all of this up while we were out. But why?
I turn to my man again, this time, he meets me with a hungry kiss. “Strip,” he growls into my mouth.
Before I can reply, he unties the knot of fabric at the nape of my neck and the dress falls to my feet, cascading like the waterfall behind me. His blistering gaze never leaves me as he loosens his bowtie, unbuttons his shirt, and steps out of his bespoke tux. He steps into the river, the moonlight on the other side of the glass roof casting an angelic glow over his muscles. Then he turns and picks me up, lowering me into the water too.
