When Selené Cortez told her crime boss fiancé that she would rather die than marry him, she meant every word- she just wasn't expecting him to call her bluff. Now, making his bodyguard, Anya, fall in love with her might just be the only thing that w...
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"So, I have the Grand Rise ballroom book for six months from now," Selené's fiancé said as he sat at the table across from her. While he talked at her, she rested her head on her hand and ran her thumb along the astonishingly white tablecloth.
They were at the fanciest brunch place in town, and they had their own private room. All the tables were that same clean white, with matching cloth napkins and little square plates.
The wine was room temperature, dry and tarte— just like how rich people liked it. Selené didn't very much care for it that way, though. She preferred it in a pink box from the gas station, still partially chilled against bags of crushed up, dirty ice.
She had spent many years drinking the boxed stuff out of a random stranger's cooler. She didn't have taste. She wasn't from a family that had taste. She was from a family that ran into trouble.
And look where that trouble had gotten her.
She thought the name of the place was la or le and then something French. She didn't get a good look when the driver hurried her in. They never really let her get a good look at her surroundings, no matter where she went.
Trey always said he wanted to keep her safe. Maybe that was at least partially the truth. She liked to tell herself it was, anyway.
She felt like she couldn't complain today. She didn't get to leave the house often, even if it was with him. It was nice to be let out of her cage every now and then, like a dog at the park.
Outside, but on a leash.
A waitress quickly made her way over to them. She was wearing a fancy silk shirt and crisply pressed pants, the pleats of which Selené thought were so sharp they could cut you like a knife. Even her hair was sprayed down and tucked in a tight, perfect bun. As she looked up at the woman in the light, she couldn't catch a single hair that was out of place.
It said 'Even the people here to serve you are perfect. You deserve the best.'
Something about it made Selené feel ill.
"What can I get you two?" the woman said.
Selené glanced down at her menu, suddenly aware she hadn't even looked at it. She quickly opened it up and felt a bit dizzy at the number of things that were on there, and how little she understood what each of them were.
"Oh, uhm—"
"She'll have a salad," Trey cut her off.
"With parmesan?" she said, looking up at him expectantly.
He glanced up at the waitress. "Go light on it. She's already got a glass of wine."
"Absolutely sir, just one moment."
The waitress scurried off, the click of her heels resonating around the empty room. It took her a moment to choke down her bitter anger at him, and she found herself staring down at the folded napkin on the table to keep her composure.
