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A band playing soft violin music sits tucked away in the corner of the room as guests file in from the office entrance, making their way down the grand steps to the main floor. There’s various musical instruments waiting behind the musicians for when the party starts.
I can still feel the tiny paw prints on my chest. I didn’t know having Camila by my side would come with a sidekick in the form of a cat. He hissed at me with his tiny fangs when he returned from his adventures outside before I left Camila in the capable hands of her stylists.
I’m nothing if not absolutely fucking ecstatic to be engaging in money conversations with people who think they’re above everyone else. The passive-aggressive comments. The fake friendships formed out of alliances. Numbers. Stocks. Marketing. Lawyers. I’ve heard it all before. The same conversations over again, every single year we hold the event. Most of the attendees, like us, have squeaky-clean public records. Some by influence, some by money laundering. And that’s exactly what this event is to people. To make their money look legit—that’s it. I’m under no illusion that they’re here for anything else other than that, and to outbid each other in a competition of whose pockets are the deepest.
Not that it bothers me. The more money we can raise for charity, the better.
Jac spots me—sipping on my whisky—from the top of the stairs before he excuses himself from the conversation. He claps the man on the back before taking two steps at a time towards me, dressed in his tailored suit with a blazer to finish it off. I don’t normally bother with blazers—they’re not comfortable—but I needed backup this time round. I can’t only trust the guards with their guns tonight. I’m surprised Jac wears them; the amount of muscle on him would rip the stitching with the slightest movement.
His hair is perfectly slicked back into a small bun at the nape of his neck.
“What are you doing?” he asks, joining me by leaning his elbows on the bannister, overlooking the floor.
“Waiting,” I reply blandly.
“For who?” he replies, befuddled.
I don’t reply.
“Xander.”
I glance over at him quickly before facing the floor again and taking another sip of the burning liquid.
“Are you fucking serious?” he mumbles, moving closer to me so no one hears us. “Do you realise how many people are here? It’s way too risky for her.”
My jaw ticks. “She’s safer here with me than she is on her own. You said it yourself,” I snap back quietly, opening one side of my blazer towards him and showing him the gun. I would shoot this entire building down before I let anything happen to her.
Jac shakes his head. “Please tell me you’re at least taking those fucking meds now.”
“Those tablets are bullshit, and you know it. They never worked.”
“They kept your head screwed on—”
“It was never the tablets. It was the business,” I snap.
“Then what the hell happened? Where have you been this whole time?”
“Camila happened.”
“Fuck, Xander,” he whines. “Last time you were this obsessed with something, you completely shut down after it was taken from you.” His brows arch in concern, lips pursing.
My blood heats, the memory of a cut-up Forest flashing in my mind. “That was years ago. I’m not a kid anymore,” I grit out. “And don’t insinuate that something might happen to her. Not under my protection.”
He may be right, but if I let anything take Camila away from me, it means I failed. I failed at protecting her. I won’t make that mistake again.
Jac’s hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing. “I just don’t want to lose my best friend again.”
I shake my head, taking a rough gulp of the amber liquid.
“Do you love her?”
The spirit lodges in my throat, making me cough it down, almost choking.
When I don’t answer him—my coughing fit continuing—he squeezes my shoulder again. Rougher this time, like a warning. He knows everything. But he would, wouldn’t he? He knows me inside and out. Probably better than I know myself. But he’s not reacting the way I thought he would. He’s trusting me.
“Do not fuck this up.”
He retreats back downstairs as a lump forms in my throat, and I contemplate all the things that could’ve been different if the tablets did help like they were supposed to. But they didn't. And I know the way I feel about Camila goes deeper than an obsession. It’s not a feeling I’m experienced with, but I know that I’d do anything to keep her.
