“The fourth.” Armand cocked his head at her. “At your service.”
“Oh my gods. You’re like—”
“One of the richest families in the world? Pretty much. At least, until the antitrust trials broke the monopoly. But now Merche Ltd. is split into so many companies, and you can be sure my family has private controlling interest in all of them. No one really knows how wealthy my family is.”
“I can’t believe…” she stuttered. “You’re wealthy. I mean, really, really wealthy.”
“Not me,” Armand corrected. “My family. I’ve been disowned. The only reason I was able to get this place for the night is through my cousin. If my father found out who this party was really for…well, the only reason he wouldn’t kill me is because, to him, I may as well already be dead.”
“What? Why?”
“My father didn’t like my choice of prom date.” Armand lay back a little, leaning on one arm still facing her. “Papa thought I should date a nice white girl who came from a wealthy family. My mother bought a corsage for me to pin on her dress.”
“What happened?”
Armand smiled ruefully. “My date was white, and came from a wealthy family. But he brought me a corsage, not the other way around.”
“Your date was a boy.”
“Yep. Papa didn’t like confirmation that his only son is gay. Well, bi, to be more specific.” He picked up another feather. “Not that my father uses either of those terms.”
“Armand, I’m so sorry.”
“I came home that night and my mother was crying. But she and the servants wouldn’t let me in the door.” His head sagged a bit; his brow furrowed as he studied the feather.
Cora waited quietly, her hands in her lap.
“I spent the night with my date, hiding out in his room. A very different prom night that I had hoped for. He let me stay for a week at his place and then couldn’t smuggle me past his parents anymore. So, I was homeless.”
Cora sucked in a breath, feeling pain all through her. “Homeless? In high school?”
Armand nodded, his black hair wafting over his face.
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
She stared in horror, imagining the beautiful young man alone on the streets. “I’m so sorry.”
Armand lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m not. If I hadn’t gotten out, I never would’ve gotten on my feet. Would’ve never gotten double M or Fortune of the ground. I would be someone else.”
“And your family?”
“What about them?” He blew out a breath and his silky black hair wafted away from his forehead. “You want to feel sorry for someone, feel sorry for them. They threw away something good. They missed out. And they don’t know the best thing about life.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s never wrong to love,” he whispered. He shifted, coming to his knees across from her, taking her hands. She let him; it was a rare moment when he seemed his full twenty-seven years. “Let me tell you something about your husband. I lived for two years on the kindness of strangers, and as soon as I was old enough, I started a business.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. “Your salon. Metamorphoses.”
“I rented a small place and cut hair for ten hours a day. I’d just hired my first employee when some thugs came by and shook us down. That’s when I first heard of Mr. Ubeli. I went to him for protection.”
Armand shifted back, letting her hands go after a small squeeze. “I’ll never forget the first time I met him. I’d heard of all the things he’d done: restoring his father’s restaurants, building his own empire. He seemed so powerful for someone barely thirty.” Armand looked out over the ballroom as if seeing the moment unfold again before his eyes.
“He’s amazing,” Cora agreed quietly.
“Yes.” Armand rubbed his face with his long fingers. “I wanted more than anything to be him. He gave me protection, and for some reason he asked me what I wanted to do. I told him my vision of the spa, and, after a year of working together, he came and told me he’d be a silent partner. And we’ve been in business together ever since.”
She sat silent for a moment. “Thank you for sharing.”
Armand’s black eyes were intense. “Your husband is a good man. Marcus plays by his own rules, but he’s loyal, especially to those he’s sworn to protect. When someone puts their trust in him, he’d rather die than break it. His word is his bond.”
Reaching out, he took her hand and gripped it. “Talk to him, Cora. He deserves at least that much. And so do you.”
She nodded, swallowing hard.
“Alright.” Armand dropped the serious expression, and his features relaxed into the playful flirtiness she was used to. “Let’s get you home. I’ll give you a ride.”
“What about the movers?” Cora looked around at the pile of feathers still left to pack away.
“I’ll take care of things tomorrow. I think I want to keep some of these feathers—take them home. My housemate loves peacock colors. Come on.” He helped her up, and rummaged in his satchel, drawing out a small plastic baggie that held five white pills. “Here.”
“What’s this?” She eyed the baggie but didn’t take it.
“Crack,” he said and laughed at her expression. “I’m kidding. They’re sleeping pills. Completely harmless. Come on, Cora, they’re barely over the counter,” he insisted when she still hesitated. “You need to sleep. Take one when you really, really need it.”
“Fine.” She took the bag and followed him to a small side door. He paused in the exit, smiling down at her.
“Trust me Cora…you did a fantastic job tonight. Your business is coming together. Model placement, party planning, image consulting—Perceptions is going to be hot.”
Cora laughed. “I need to settle into one niche.”
“That’ll come. You keep working hard and let me know what you need. I’m glad to help, like Marcus helped me.” The look in his eye was fond, like an older brother’s.
She grinned in answer, but let her smile drop the moment he turned away. Her mind was still churning with the words he’d spoken earlier.
Marcus plays by his own rules, but he’s loyal, especially to those he’s sworn to protect. When someone puts their trust in him, he’d rather die than break it. His word is his bond.
Her heart squeezed painfully. Marcus valued trust and loyalty above everything else. So what would he do once he realized she had betrayed him?
Five
Dawn was breaking by the time Armand dropped Cora off at Olivia’s apartment. She wasn’t tired anymore, but wired and on edge. On one hand, her head was spinning with thoughts of the party’s success, her new business, and finally moving in to her own apartment. On the other, the future held some hard conversations with her husband. Anxiety and elation flooded her with adrenaline.
Pushing into Olivia’s apartment, Cora walked into a gale of laughter. Olivia, black hair hanging wet around her face, sat on the kitchen counter. Anna was squeezed beside her in the tiny space, holding up the long black tamper for her serious commercial-grade blender. Despite being at the party only a few hours ago, the two women looked energetic and well-rested, both wearing comfy, casual clothes. Cora tried not to resent them.