Breaking Him (Love is War #1)(43)

“You’re terrible at truces,” I said. It was an effort to keep my voice from trembling.

He nodded jerkily. “Ditto, tiger. Peace was never your strength. You were born for battle.”

“Look who’s talking?”

His mouth twisted. “A match made in hell.”

Wasn’t that the truth.

The problem with us was that he and I had become deeply attached in our formative years. Young me had become essential to young him and vice versa.

We were too precisely built together, each too profoundly shaped by the other. Every part of us had been assembled as one piece. Of course we did not function well after the construct had been ripped violently apart.

And of course I would despise the one who had done the ripping.

The car was silent as a tomb until we were nearly at the house, both of us trying to regain some composure, trying to reconcile ourselves to the past and come back to the present.

“Is my dress really too tight?” I asked him as he pulled down the long winding road that led to the house.

Grandma always got her digs in, and they always found a place to fester. I’d known the dress was flattering, provocative even. But was it trashy?

Dante cursed. “God, she always could get to you with her venom. No, it’s not too tight. You look amazing. Perfect. Gram would be proud.”

“Thank you,” I said simply.

“Damn,” I cursed as I took in the transformation of Gram’s large driveway. Parking attendants had apparently been hired to manage the large influx of vehicles for the reception. They were trying their best to valet each one, using the front lawn to fit in as many cars as possible. “Gram would have hated this. She loved to keep her lawn pristine.”

Dante cursed. “What in the actual f*ck? Goddamn my mother. This has her stamp all over it. Keeping up appearances when the fact is these people can walk a few f*cking feet instead of ruining Gram’s lawn.”

He was right. There was a paved road a mile long leading up to the house with plenty of shoulder room, i.e. ample parking.

But Adelaide had always hated Gram and it surprised me not one bit that she was messing with the property that had once been hopelessly out of her reach.

Dante refused to use the valet, parking on the shoulder just shy of the chaos.

“I’m going in the back entrance,” I told him as I opened my door. “I need to freshen up,” I added, feeling awkward. “Um, see you around.”

I took off.

I carefully redid my makeup and then lingered in my room for a cowardly amount of time.

It was just so unpleasant, the sounds of a large gathering in Gram’s house with the woman herself absent. It felt wrong and I didn’t want any part of it.

But then I thought about all of the vultures down there circling, all of the blood-sucking opportunists that had come, not for Gram, but to eye up the property she’d left behind, to speculate about who she’d left it to.

I had to go down, had to be there to thicken the ranks of those who were genuinely mourning her loss.

It didn’t start out well for me. In fact, it couldn’t have started worse.

I took the back stairs down to the kitchen, because I knew the place well. I went straight for the liquor in the butler’s pantry, pouring myself a liberal tumbler of scotch that I was sure was up to even Dante’s standards.

I downed it, then poured another.

Only when I was in two deep and holding a third did I move to venture out into the melee.

Unfortunately I didn’t get that far.

This place, these people rattled me and so I was uncharacteristically clumsy.

I’m sure the liquor didn’t help make me more coordinated, to be fair.

I moved to open the door that swung out from the kitchen into the formal dining room, but I mistimed it, and one of the many servers that were taking trays around frantically came in right as I was going out.

Half of my glass ended up on my chest.

The server, a young nervous guy, apologized profusely and brought me a stack of napkins.

I set down my glass, took the napkins, and waved him off. I started patting at myself, wondering if I should change.

At least I was wearing black.

The liquid came up easily, but the napkins left little white fuzzies all over my bust.

Fumbling with it, I opened my little clutch, taking out a moist towelette that I kept in it because I was one of those girls that knew the proper purpose of a handbag, which was to be prepared for anything.

It took forever, but I slowly got the front of my dress looking normal again.

I tossed the towelette and napkins into the trash, but somehow ended up bouncing a tube of lipstick out of my open clutch.

It landed right on top of the pile.

I would spend my last twenty dollars on a tube of M.A.C. lipstick. I took that shit seriously, and so I went in after it.

With a curse I bent down, grasping at it, trying to get a hold before it slipped in deeper.

To no avail, it kept falling deeper, through layers of leftover food and used napkins.

I almost left it, in fact had resigned myself to, when I felt the smooth edge of it touch my finger. I grabbed it and straightened, but not before the damage had been done.

That was how they found me. Elbow deep in the garbage.

Fucking typical.

“Trashcan girl is back, and I see that not much has changed,” a laughing female voice told my bent back.