The hair on the back of my neck rose, and my breath turned to ice.

Disgrace to this family.

Worthless daughter.

Unlovable girl.

Nothing but a whore.

The rattle of a slammed door. And then darkness. A darkness so alive sometimes it touched me. Spoke to me. Hurt me. “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t worry, your papà knows I’m here.”

You can’t scream with a hand over your mouth.

That’s where fiery-haired goddesses are made all over the world.

A piece of cotton floated through the air, twisting in the breeze, before landing in the pool.

“Did you hear anything I just said?” my papà snapped.

Hatred filled me with a searing burn. I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “I’m sorry, I’m pretty busy right now. What did you want?”

“Your cousin Silvia’s wedding is next month. You’ll be there if I have to come get you myself, do you understand?”

Panic twisted in my chest. “I’ll have to check with my husband to see if we can make it.”

“Cut the bullshit, Gianna. Richard already has one foot in the grave. You are coming to the wedding. I’ll have Gina send you the details.” He hung up.

It’d been eight years since I’d seen my father. Since he’d bothered to reach out to me. And while a family reunion should always be hopeful, I could, with a sense of dread, only wonder what he wanted from me now. I had a bad feeling it was about my husband’s declining health and my soon-to-be independence.

I took a deep breath, fearing I was going to be sick right here in Valentina’s pool.

“I swear, if the neighbors don’t do something about those damn cottonwood seeds, I’m going to cut the tree down myself,” Val grumbled, and got to her feet. “I’m going to take a quick break. Do you need another drink?”

A break was her way of saying she was due another line.

I turned around. “I’ll join you.”

Interest crossed her face. “I thought it gave you a migraine.”

That excuse had just been an uncomplicated way of turning it down without having to explain my therapist discouraged drugs.

I wanted to get better—to put my panic attacks behind me, instead of only masking them with a high. But as that phone call filled my mind and pushed me to the edge of a breakdown, all I wanted was to not fear the past in the dark, if only for a moment.

“I guess it’s as they say,” I whispered, “the bee has a sting and honey, too.”

We all searched for strength in life.

Unfortunately, mine just happened to lie at the end of a line of powder.

At the end of the day, I would rather puke in one of my favorite Prada boots than watch Valentina “try her hand” with Allister. Like he needed any more attention—he had an embarrassing number of women throwing themselves at him already. What annoyed me even more, though, was that he’d always been charming and respectful to each one of them, while he regarded me as if I was a liberal helping of chopped liver.

This all seemed to brew in my head like a pot of burnt coffee the entire evening I spent with Valentina. So, naturally, when Christian Allister showed up to the get-together at Ace’s penthouse, looking like an asshole and every woman’s wet dream, I’d shut the door in his face. I told you, blow made me brave. But, sadly, not stronger; Christian had easily kept the door open. And that was when he’d noticed I might be as baked as Celia Abelli’s bruschetta.

It wasn’t like I was proud of the relapse—especially because I’d been worrying about how I would break this to Dr. Rosamund on Monday—but I certainly didn’t care for Allister’s opinion on the matter. I guessed I should’ve known he’d give it anyway. He grabbed my chin, looked into my eyes, and then shoved my face away in disgust.

And now, here I was, stewing in the anger and spite he easily brought out in me.

I adjusted one of my pigtail buns in the bathroom mirror, reciting every Italian curse word I knew in my mind. Took a deep breath.

He was out there, being as polite as ever. Where he pulled that charm from, I’d never know. Valentina hadn’t wasted any time, drifting to his side and laughing at everything he said. For God’s sake, the man wasn’t even funny.

“Gianna,” Valentina called out. “Come here! Christian was just telling me the most amusing story.”

I frowned, not pausing in my trek to the minibar. “Who?”

She faltered, looking to Christian, who stood beside her and who seemed to show no confusion toward my slight. And then she pouted. “Christian, tell her to stop being rude.”

His cold eyes were on me as he responded to her. “Of course. Who are you talking about?”

Since he’d arrived, we’d been playing one of my favorite games: pretending the other didn’t exist. Though, in truth, I’d prefer if he wasn’t here at all. His presence created this edgy sensation beneath my skin, like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What’s going on between you and Allister?” Luca asked, invading my space near the minibar.

“Apathy,” I responded, sipping my Tequila Sunrise.

“He touched your face.”

“It’s called a lack of boundaries, Luca. Something most men in New York are familiar with.” I glanced pointedly at the two inches of space between us. The irony didn’t escape me that a lack of boundaries had always fit me where Christian was concerned better than it ever had him. What an annoying realization.

“I don’t like it. You are not his to touch.”

“Aw, it’s so sweet of you to protect my honor, Luca.”

He grabbed my wrist before I could walk away. “I’m not protecting yours, I’m protecting Richard’s. He’s a capo and is due the respect of one.”

“Bummer.” I pouted, wrenching my wrist back. “Thought I might be seeing a sliver of a soul in you.”

Luca left without a parting word, like usual, and then I got caught up in conversation, moving around the room like a social butterfly with an anxiety problem.

My gaze drifted to a sparkle on the floor-to-ceiling window. Christian stood near the pool with Ms. Perfect Elena Abelli, both of their eyes on the nighttime sky. Was he telling her what Andromeda’s name meant? A wave of something unpleasant passed through me. I stared at the line of his shoulders, at the smooth cut of hair at his neckline. It was so perfect a physical part of me wanted to run my hand through it to mess it up. The mentally sound part of me wanted to shove him out the door.

I realized then why he’d always been able to get under my skin.

He made me feel like I was a little girl again—hungry for attention and affection.

And I hated him for it.

Ace leaned against the wall staring at the two perfect people on the terrace with an intensity not befitting a soon-to-be brother-in-law by any means. His and Elena’s relationship was a volatile situation not a blind man could miss, let alone Christian Allister, Seer of All Things He Shouldn’t. Was he interested in Elena Abelli, or was he being his strategic and cold self with an endgame? At this point, it didn’t matter, because it seemed Ace’s marriage agreement with Adriana was about to be blown out of the water.