Life Before Damaged Vol 7 :The Ferro Family (Life Before Damaged #7) (3 page)

B
ack in reality
, I stand just outside Ricky’s door for a while staring at my girls, wondering what it would be like if they seemed this huge all the time. Looking at the shirt I make a mental note—check the button situation on vintage clothing before diving off a stage. Every single one popped. No wonder why all the guys were grinning at me. I synch up my knot to cover my bra, but now my midriff is showing, a lot.

I hear rapid footfalls echo through the cold, empty hall. The footsteps slow down and stop.

"Gina? Is that you?"

His voice startles me. Not because I was expecting to be alone, but because I wasn't expecting it to be him. Pete’s voice has a way of jolting my heart like a defibrillator.

When I open my eyes, I see the glory that is Pete Ferro. Except the normal smirk is missing, the typical spark illuminating those blue eyes is gone, and his shoulders slump like he’s carrying a mountain on his back. The cut on his cheek is healing, but there's still a faint line. No new bruises or gashes adorn his beautiful face. I hope he stops fighting. He has so much more to offer if he'd submit to being vulnerable for half a second. Instead, he speaks with his fists—which makes my stomach queasy.

Wait. Why am I worrying about him? I bet he acts like this when he’s having a bad hair day.

The voice in the back of my head scolds me, “You know him better than that. Say what you want, Gina, but at the end of the day it matters to you what happens to this man.”

I beat the emotional part of my brain back into whatever dark corner of my mind she crawled out from. The feeling that she’s right recedes with her. I push myself off the wall and take a couple of steps toward the man in front of me.

"Peter? What's wrong?" Okay, she’s not in a closet after all. I was going to say something mean, but my words changed when they hit my tongue. Fricken invisa-Gina and her empathy. She's going to get our heart ripped out.

“No, it won’t.”

I make a growly sound in the back of my throat while extending my fingers at my sides, stretching them as far as they’ll go.

“Shut up already!”

Yeah, oops. I said that out loud.

“I didn’t speak yet." Pete’s brows draw together. "Are you okay?”

“I, yeah…” I pause and it finally hits me. "Wait. Are you here to take me away again?" A sour sense of dread swirls inside of me. I don't want my ass hauled off to Ferro mansion. I don't want to leave this place and my new life so soon.

"No, that's not why I stopped by." His gaze is downcast, staring at his boots. "I just thought I'd come over and spend some time with my... friend." Pete looks up with a sad smile on his face. He stares me up and down. "You look good, Gina."

I so desperately want to put a smile on his face that I do a little twirl, kicking up a foot behind me and pretending to primp hair that is still neatly tucked in my bandana.

"I've improved on the bunny slippers," I say lightly. "You like my new look?"

"Yes,” he hesitates. I drop my arms and the goofy look on my face slides away when he meets my gaze. “But it's more than that. When I came down those stairs, you looked... happy."

I close the distance between us and hook my elbow with his. I lead us toward the stairs, and we both sit down, side by side, on the steps.

"Thank you. I am happy. Hey, can you believe I did a 10-foot stage dive tonight?"

Pete turns his head slightly. He looks at me from the corner of his eyes and smirks, a small teasing glint wanting to light up.

"Did you trip on another rug while trying to seduce someone?"

"Jerk," I tease, slapping him on the arm, but glad to see a light in his eyes. "You're not supposed to mention that to me ever again. And no, it was intentional and unbelievable."

He takes my hand and stares at it, his finger playing with my now barren ring finger. His smile disappears. Something is eating away at him tonight, and I wish I knew how I could make it better.

"Pete, you said you wanted to talk to me, so talk." I reach over and push his shoulder with my fist, I suppose like a guy would do with his buddy. It feels totally awkward. I put my hand back in my lap. "Let me guess. Sorority girl problems? Are they cat fighting over you? Don't know which one to choose? If you ask me, the pretty blond with the cutout sequined dress looked nice. She had a huge rack and we know how much you like the boobage."

Pete's eyes shoot up to meet mine and fill with regret. He didn't expect me to know about his sorority powwow in the sky. He opens his mouth to talk, but I lift a finger to his lips and cut him off.

"Don't look at me like that, Pete. I'm going to find out about these things. I can't pretend I'm okay with any of it, but can we at least be honest with each other? Like friends?"

He releases my hand and stands up, backing away, his skin turning green like he’s going to be sick.

"I need to go—this was a mistake."

He only makes it down the two first steps when I call out to him. "Wait, Pete! Didn't you want to come upstairs and talk?"

Pete looks up the stairwell, leading to my apartment and then back down, shaking his head.

"I'll see you next week at the merger gala. I'll be the guy in the tux, saving a broken-hearted woman from the public eye."

"I'll be there, freshly dumped and ready to be saved."

Pete's crooked grin is half-hearted, but it's there. Without another word, he walks down the stairs and leaves.

A
nother weekend
, another party, but this one holds the promise of massive heartburn. As my eyes sweep the breathtaking circular ballroom, a chill runs down my spine. THIS is where high-society will swoon and gossip over the budding romance between poor broken-hearted Regina Granz and the reforming Pete Ferro. The premise of the party? We'll celebrate the official merger of Granz Textiles into Ferro Corp, two families coming together in the name of good business transactions. It just so happens the two young heirs of those families will fall deeply in love and get married. It’s a cute story when you don’t know all the ugly, underlying details like arson, manslaughter, and blackmail.

Guests are mingling, sipping cocktails, eating hors d'oeuvres, chatting and laughing away in the lush surroundings. Large windows, extravagantly dressed in golden velvets line the far end of the room and frame two large crystal chandeliers. At the front of the room, a screen is hung next to a lectern for the big announcement.

The expansive room is quickly filling with an ungodly amount of nosy guests, all ready to greet me with their consolations. A seed has been planted, and the gossip vine is growing wild. Almost everyone here is now aware that Anthony dumped my ass, and I'm in a state of distraught misery. Having your romantic woes publicly displayed is an excruciating experience. I want to be the girl I was last weekend, the audacious one meeting new people and taking chances. This crowd sucks my boldness dry. I wish Jenny would take over, and shock the Botox out of everyone. But as entertaining as it would be for me, it would also land me a one-way ticket to jail.

So I wait. The next step of the plan is for Pete Ferro to come in and sweep me off of my feet.

It seems like the entire Ferro clan is here tonight, right down to the cousins skulking about the bar and surveying their prospects of getting laid. There's still no sign of Pete. He’s probably busy shagging the lady at the coat check or showing the barmaid the proper way to shake his mantini. Despite my initial sarcastic thoughts, I hope he shows up soon, so I know he's okay. He seemed off when I saw him outside Ricky's apartment, and I'm worried. I don’t want to be, but I am. Pete was acting so strangely.

People walk past me, exchanging greetings and pleasantries. I’m considering poking my eye out with a fork. It’ll be better than hearing one more person’s false condolences about Anthony. I shift through the maze of people, heading toward the front entrance. I need some air. I never make it out of the room.

The main doors swing open before I can ascend the staircase, and a handsome man enters the ballroom. He's wearing a tailored black tuxedo, black tie, white button-down shirt and a black vest under his jacket. For once, Peter Ferro doesn’t exude arrogance and overconfidence. His posture is impeccably erect, his gaze bright and open. He radiates sophistication and elegance. He also looks adorably anxious and sinfully edible. He seems just as nervous as I am.

I consciously shut my mouth to avoid slipping in a puddle of drool. People standing near me notice the change in my behavior and follow my eyes to Pete. I don't care if everyone sees me gawking. This is what we're here to do after all, make people believe we're in love at first sight, so I gaze as freely as I want.

His sapphire eyes scan the room. When they meet my eyes he smiles warmly and my heart thuds harder inside my chest.

Pete walks toward me and my palms turn clammy. Why does this feel like something new? We've been through so much together already, but today feels different. Today, it feels like we're caught in a fairytale, seeing each other for the first time after the magical spell breaks.

Pete walks toward me, multiple people sidetracking him, wanting to shake his hand and clap him on the shoulder. It’s funny what becoming the sole heir to a massive fortune will do to people. A couple of weeks ago, these people wouldn’t have given him the time of day. In fact, they'd have run the other way to avoid him at all costs, scared they might lose their teeth--or their wives, for that matter. That threat is still there, but now he has the power that accompanies his name. These people want to be on good terms with those holding power.

It’s all part of a nauseating game to gain more money and more power. I know this crowd; they’re old money, working out of boredom, instead of necessity.

Pete exchanges brief smiles and nods, still moving determinedly in my direction. Women walk up to him, with the occasional discreet grope, but he just smiles curtly and keeps on walking, shaking off their advances politely.

By the time he reaches me, I’ve regained most of my composure, but my heart is still slamming in my chest, shocked at his transformation. He looks respectable in his own right. It’s a strange and wonderful sight to behold.

When Pete gets within a step of me, his intoxicating scent fills my head. His aftershave probably comes from the same Venetian shop where he orders his fancy body wash. He puts his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels and looks down shyly. He behaves like a kid asking a girl to dance for the first time. It's boyish and totally endearing.

“You clean up well, Ferro.” I tease, but I mean every word.

He’s beautiful. Cleanly shaven, hair still a rumpled mess, but in contrast with the stern lines of the suit it makes him look dashing. There’s no other word for it.

He looks up, smirking, his dimple even cuter without his usual facial scruff.

“You clean up well, too, Granz.” He winks and then his eyes travel up and down my body, making frequent stops at the draping, low cut front.

I swat his arm with my little black clutch.

“Quit staring down my dress. We both know I’m flat and you’re a boob man.” I place my hand over my chest, ensuring my little black dress isn’t revealing anything to him.

Erin chose my dress, and it’s way out of my comfort zone. It’s backless, which means I couldn’t wear a bra underneath, and the front drapes down into a low "V" shape, halfway down my torso. I’m relying heavily on fashion tape to keep the silky fabric pressed firmly against my skin and my girls hidden away from prying eyes. At least it has flutter sleeves--my shoulders are safe from scandal.

Pete’s gaze darkens. He leans in and whispers in my ear. “You’ve got me wrong, Granz. I’m not a boob man, although I can appreciate a beautifully sculpted set like yours, especially in a dress like that.” He pulls away with a serene smile on his face. Curiosity gets the better of me.

“Then what are you? Legs? Ass? Shoulders?” When he doesn’t answer, I add, “Toes. You’re a toe man. I knew it.”

“I think this conversation is a little too intimate for a first meeting,” Pete says, laughing lightly.

People are watching, and I’m sure some geriatric has his hearing aide turned way up to catch our conversation. I plaster a prim smile on my lips and nod. My cheeks turn rosy, which is just a bonus. I hear a few older women point it out. Why they equate blushing with purity is beyond me. I’m about as pure as the snow in New Jersey, but compared to Kitty Bang-Bang, I’m a saint. It makes me wonder where I truly fall on the sex scale.

Pete notices my mind is racing. He steps forward and places his hand on my shoulder, smoothing his thumb under the hem of my tiny sleeve. He leans in close.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my cheek as he pulls away.

It catches me so off guard that I gasp. No one hears it but Pete.

I can’t look him in the eye, so I move in to straighten his tie. I’m too close, a breath away from his cheek, one hand resting on his chest and the other tugging at his tie.

“So, how are people going to believe I’m the one who cleaned up your act when you show up looking like this?” I speak softly, smoothing my hands over the lapels of his jacket, then step back to assess my work. His eyebrows scrunch together in the center like he doesn’t understand.

“I just thought I was supposed to be the one affecting you this way,” I say, motioning to his appearance.

Pete looks down at me. His smile disappears, and his eyes search mine intently. Gently, he brushes a finger across my cheek.

“What makes you think that you’re not, Gina?”

The smile falls from my face and shatters on the floor. The air has been sucked from my lungs. My lips part and I try to speak, but words don’t come.

Someone calls Pete’s name. He turns to see who it is, nods toward them and walks away into the crowd, leaving me alone. What the hell? How can he have such a profound effect on me? It’s like he chose the perfect string of words, words I want to believe. They fall from his lips like petals without malice, but they cut me all the same. If he’s lying, his words knocked the air out of my lungs because he hit me where it hurts most. If he’s telling the truth, then I can’t even fathom what that means. I'm left in a jumbled mess of confusion, watching his broad shoulders recede into the crowd.