Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,73

from the house, though I can’t see anything through the thick stands of trees.

The security guards scan the list, unimpressed by the Ferrari I rented for the night. I was hoping they’d just wave me through if they saw me in a four-hundred-thousand-dollar car.

No such luck. They peer in the window at me, scowling.

“You’re not on the list,” one of them grunts.

Simone leans forward. She’s looking stunning in a silver minidress that clings to her frame. Her hair is a cloud of curls around her face. It makes her features look particularly soft, young, and feminine.

“Are you sure?” she says, in her gentle, cultured voice. “I think Mr. Kenwood was particularly looking forward to meeting me. You know who I am, don’t you?”

“I do,” the second guard says quickly. “I still have my Sports Illustrated with you on the cover.”

Simone gives him her most charming smile. I know she’s just getting us through the gates, but it makes me burn with jealousy to see her looking up at him with those cat-like eyes, her thick lashes fluttering.

“That’s so sweet!” she says. “I wish you had it here. I’d sign it for you.”

“I’ll let Mr. Kenwood know you’re on your way up,” the guard says politely.

“Thank you!” Simone says, blowing him a kiss.

I put the car in drive, barely waiting for the gates to part before I roar through. I can feel the back of my neck burning. Simone is even more gorgeous now than when I knew her. I wonder if I could stand being with her, the way that men drool over her everywhere she goes. Those guards couldn’t keep their jaws shut. It made me want to jump out of the car and beat the shit out of both of them. And Simone’s not even mine.

Doesn’t matter. That’s not an option anymore.

Simone made it pretty clear nine years ago how she feels about me.

I’m not ever giving her another chance to rip my heart out and stomp on it. I barely survived the last time.

We speed up to the house. Simone lets out a little gasp when she sees it. I don’t think she’s impressed—the place is just outrageous. It’s the most ostentatious mansion I’ve ever seen. It looks like it would be better suited to Bel Air than Chicago.

It’s a white Greco-Roman monstrosity, like three mansions stacked on top of each other. A jumble of pillars and scrolls, archways and pass-throughs. The semi-circular driveway centers around a gargantuan fountain, bigger than the Trevi fountain in Rome. Water spurts from the mouths of dolphins, while several mermaids cling to the burly arms and legs of King Triton.

I pull up next to the fountain so the valet can take my keys.

“Oh my god,” Simone whispers, getting out of the car.

“Welcome,” the valet says. “Head through the main level. The party is throughout the house and on the back grounds.”

More cars are pulling in behind us. Each one is a super-car worth $250k or more. Some kid who looks all of twenty-one climbs out of a Lamborghini. He’s dressed in a tropical-printed silk shirt and matching trousers, with about twenty gold chains slung around his neck. He’s wearing mirrored sunglasses despite the fact that it’s ten o’clock at night.

“I don’t think this is going to be my kind of party,” I say to Simone.

“What’s your kind of party?” she asks me, eyebrow raised.

“Well . . .” Now that I think about it, I guess no kind of party.

“Maybe a pint of Guinness, an hour at the batting cages, and a drive along the lakeshore,” Simone says, with a small smile.

That would be the perfect day for me.

It disturbs me how easily Simone listed that off. Just like how she remembered my preferences in coffee. It makes me feel raw and exposed.

Sometimes I tell myself that the intense connection I felt to Simone was all in my mind. That it couldn’t have been real, or she never would have left.

Then she proves that she really did understand me, and that fucks with my head. It fucks with the story I told myself to explain how she could cut me off so easy.

I know I’m glowering at her. I can tell by the way she shrinks back from me, the smile fading off her face.

“Let’s go in the house,” I say.

“Sure,” Simone replies in a small voice.

I don’t take her arm, but I stick close to her as we enter Kenwood’s mansion. The lights are low, and I don’t know who’s going