Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,55

plagued our lives since before I even graduated high school.

Bouncing from one school, to the next, to the next, with no ID and no prior records is a sport in itself. The fact I got my GED at all was a miracle. The fact we have a home, shitty as it may be, is a miracle. And I won’t even discuss the guy I left behind four years ago, all because of this mess and the fact someone wants to pin something on my brother.

I need this to go away, we need to lay Nate Hardy to rest once and for all, and then Will and I need to take our lives back and find our pocket of normalcy.

“Did you have a restful day, Prima?” Evan stands beside me, hip to hip, and rests his hand on my opposite ribs to keep me close. He looks down into my eyes and smiles. “No work today, right?”

“I worked a little bit,” I admit with a smile. “I teach dance classes a few days a week not so far from my home.”

“You enjoy that work?” He thinks it’s cute, perhaps, but not interesting. “To dance around a room with children?” He chuckles as the door opens to a tiled room with a fancy table in the middle, and a tall vase of flowers on top. “It seems so… unlike the woman who works here.”

“Ha.”

I allow him to pull my arm around his as we leave the elevator and cross to a set of dark mahogany doors. Opening them wide, Evan reveals a massive room – leather couches, glass walls that overlook the city, crystal chandeliers, and a lake-sized stone countertop with racks and racks of wine glasses hanging from above.

“Oh my.” I release his arm and make my way into the room. “This is your home?”

“Mi casa es su casa.” He waves toward the couches, the windows. “Look around my home, Prima. I want you to feel welcome.”

“It’s so beautiful.”

I cross from shiny tile, to a plush white rug, pass a TV so big that I couldn’t even guess at its dimensions, step around a coffee table made of wood similar to the front doors, and around a leather couch that, insanely, still kinda smells of a farm.

I make my way along the wall of windows, peek out into the night at the lights coming from the city, the stars that shine above. Then I move toward the kitchen, the countertop already filled with plates of appetizers. I glance past the counter, and stop at the sight of a long, wooden dining table, with curled feet, and high-back chairs. The table is set with shiny plates stacked on more shiny plates. Crystal wine glasses. Shimmering silverware. Flowers of fall colors: oranges, golds, and browns. A bottle of red wine stands open, and beside it, a silver bucket.

“We’re eating here?” I ask in awe.

I move along the tile with soft clicks of my gifted heels, and stop behind a chair at the table. I run my fingertips over a shiny fork, over the golden edges of the white plates. I peek inside the bucket to find a bottle of white wine floating among shimmering ice.

Even the ice is shiny!

“Evan.” I turn back to him, and for the first time tonight, take a moment to really see him. He looks much the same as always – black suit, cufflinks, black tie, white shirt. It’s his usual outfit, but tonight, it’s specifically for me. His shoes are without a single scuff. His pants, without a single wrinkle. His hair is combed and styled back, his face cleanly shaven. “You went to a lot of trouble for tonight.”

“No trouble at all, Prima. I had the help in to cook. To set the table.” He tosses out ‘the help’ like they’re not people to him, but robots, and crosses the room, coming to a stop three feet in front of me.

There’s a certain level of irony in the fact that ‘the help’ are my kind of people. That he’s trying to romance a woman who sits lower on the socio-economic ladder than the women who cooked our meal tonight.

“I hope you brought your appetite, Victoria, because there is a lot of food and wine for us.”

“I’m starving.” I lay a hand on my stomach, and force a small smile when Evan moves forward and presses a kiss to the very corner of my lips.

“Come.”

He takes my hand, careful not to hurt my aching shoulder, and leads me