Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11) by Kristi Belcamino (best motivational novels txt) 📗

to him. I swallowed the lump that was suddenly in my throat. He moved in to kiss me and I sidestepped, grabbing his wrist gently. I leaned over to his ear and whispered,

“You’re a great guy, Conner.”

Then I walked past him, proud of my self control.

Sabine and Clint came downstairs and said they’d called a car to take them to the train station. Clint was heading to Paris. They were going to have a late dinner and he was catching a midnight train and then Sabine would hire a driver to bring her back here.

I didn’t ask why the plans had changed. Once again, it was none of my business.

After everyone left, I grabbed a bottle of white wine and retreated to my bedroom.

I slid the deadbolt and stripped naked.

In the bathroom, I ran the water as hot as I could into the large Jacuzzi tub.

Bubbles were nearly overflowing the tub and I’d just poured a glass of wine and was about to get into the water when my phone rang in the bedroom.

I rushed into the other room, wondering, as always, if it would be Rose or a nurse calling about Nico.

It was Ryder.

“I’ll be there at four,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m escorting you to the festival. You have tickets, right?”

I did. They were electronic tickets on my phone. I’d received a reminder about them earlier.

“Maybe.”

“I think we should go. I’m your escort. I know you might find this hard to believe, but I clean up okay and do own a tux. I’ll be there in an hour.”

And then he hung up before I answered. I stared at my phone. How cocky! Arrogant!

I tossed the phone across the bed.

I had plans for a long bath and then I was going to crawl into bed and read a book until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. This was the first night in days I had the entire villa to myself.

Despite all of this, I felt a slight tremor of excitement. The festival might be fun.

And it probably would be good for me to get out of the villa. The entire place had a pall about it. It wasn’t just the recent murders. And it wasn’t a pall that existed before I arrived. It was something else. If I didn’t know better I would say that the dark shadows of my past—all the grief I still carried around with me—were flitting around my peripheral vision at every turn.

Maybe Ryder was right.

Sitting home alone tonight suddenly seemed depressing and slightly creepy.

Inside the walk-in closet, I unzipped the garment bag containing the dress Dante had chosen for me. I trailed my fingers across the dark green silk. It was gorgeous. It was Celine. It was sleeveless and had a very low cut neckline, nearly to my abdomen, but was structured so that there was barely any cleavage to be seen. It hugged my hips and legs to the ground. I wasn’t into flouncy, puffy skirts. It would do perfectly. A black faux fur wrap was on another hanger to bring in case it was chilly inside the theaters. There was another bag with the black patent leather Christian Louboutin pumps with the four-inch-heels.

Dante had also packed dangling emerald earrings.

With everything laid out on the bed, I realized I didn’t need to think about anything. Dante had done it all. The only thing I needed to do was bathe and then put on some dark eyeliner and lipstick and dress. My hair would be brushed out and could hang down my back. It was freshly washed and didn’t look too ragged yet.

Sometimes having a super stylish gay best friend was the best thing ever.

Despite myself, as I slipped into the bath and sipped my wine, I started to get a little bit excited about what the night would hold.

I told myself it had absolutely nothing to do with spending more time with Ryder. In a tuxedo.

The red carpet was a blur of bright flashes as the paparazzi snapped photos of Ryder and me, wondering the whole time who we were, I’m sure. Pulling up in the Maserati that had been parked in the garage had caught their eye, apparently.

Inside, we found our seats and settled in for the first film. It was good, but I soon grew antsy and told Ryder I wanted to go have a smoke.

We grabbed flutes of champagne and headed off to an enclosed garden area where others had snuck off to spark cigarettes and joints.

Ryder led me to a small bench near some Jasmine bushes and lit my joint for me, taking a puff first. He exhaled with his eyes slightly closed, which I found extremely sexy for some reason.

“I haven’t smoked marijuana in years.”

“Really?”

“It was used as a treatment for my wife’s cancer.”

His face seemed to close up then and his body slightly turned away. I placed my hand on his. “I’m sorry to pry.”

Then he turned toward me and fixed me with such an intense gaze I nearly gasped.

“I haven’t really spoken about her to very many people,” he said. “I would say it’s still fresh, but it’s not. It’s been three years.”

“I’m very sorry,” I said.

“She was very kind and gentle,” he said. “The opposite of me. She was a school teacher. Her whole life revolved around children and the bitter irony was that she could not conceive. Her first bout of cancer was when she was young and they took all those parts out to save her life. She always said it was worth it to live and meet me. But then it came back.”

He looked down. I squeezed his hand and he continued.

“When she went to the cancer ward to get her treatments they said she lit up the entire place. Her whole goal during her last days was to make everyone else okay. She was kind and wouldn’t hurt a soul. I’ve never met anyone as generous and loving and giving as she was.”

He sobbed as he spoke.

I waited a few seconds