Moetia slipped over to my side while I was trying to eat something from the Japanese buffet without anyone noticing that I had absolutely no idea how to use chopsticks properly. Sorry, girl, love me anyway; I'm hopelessly clumsy with some things and even worse with others, like this.
The little mermaid whispered to me:
"Phillipe Patterson is completely crazy about you. Bruce already hates him, and Lucius is only trying to be polite because they're cousins or something. But he's a lot closer to getting punched than making it through this dinner in one piece."
Curious, I asked:
"What is he even saying?"
Evangelina joined us and answered:
"He says you completely impressed him, that you're gorgeous, that he loves your short hair, your unique eyes, and blah, blah, blah. He can't stop talking about you. The other two are going to eat him alive."
I watched him from across the room. He was clever; the moment Bruce looked like he wanted to say something to him, Phillipe turned to look at me and crossed the room to talk to me. The girls walked away laughing, leaving me alone with him.
Phillipe broke the ice by asking:
"Did I tell you what I do for a living?"
I replied:
"No, but I want to know. Wait, let me guess: you're a chef, or you own a travel agency, or... no, no, I know. You're a television host. A model?"
Laughing, he said:
"You'll never guess because I don't actually do any of that. I'm a poet. Don't get me wrong; I know traveling and writing aren't usually considered a real profession, but I don't need money to live. I mean, I'm rich—very rich. I didn't even have to work for it; my sister and I were born this way. My father founded several companies with Mr. Longfield and sold him his share before he died, so, well, that's the truth. My sister and I make every effort to spend all that money, but we've already given up. We know we couldn't get through it in a hundred lifetimes."
It amused me that he saw poetry as some sort of character flaw. He said it almost apologetically and, as far as I was concerned, being a poet only made him more attractive.
I asked:
"Are you at least any good?"
He stepped closer and replied:
"Honestly, I was hoping you'd tell me. I can't swear that I am. You see, I've won several contests, but since everyone knew my father, Minister Patterson, I suspect the judging wasn't entirely impartial."
We talked for quite a while. He was handsome, sensitive, and carefree, the kind of man who didn't even try to charm women; he simply couldn't help it. All three of us ended up blushing at his glances and laughing at his jokes.
Dinner was served in a dining room overlooking the sea. Charlotte seated us together, and directly across from us sat Lucius and Bruce, who hadn't stopped looking at us with obvious disapproval since we sat down.
Phillipe poured me more wine and leaned toward me, lowering his voice.
"Carmilla, looking at you in that purple dress, I think we should go back to that artist together so he can humiliate me in another one of his paintings. But he shouldn't paint you as Daphne fleeing this time. You're Persephone, or else I can't understand why my soul is on fire."
I felt heat rush to my face. Not out of shyness, girl—you know me—but because Lucius was hearing every word. I watched him grip his crystal glass so tightly that I thought he might break it.
"Persephone was kidnapped, Phillipe," Lucius interrupted. His voice was so low and sharp that Evangelina stopped laughing instantly. "She didn't choose anything. She had to learn to deal with a man who was never going to let her leave."
The atmosphere froze.
Moetia glanced at Evangelina, enjoying the drama. But Phillipe merely smiled, completely ignoring Lucius's threat.
"Well, times change," Phillipe replied casually. "Don't you think, Carmilla? Nowadays, beautiful women choose their own paths. Some prefer the heat of hell, Lucius, far more than the icy waters of a distant gaze and arrogance disguised as power."
I held his gaze and then Lucius's. The new Carmilla was perfectly happy in the middle of the chaos.
"I think I like the idea of not asking anyone's permission to burn or drown in the frozen indifference of the man I love," I said, raising my glass.
Bruce let out a dry laugh, and Lucius shot him a deadly look.
The rest of dinner was a cold war. Phillipe told me about his travels through the East, how he wrote his poems at dawn overlooking the sea in Bali, and how bored he was by Monaco's endless protocol. Every time he laughed or touched my arm, Lucius seemed to grow angrier.
When dessert was finished, Charlotte suggested we move to the terrace for coffee. Getting outside was a relief. The Mediterranean breeze felt incredible. Phillipe stood beside me while I looked out at the harbor lights.
"Are you afraid of heights?" he asked, stepping closer.
"I'm afraid of things I can't control," I lied, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "Heights are the least of my worries."
He smiled. The wind tousled his blond curls and, girl, he was genuinely handsome. He looked like a movie star.
"I have a book in my apartment, just downstairs," he told me, lowering his voice so the others wouldn't hear. "A rare edition of love poems. I think you'd like it. We could go down and get it. Your... guardians seem far too busy trying to kill me with their eyes."
It was a direct invitation.
I glanced back. Bruce was talking to Evangelina, but Lucius hadn't taken his eyes off me. He was leaning against a column, watching me like a predator preparing to strike.
I remembered our conversation in the kitchen and decided this was the perfect moment. Turning back to Phillipe, I spoke loudly enough for Lucius to hear:
"That sounds wonderful, Phillipe. I'm fascinated by anything lived with genuine passion. Poetry is useless if it doesn't burn inside you. At least one of those poems had better make me laugh and cry at the same time."
Yes, girl, I said the keyword: passion.
Not even three seconds passed.
I heard firm footsteps crossing the terrace. Before Phillipe could respond, Lucius stepped between us, cutting off the space entirely. His scent of wood and tobacco surrounded me.
"Charlotte is looking for you to help with tomorrow's reservation, Patterson," Lucius said. His tone didn't allow for refusal. "And I need to speak with Carmilla about Monday's press arrangements. If you'll excuse us."
Phillipe blinked, surprised by the abruptness, but he didn't back down. He looked at both of us and smiled again.
"Of course. Business comes first. Carmilla, I'll see you later. Don't forget the book."
His fingers brushed mine as he said goodbye, a gesture Lucius followed with a murderous stare.
The moment Phillipe disappeared inside the apartment, Lucius grabbed my arm—firmly but without hurting me—and led me to the darkest corner of the terrace.
"What exactly are you playing at?" he hissed, pinning me against the railing.
"I'm only keeping my side of the deal, Lucius," I replied innocently. "I told you that if I felt overwhelmed, I'd use the keyword. And you rescued me. I should be thanking you. Now you can go back to pretending you don't feel anything for me."
"You only used that word to provoke me," he accused, moving so close I could feel his breath. "I saw the way he looked at you and where he put his hands. That idiot has no idea who he's dealing with, and neither do you if you think you can use him to make me jealous."
"Jealous?" I laughed right in his face. "The great Lucius Longfield—the future politician, the man whose life is perfectly planned out and whose family already chose the perfect wife for him—is jealous of a poet? Please. Phillipe is charming, free, and says exactly what he feels. It's just a refreshing change."
Lucius cursed under his breath.
His hand slid up my arm to my neck, his fingers tangling in my short hair. The touch sent my heart reeling. There was an urgency in him I had never seen before.
"Don't compare me to him, Carmilla. He has nothing to lose. I have everything, and yet..."
He stopped, jaw tightening as though he were about to confess something that would ruin all his plans.
I pushed him further, challenging him. God, I wanted the world to disappear around us. I wanted him to turn me around and strip me right there on that terrace.
I moved as close to his mouth as I could, standing on tiptoe, and whispered:
"And yet what, Lucius?"
We fell silent.
He lowered his gaze to my lips, and I knew he was going to kiss me. He was about to break every one of his damn rules right there, only a few feet away from his friends.
But before he could, Bruce's voice came from the doorway.
"Lucius, Charlotte says the cars are downstairs. It's time to head to the yacht."
Lucius froze.
The moment shattered.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and put his usual mask of coldness back in place. Slowly, he released me and stepped away.
But just as I was about to leave, he caught me by the waist and pulled me close enough to make sure I felt exactly how much he wanted me.
In a commanding voice, he announced:
"It's time for everyone to leave, then. Carmilla and I have work to do. We'll be staying at my apartment."
I smiled to myself.
As we walked back toward the others and said our goodbyes, I knew I would be his, and God, that made me feel more alive than ever.
The war in Monaco had only just begun, girl.
Phillipe winked at me from the lounge as he left, and I finally understood that I could be the hunter, that men weren't nearly as difficult as romance novels claimed. Lucius, Killian, Bruce, Phillipe—they all believed the world belonged to them.
But I was going to show them, one by one, who was really running the game now.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I'll let Lucius do what he does best...
Set me on fire and completely take over my body.