25. Fiora

Usually, I don't attend two auctions a month, but this time, I'll make an exception since the last one was so rudely interrupted.

As a socialite, I'm expected to make appearances. I field calls, messages, and DMs all the time inviting me to some opening or event. Or at least I did before I tried to escape and hide in Heathens Hollow.

As the daughter of a famous family, my presence is an endorsement and a bump in sales. I don't bother with half of them. It's usually some scam product, detox tea, or crappy musician who calls me a useless bitch when I decline.

Auctions are my favorite events.

There are usually no paparazzi or people waiting to post my picture on social media. The only photos being taken are the ones from the organizers themselves, which I easily avoid as I enter the ballroom where the auction is being held. At these auctions, I'm not Fiora Godwin. I'm an anonymous donor, offering my family's dirty money to people who need it much more than I do.

Too bad today's event is at Braken's West Seattle hotel.

It's like I can't escape him. His stupid fucking smirk flashes through my mind far too often. He's never even texted me, but I check my phone anyway, expecting a message demanding I come meet him. At the very least, I deserve a courtesy call for swallowing his cum. Instead, it's been radio silence, and it pisses me off that he hasn't bothered to reach out. And then I'm even more pissed that I even care.

Then to top it off, I see his sexy-ass boyfriends wherever I look. They don't even try to hide that they are watching me now. Their eyes bore into me, smirks hint at promises I'm not sure I'm ready to face, and all I can focus on is how they told me that the three of them share.

So, if I'm with Braken—married to this man—what does that mean with the two of them?

And the craziest thing of all is that I'm not disgusted by the idea. I should be, but then again, I just spent time willingly running barefoot through the woods with a masked man hunting me down with the intent to fuck me. It's fair to say I may have lost my mind a long time ago.

Thank God my ticket gets me a free glass of champagne. I hand my ticket to the doorwoman, accept my glass, and take a large swig as I enter the ballroom. This auction isn't as fancy as the ones I usually attend, but it's still decent enough. Small tables covered in white tablecloths are littered around the room. One large table has free hors d'oeuvres, but refills of drinks cost a small donation I will gladly give.

At the front of the ballroom are today's auction items. From the back of the room, I can see a few trinkets, signed photographs, and even a new artist's tablet. The main prize is a blown-up picture of a certificate to this hotel, including the VIP suite, a massage, and all-you-can-eat room service for two.

Did Braken offer that himself, I think before I can stop myself. I huff and finish my champagne in two gulps. I don't want to think of him right now, if ever.

"Fiora!" someone calls.

I turn to see Levanta Dali approaching with a large smile. I return the smile and give her a hug when she gets close. Her father owns a frozen food company that delivers all over the world using Papa's shipping, so we run in the same circles. I wouldn't call her a friend, but we're friendly. It's not like I can call many people close friends. The real Godwin business makes sure of that.

Not counting my new friendship with Storee, Marco is the only friend I have, but I'm still not happy with him. I've only sent him a simple text that I need time. That doesn't stop him from calling and texting with annoying frequency. I have his number on silent for the night. I don't want his persistence ruining my evening.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I say when we pull apart. "And looking extremely sexy while you're at it."

Levanta is wearing a floor-length satin dress, the gold complementing her deep bronze skin. The front of the dress dips to show off a ton of cleavage, but she's got the rack to pull it off. She's got an Angelina Jolie look going on, the slit in the skirt displaying her long, thick legs.

"You think?" She bats her gold-colored eyes a few times in jest. "I can say the same for you. Damn girl. Are you here to auction yourself off?"

I laugh. "If only the buyers were so lucky."

"Are you going to bid on anything?" Levanta leans against an empty table and flags down a passing waiter for two drinks. She hands one to me with a smile. "I opened a tab so drink as much as you want. It's my dad's card, so don't feel bad about it."

I thank her and take a sip. "Is your father here?"

"No, I'm here in his name. He donated the signed picture of Barry Manilow. I told him no one was going to bid on it because none of these people will know who he is, but he insisted he's still popular enough. Couldn't he get a picture of Taylor Swift or something?"

A Barry Manilow picture might just be the perfect cover for my donation later tonight.

"My father loves Barry Manilow, actually. It must be an old man thing."

Levanta snorts, setting down her glass on the white tablecloth. "What about you? Are you here instead of Braken Frost?"

I freeze halfway into setting down my drink. Levanta smirks like she knows. But how does she? I haven't told anyone. I didn't want our engagement to become headline news while Mason's killer is still out there. Once the murder has been solved, the tabloids can run wild with conspiracy theories about us. Until then, I've kept my mouth shut and my ring off in places I might be photographed.

I resist the urge to touch the necklace I have the ring chained to, hidden behind the top of my dress. Levanta watches me like a hawk for any reaction.

"Who said that?" I ask carefully and finish setting down my drink.

"For as much as my father rags on the women in our family for being gossips, he gossips more than all of us combined."

Damnit. Papa must have said something to Levanta's father during a business call. I'm surprised he hasn't called me to push the marriage forward faster, though he must be too busy trying to figure shit out after his only son died.

Levanta's smirk grows bigger as she leans forward and whispers, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

It sure isn't. As soon as Levanta walks out of here, she'll be calling every person she knows with the news. I need to squash this before it gets too big.

"Thanks. We've been waiting to announce since… you know."

Sorry for using your death for my gain, Mason. At least that works. Levanta's smirk softens into a smile, and she pats my velvet-covered upper arm.

"I'm sorry about your brother. I totally get it."

"Levanta!" one of the photographers hollers from near the front door. Thank God. "Can we get a picture with you for the website?"

"Of course. Be right there." She squeezes my arm one more time before letting go. "Have another drink on me. Celebrate! It won't be long before you're an old maiden."

I playfully roll my eyes and push at her arm as she goes. If anyone's an old maiden, it's her. She's been married since she was eighteen and has four kids, yet somehow still looks like a supermodel. I can only hope the same when Braken and I?—

Nope. I chug my drink and let the alcohol wash away that thought. I don't need to be thinking about Braken and his large cock in my mouth, or about how his fingers feels so good inside me, or how he looks like he belongs on a damn runway and smells like he robbed a cologne store. Or how there are two other men waiting for their turn?—

"Stop it, Fiora," I chide myself under my breath. Another drink sounds great right now.

Only when I turn, there's a champagne flute right in my face, and the person I least expect to see is holding it.

Marco.

Shock must be written on my face because he awkwardly laughs, handing out the drink toward me.

"Hey. Looks like you could use this."

I hesitate to take it, but when he tilts it in my direction again, I oblige. What is he even doing here?

And more importantly, how did he know I was here?

"I texted you that I was coming." He stuffs his hand into the pocket of his slacks. "Did you not get it?"

"I haven't had the chance to look at my phone," I lie easily and take a drink. "Why are you here?"

"Making an appearance as head member of the PD. You know, big, important stuff." Marco winks at me and gestures toward his suit. "Do I look the part?"

He's wearing a fitted navy suit and leather shoes, his silver Tissot shining in the light. I bought him all those things for his birthday last year. I had the suit and shoes imported from an Italian shop owned by a family friend and personally fitted at my father's tailor. The watch was his Christmas gift. I wanted to give him something more expensive, but he flat out denied my first suggestion of a TAG watch.

Normally, my heart would skip a beat seeing him so dressed up. His dark hair is slicked back, he's clean-shaven, and his police badge hangs from a clip on his front pocket. He looks like he stepped out of those yearly "Sexy Policeman" calendars.

And yet I feel… nothing.

I ignore this by taking another sip of my champagne.

"You dress up nicely." I set down the alcohol. "I didn't know the police sponsored such events."

"They usually don't, but it'll look good on our record. Plus, knowing you'd be here is an added bonus."

Marco is all smiles, but a strange feeling blooms in my stomach that I can't place. The champagne isn't sitting right, and I tap my fingers against the top of the table next to my flute. Something itches at my brain and tells me to go, but I force it away. It's just Marco. Maybe it's because I haven't had time to really process our fight, and I'm not ready to talk it out so publicly. But still… my intuition is on high alert, which means something isn't right.

"How did you know I would be here?" I question slowly.

Marco pauses mid-drink and blinks at me in confusion. "You mentioned it."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did." He sets down his drink next to mine and leans his elbow on the table. "When we met for lunch. You know, before the fight."

I try to think back on what we talked about before Mason's death came up, but I draw a blank. The only thing I remember is how he shot me down so quickly and told me I'm only as good as my name. These auctions are my little secret to keep. Nobody knows about them in detail, not even Marco. I wouldn't have told him… right? But maybe I did. Ever since Mason's death, I've been so focused on solving it that my mind has been fuzzy with other matters.

"Did I?" I ask more to myself than him.

Marco answers anyway with a toothy grin. "You did, right before our fight." He doesn't give me time to think back before he sighs. "Listen, Fiora, I know you've been avoiding me. I mean, I'd avoid me, too. What I said was stupid. I was a jerk. Can you forgive me?"

I hesitate, glancing to my left toward the front doors where Levanta keeps talking with the photographer. No one is close enough to hear our conversation, but I'm on edge anyway. I don't want to discuss this here, but I feel trapped between the way Marco half-blocks a possible exit and his apologetic smile. I haven't thought about what I want to say to him.

"You know I don't think that about you," Marco continues in my silence. He taps the bottom of my chin with a finger and smiles. "So, could you cut me a break? I miss you. I miss us. We haven't fought like this before, and I'm going crazy here. I have your favorite florist on speed dial and a truck load of Ferrero Rocher waiting as an apology."

"Ferrero Rocher isn't my favorite," I answer with a frown. He should know that.

"Yeah, but you can't get Venchi Chocolates in town." Marco leans in. "But I'll fly to Italy and buy you some if it means you'll forgive me."

My head is too jumbled to formulate a response. I want to say that he could buy Venchi Chocolates at a little shop in Seattle, but the chocolates aren't the issue here. Tonight was supposed to be a fun, relaxing night for me to get away from all my stress, and one of the worst cases just strolled up to hand me a drink. I turn away from the door to stare at the items for auction across the room. I'm so close to snapping but need to keep appearances. I don't want "Fiora Godwin Blows Up and Ruins Charity Event!" all over the internet tomorrow.

"I need time," I respond softly.

Marco clicks his tongue, his usual sign of annoyance, but doesn't press the matter.

"I get it. Like I said, I was a jerk. But can we forget all that just for tonight? Let me be your date for the auction. I promise it'll be a good time."

That's the opposite of giving me time, I want to scream but suck it down with the rest of my champagne. God, I need another. Or maybe I should cut myself off. I think I've had too much to drink, because the air suddenly smells woodsy and rich. Braken's cologne. Why is he on my mind now? Fuck, this is all so annoying.

"Marco—"

"She doesn't need you to be her date."

My head immediately snaps back. I wasn't imagining Braken's cologne after all. The man stands behind us, impeccable in his fitted black Italian suit. His angular face is even sharper with the way he clenches his jaw, and his eyes are sharp and full of malice as he stares Marco down—literally.

Then he turns to me and smirks. "Because I'm her date."