Chapter 42 Tiana

• The room was beautiful, but I barely registered the silk duvet or the view. I tossed my small bag onto the floor. I got up from my bed and walked straight to the full-length mirror and stared at the reflection of my twenty-year-old self—hair still messy from the wind at the cemetery, eyes wide and glittering, not with tears, but with a sudden, startling resolve.
• “He said he owns me for two hours a night at the club,” I whispered to the girl in the glass, my voice husky. “He doesn’t realize I plan to make him my exclusive gig.”
• My mourning could wait. Grief was patient. But the opportunity to shatter the serene, respectful façade of Fabio Edgar, to interrupt his tidy schedule of business and maid-sized distractions, felt urgent, vital.