#1 in newreleases on 2nd Nov 2024
The Mafia Prince Series - Book One
Theodora Lane is one step away from achieving every designer's dream - Skye Maxwell. Thea is over the moon when she discovers the fashion icon herself has booked an appointment wit...
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"Not so fast," I said, slapping Conrad's hand away as he tried to hold mine. He pouted and retracted his hand, rubbing it to soothe the sting.
"And I thought I was the violent one," he muttered with a smile, nodding to guests who greeted him as we glided through the crowd.
"You're pretty popular," I mused as another couple greeted him. This time, the man pulled him in for a hug.
Conrad hugged the man back warmly, exchanging a few words before turning his attention back to me. "Old friends," he explained. "We go way back."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really? How far back?"
"High school," he said.
"You're kidding me right?" I grabbed his arm and turned him to see if he was serious. "He looks older than my father and he's 60!"
Conrad laughed, throwing his head back. "Yeah, I'm kidding. But he's... an old acquaintance," he hesitated before answering. I didn't pry more and returned my attention to the diverse crowd.
"Oh shit," Conrad cursed beside me, suddenly stiffening. "Don't say a word and just follow me. Be quick." I followed his line of sight to see Skye approaching us with a bright smile on her face. Conrad grabbed my hand, and this time, I didn't resist.
"Why?" I asked, curious as to why he wanted to play hide and seek with his mother.
"Do you want to go to the cool people party or not?" he asked, swiftly guiding us through the crowd and occasionally turning back to ensure his mother wasn't following us. I tried to keep up with his speed. Well, sort of.
"Of course I do," I answered, almost tripping on my dress.
"Then keep up," he said, clearly serious.
"Easy for you to say, Mr. Flatfoot. I'm in heels," I retorted, gathering the front of my gown and pointing at my limited edition rose gold heels. They were a good investment, their crystals sparkling under the bright chandeliers.
"Shit," he muttered, glancing behind me. "She's catching up. Take them off."
"Pardon?" I wasn't going to walk barefoot among all these people. I couldn't afford a fashion crisis. I was a designer, for God's sake.
"Take them off or I'll carry you."
"Alright, alright, I'll take them off," I conceded, sliding off my precious shoes. "Now what?"
Conrad's eyes darted around the room, scanning for an escape route. "Now we run," he said, tightening his grip on my hand. Barefoot and clutching my heels, I took a deep breath and sprinted after him. Conrad weaved through the crowd with ease, his movements quick and fluid. I did my best to keep up, dodging people and obstacles in our path.
"Where are we going?" I panted, trying to match his pace.
"Just trust me," he called back over his shoulder, leading us toward a side door. Once out the door, my feet hit the earth—quite literally. The soft mud flew behind me as we ran through the garden, dodging around fountains and manicured shrubs. I looked over my shoulder at the mess we had made, our footprints evidence of our little escape. I followed Conrad quietly, in awe of his certainty and speed. He led me down a flowery path, the scent of blossoms filling the air, until we reached a small tunnel hidden among the greenery.
