Condemned to an unhappy marriage by her father Emerald Davidson finds herself in quite the shitty situation, only to find help from someone who's no better. She trades one deal for another, but is oblivious to what that other deal is exactly until i...
Cinderella never asked for a prince. She asked for a dress and a night off.
- Kiera Cass
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Emerald Davidson's POV
"So, Black Christmas?"
I looked up at Riva in hopes he would elaborate, but he seemed hellbent on having me pull any form of conversation out of him if I insisted on having it. The entire ride from Ian's place to his estate he had been almost completely quiet, and now that we were heading to the hotel he hadn't seemed to have gotten any more chatty. This was his party, for God's sake. Wasn't he supposed to at least pretend to be happy?
"Si." He finally answered with his thick Italian accent. I had noticed it had been more evident in his voice all evening, and I wondered whether that was because he was in an especially bad mood or because he just didn't feel the need to hide it anymore. Better not to ask, though.
"You do realize that's a satanic party by origin, right?"
Finally he diverted his gaze from the road for a few seconds to raise an eyebrow my way.
"I do, yes. I'm surprised you know."
What was that supposed to mean? I simply shrugged as I stared at the passing streetlights. The neighborhood was getting more crowded again, which probably meant we were getting close. Good. I desperately had to pee.
"I've read a few books on it for school."
"The real name for the satanic feast is real high climax though, and before you ask - no, our party is not related to it. But it is why we chose the name. Back in Sicilia it scared off the authorities, afraid they'd be influenced by the possible rituals connected to similar parties. Those times are over of course, but we stuck to the name."
"Oh." I nodded. "That's actually pretty smart."
For the first time since we had left Ian's a small smile appeared on my face for a second. For some weird reason I felt the need to solve the puzzle that seemed to be Daniel Riva, and this was new information. So he and his family came from Sicily, then.
"Do you doubt my intelligence, miss Davidson?"
I would have thought that I had annoyed him again, but there was no missing the teasing hint in his voice as the corner of his lips curled upwards. It remembered me of the side of the man I had briefly spoken to the night of the gunshot accident, when he had been on heavy painkillers and had conversed a lot more overtly. So that guy was truly somewhere in there. A shame he didn't come out more.
"I wouldn't dare." I carefully teased back, then after a few seconds. "How's your leg doing?"
He unwittingly shifted it a little farther to the right.
